Interview with a Werewolf
It's a series of questions from her as she finds herself in front of the most-talked about person in the room (and it's not the bride nor groom). [Jacob/Angela, Edward/Bella, Jacob/Bella]
1. Chapter 1
Rating 5/5 Word Count 1502 Review this Chapter
Interview with a Werewolf
See, it starts like this.
She’s spinning little confetti around a white table and her boyfriend stands still at her side. Sighs come forth from him and they are the expels of what is ending. Exhaust from a fuel that’s running short because, honey, you’re wearing me thin.
But to approach the topic at a wedding seems inappropriate on so many levels, so both put on the mask of pretends. He just is nearing the short end of his stick so she tells him that she wants some punch.
(An excuse to get away.)
She doesn’t favor confrontations.
Punch isn’t an option. They’re no longer little kids (or so they say) and so champagne and wines of high caliber are served.
She sips little slurps but it’s not to her appeal. She makes these facial expressions that scrunch her face up and make her countenance not that of a mature woman. But it causes that one kid with a James Dean stature to chuckle into his hand.
“I don’t like red wine either, it reminds me too much of blood.”
He doesn’t give an introduction and, really, he doesn’t need to.
“I bet on you.”
Black eyes focus in on her and he’s this real big figure. Dark, broody and all sorts of whimsical things are composed of him and she can’t do naught but slurp from her glass.
“Bet?” he asks.
Hair swings forward in a perfect frame and she’s getting bold.
“Didn’t go my way though.” She gestures towards the crowd and the bride who smiles uneasily.
He doesn’t look that way (towards Her) but he can tell what she means as he slowly closes his eyes. Brows are pointed downwards and it’s a Charles Le Brun painting of despair.
“I always go for the underdog.” she continues.
A tiny smile breaks through his cloudy demeanor and she can’t explain this rushing feeling towards the pit of her stomach as he looks back at her.
You have no idea, his eyes flit the answer towards her.
“Do you want to go for a walk?”
He carries around his own glass. It’s Moët & Chandon, he tells her, knowing she’s inexperienced in these matters.
She has long ago reached the bottom of her cup so she tries her hardest to fixate on whatever is around her so she won’t stare back.
He says it in a way that is suppose to make her feel guilty but instead increases the adrenaline within her.
She nods her answer and of all the times she should speak up she can’t. Her throat is a bit clamped and please excuse her, Ben had robbed her of all interesting things to say.
“Jacob Black, correct?”
It’s idiotic to pretend she doesn’t know every bit about him especially since she revealed how she didn’t turn a deaf ear to the gossiping affairs of Bella Swan’s life in the first two seconds of seeing him. But, she’s too used at playing these social games.
“You make me sound like a criminal.” he utters, a bit amused.
He looks like those rebel-without-a-cause types. Even adorned in his Sunday best he can’t dispel the notion and the fantasy allure of this persona he emits. She can’t deny getting a thrill out of just being around him and perhaps this is making her a bit intrepid.
“Why are you here?”
She’s full of questions, mister victim.
“I’ve been asking myself that all night.” He lets out a sigh, but it’s different from the ones Ben gives out. Jacob’s is like a conversation dropped short and he runs his fingers through his shaggy locks.
“I just needed to.” he states it simply.
She’s not real used to this role of an investigator. Actually, she doesn’t ever prompt these type of inquires to sorta strangers but they didn’t serve punch at the table and it’s all the wedding planner’s fault.
“You could have just lurked at the ceremony or something. You didn’t have to physically impose your presence here.”
He lets out a small chortle and the smile arises from the corners of his lips.
“Oh, but I got this fancy invitation, you see. You can’t turn those down. And ‘impose’ is a harsh word, donchathink?”
He leans against a cobbled wall and has an eyebrow cocked. The champagne in his glass swirls and, ok, the temperature went a bit up.
“Maybe I’m not great at semantics,” it’s the only thing she can say.
He cranes his head a bit and licks his lips quickly. “Am I.... imposing on you?”
She’s blushing now, positively red. Only Jessica and Lauren (those girls) would react this way, not she, bookworm-girl.
“N-no.” stutters indicate a change in power. See, the cards on the table are turned now and she should have never misread him so completely.
“Then I can’t say I have entirely ruined the party... Though that may have been my original intention.”
She can bluff her way, no? “What did you plan to do?”
This a queer interview. He raises his eyes towards the twilight and smirks. “Rubbing myself all over his suit would have pissed him off.”
She blinks fast and almost misses Ben coming around the corner.
“Ang!” the fake joyous shout from him makes her curl a bit inward. Jacob merely continues to sip from big, pouty lips.
Ben is suddenly right in front of her and glances down at her remains. “You never got the punch.”
Of all the things to say.
Jacob straightens up and he looks down at her boyfriend. It’s a complete contrast and Ben tries his hardest to be oblivious of this giant-boy.
“Ang, they’re cutting the cake.”
And they can’t do it without her? Jacob simply purses his lips and knocks the glass against the wall. He’s shivering a tad.
“Yeah, I think staying for that will be too much.” It’s an understatement.
She wants Ben to get the hell out of here. Him and his proclamations of Bella make her teeter on edge. But she’s always been a timid girl with only these flashes of audacity that Jacob has inspired within her these past few minutes.
So she doesn’t do much and is lead away by the elbow. It’s tugs, tugs, tugs constantly from Ben and is she getting sick of it.
She coolly dislodges herself but whispers she’ll be back.
It’s hard to swallow as she gathers up her skirts and skips back. He is still staring at her and seems bemused.
“Will you disappear?” is the first thing she says.
(This interview isn’t over.)
“Is this off the record, miss reporter?”
She blusters a bit and her mouth is dry. “If it must.”
He steps back and gazes forth. “See, here I thought I found something. But you already have a boyfriend. I have terrible luck.”
He’s awfully honest. Will she contest to it?
“I don’t like you saying that.” it’s out in the open.
“But isn’t it true?” he asks.
She scrutinizes him and here is this alter ego of hers. Goodbye shy girl.
“Don’t avoid the question.”
He leans in and this is dangerous with Ben being a few feet away. “You already know the answer,” is his murmur.
“Won’t you say goodbye to her?” it strains from her throat.
He presses his fists to his sides and his head is downcast. She is filled with empathy and she can’t imagine how much being here is costing him.
“It’s understood.” she can hardly hear it.
“It seems a shame that this will be the last time I’ll see you when we’ve just had our first real conversation.”
It’s never been more than a word, a glance, between them despite the many years she’s gone down to La Push for a cheery bonfire. The memories swirl and she is struck by the lost opportunities.
He tilts his head to the side and quirks his lip.
“Maybe I’ll send you a postcard.”
Ben is coming back and she’s on borrowed time then. Quickly she grabs his big hand and hooks his pinky with hers. It’s this childish thing that makes her a bit stupid and reckless.
“Pinky promise?” is her retort and her adieu.
He smiles, quiet girl is struck. Nothing can be said and he nods his head. A ‘sure’ is acknowledged and at least it quells this insane need that was sparked off.
She watches him shrug out of his dress shirt and the forest encloses in on him. Ben pulls at her hand and almost ruins the whole thing.
“Don’t you want a piece of cake?”
Not really, but she’s reverting to the real world and this is what they do. So she allows Ben to lead her back to that confined room. Get her slice and sit at the table where the conversation will die after seven minutes. Then it’ll be back to the sighs he constantly gives but they’ll be no more wine for her.