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These are the scars that silence carved on me.

He doesn't love her and she doesn't love him but they both have had their hearts broken by the people they would give their lives for and it doesn't matter anymore. [drabble; jacob/leah; jacob/bella]

Title is from Vienna Teng's Gravity.

1. o1.

Rating 4/5   Word Count 559   Review this Chapter

He doesn't love her and she doesn't love him but they both have had their heart broken by the people they would give their lives for and it doesn't matter anymore. With her, the words imprinting, Bella or bloodsucker don't mean anything and that is all he needs right now. With her, he doesn' t have to think about afterwards or what ifs or hows because there is an unspoken deal they have both sealed when their lips touched, a deal which spoke that this won't matter in the future, won't bring any consequences. This means absolutely nothing; it is just the only way to escape the reality they can't bring themselves to swallow.

She feels exactly what he feels and that is probably the reason why he is taking as much as can be taken from this moment. She is alive and on fire and as hungry as he is and just real and real is what his heart is asking for. His skin burns where she touches him and he wants more; he wants to make her hurt, make her feel the pain and it's working because she won't stop screaming his name into the silence of the forest and holding him so tight he can feel her nails clawing on his skin.

With Leah (unlike her) he isn't afraid he might break her.

She smells of sweat, ashes and bark (not an overly-sweet flowery scent) and tastes like fire -- pure, scorching fire he can't get enough of; he can't get enough of her. But it still isn't enough because rosy lips and brunette hair and motorcycles are popping into his head and he bites her -- Leah'sLeah'sLeah's -- lip harder; she lets out a moan, sensing his sudden urgency. Smartly, most probably fighting the same thing he is battling himself over, she clutches his too-long hair and pulls it back and he pants, breathing too heavy, too loudly.

Her rough lips plant wet kisses down his jawline, then down his neck where she decides to stay, melting his skin with each kiss she shares.

And then she bites.

He half cries, half gasps as he pushes her of off him and against a tree with such force it falls off its roots. She grins at him devilishly, her teeth splattered with blood from a lipcut that has already long healed. Her body, sprawled on top of the fallen log, makes it look as if it has been carved perfectly to fit her. She has no shirt and wears just a pair of torn jeans, drinks and quenches her inner jealousy with his violent reaction; licks her lips, eyes twinkling with malice.

He pants and stares down at her face, curses himself for being so unbelievably stupid to have let all of what wasn't supposed to happen happen, something they couldn't even keep a secret.

"Bitch," he spits. Seethes.

Hazel eyes, dainty hands, sinful smiles; marble-white imaginary fangs, graduation parties, soft spoken words only she can muster clutter together in his head, flood his thoughts and there isn't, there isn't anything left he can do but let them come, open the doors to the exact things he had tried so much to run away from.