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Death Of A Soul


His heart swells. His unbeating heart. It aches like never before. He has to let her go, he knows this. But why? Why? Why not him? What did he ever do wrong? If Bella had picked Jacob instead of Edward in Eclipse, and she told Edward, how would he react and how would the conversation go?


Ok, so I'm not really a Jacob fan. At all. But I was thinking of how the conversation with Edward would go if Bella had picked Jacob. All the Edward-lovers can just kill me now. :( Also, I am a COMPLETE Edward Cullen fan but I just wanted this to be written. So, please, please don't kill me. :(

2. Epilogue - Unhealthily Obsessed

Rating 5/5   Word Count 1183   Review this Chapter

Four Years Later

He's watched. She doesn't know, but sometimes she has a feeling someone is watching her. A shiver runs up her spine, a cloaked figure hiding beneath the darkness of shadows. She'll turn around, swearing he's there, but all she sees is nothing. His topaz eyes still haunt her dreams, alluring and captivating. And even though her large, russet husband would never admit it, her murmurs of his name in sleep bothers him. He knows she will never truly belong to him. There will always be a distant, unreachable part of her that belongs to the bronze-haired angel. A part of him he can never break through and take.

She still hears his ghostly chuckle, light and angelic, and his voice, gentle yet fierce. She never told anyone what exactly happened when they split, but she also never told anyone that she still has his picture, tucked away into an old shoe box in her closet, along with pictures of the rest of them. Her family. She looks at them occasionally, tears will fall, sobs will be heard, as she looks at their glorious faces. Not only does she have pictures, but she has his CD, too. And she plays it sometimes. Sometimes. When her husband isn't there. The notes woven together by pure love and adoration drift to her ears. Her lullaby. Her's.

Her husband, Jacob, would never tell her his secret. That he knows her past lover watches, stalks, and obsesses over her. After all, he doesn't mind sharing as long as his enemy keeps hidden. Jacob still remembers the day he allowed him passage over the treaty line. Such desperation, agony, and panic was in his voice. And even though he hates to admit it, but he does contain a certain amount of respect for his enemy. It was impossible not to pity the bronze-haired beast begging at his feet. And since the day he let him pass, he has not left. Only to hunt, of course. And he knows his enemy will never leave as long as she's alive.

Night falls quickly. The wind howls, creating eerie groans and moans in La Push territory. Jacob isn't at home, he's at a pack meeting. It's hard to run and ignore the stench of that sickeningly sweet aroma. But he manages. Back at his house, his wife stands at their bedroom window; looking outside at the tossing and turning trees and the crashing waves that are nearby. She sniffles, imagining what he's doing right now. Not her husband, she knows what he's doing, but him. Little does she know he's right outside.

In front of the house he stands, his bronze hair blowing in the wind. His throat constricts, thinking of how he would never leave her alone in a house during a storm like this. She stands at the window directly on top of where he stands. He's watched her grow, from teenager to young woman. She looks more mature, more womanly. He doesn't need his brother's power to know she isn't completely happy. And he wonders how if he made his presence known, she'd come back. She smiles a bitter, twisted smile and he flinches. No, she definitely isn't happy. But she's as happy as she ever could be as human.

She raises her right hand to the window, trying to make any type of connection to him; wherever he may be. Her charm bracelet makes a tinkling sound as it connects with the glass. She has never taken his charm off, the heart, and she never plans too. Her breathing hitches, the familiar sense of him nearby swells deep within her. She knows he's out there, she just knows. But the question is, what will she do about it?

He sighs. A paper crumples in his hand. He is all alone now. He left his family. They went on without him and eventually they stopped calling him and telling him to come back. Even Esme and Carlisle can't get through to their son. Emmett has said many times he is unhealthily obsessed, but he doesn't care. He has found the only peace he will ever find, and he isn't about to leave it. And, yes, he admits, he is unhealthily obsessed. But who really cares? He'll only ever leave this place when she does. Deep down, he knows he will never see his family again. Ever. And his family knows this too. In fact, they're still mourning him because he's practically dead. Because as soon as she leaves this world, he will, too. He's in the territory of his enemy, it won't be too hard to die.

He dashes into the bushes as a truck's headlights shine onto the spot he was just standing in. Jacob is home. The husband rushes out of the truck and sprints inside, to where he belongs. The other man present comes out of his hiding place in the bushes, brushing off the dirt from the paper his hand contains. He looks up, black eyes glowing in the moonlight, as his enemy comes into the room where she is. He watches as Jacob's strong arms wrap around her tiny waste and pull her towards him. Down below, he doesn't even flinch. He's seen more, and this is nothing to him. He looks to the side, his throat constricting.

Jacob's warm lips touch her neck in greeting and she sniffles. Is this where she belongs? She loves her husband, she always will, but she can't help but feel distant. Alone. Like part of her soul is gone and is with another. She misses him, so much, she misses him. Her fingers trace the heart on her bracelet, tears welling in her eyes. She wants to see him, but she knows she never will. Her husband detects the change in emotions and takes her hand in his.

"He's a part of you, Bella. He always will be. No matter what," He whispers, leaning down so they're eye level. She nods, distantly, looking out the window.

Below her, the bronze-haired man stiffens, listening to their conversation. His ears strain, hearing another sound in the house. A soft, quick pitter patter. He looks down at the crumpled piece of paper. His lips turn into a menacing smile as he thinks the same thing about the paper. He won't ever part with it. Ever. He unfolds the paper and reads the title; Death Of A Soul, the composition he wrote so many years ago the night when she left.

Because, ultimately, his soul is dead. Long gone. And she's just as much a part of him as the growing child in her stomach.

She looks out the window, swearing she saw someone out there walking swiftly away, as if he had been watching and now leaving. Not permanently, just long enough to give the young couple privacy. She could have sworn she saw him looking down at a piece of paper.