One-Shot on Jacob's experiences during New Moon.
Stephenie's characters. Shakespeare's play.
1. They Fight
Rating 5/5 Word Count 995 Review this Chapter
“Whatcha thinking about, Bells?” you ask, a smile on your face (you’re always smiling around her, maybe just to dilute her grief, or in hopes that she may someday return it)
“Romeo and Juliet,” she whispers, offering no explanation. You don’t ask for one. It’s usually better not to, with her and her huge insurmountable sorrow. It could be connected to him.
It usually is.
You take her hand and lead her down the beach and the waves crash away at the rocks, pouring away little bits of the sand they create (be as water over stone- but the water, even as it wears away its obstacles, cannot forget them, even in its triumph it carries with it the enemy over the finish line)
Why, he’s a man of wax…
Fading, pulled away from her. You can’t help what you’re becoming, but you can hate it, and you do, fiercely, with all the passion she won’t let you devote to her.
It isn’t because she doesn’t love you. You know she does, simply from the way she trusts you even if it is only such a little bit. She won’t even talk to that vile Mike Newton. She loves you, and you know it.
But she doesn’t. She’s so tied to his melting, dripping shadow, even the memory of him sliding into nothing, that she can’t admit it.
By having him making yourself no less…
You finally realize why during the weeks you’re forced to avoid her (an unpleasant voice in the back of your head whispers abandon her, just like he did). Why she’s afraid to love you, why she can’t move on, why, why, why , why, why.
The pain is immense. But it isn’t that stopping her. If it were pain, she’d want comfort (and you’re more than prepared to offer that) but she doesn’t.
She isn’t in agony. She’s terrified. Because if she lets herself love you, you can hurt her as much as he has. She doesn’t know that she already loves you.
And you’ve already hurt her. But not as much as he has.
It should be Romeo, whom you know I hate, rather than Paris
And maybe she does despise him for what he’s done to her (you certainly do, for her tears that never quite make it out of her eyes, instead pooling at the corners, for her arms wrapped around her stomach, for the pain all the pain) but she can’t love you.
Because she’s so damn busy protecting herself she can’t feel anything, anything for you, anything at all.
He’s your enemy, even miles away. He always will be (incontrovertible, it’s a rivalry because even if he has given up his claim to her she won’t let him go and so you can’t take her) and you fight as hard as you can.
But you can never win. You battle against what you are, against what he is, against what he made her.
And you can’t succeed. You can’t, because he is not even part of the fight. It’s so frustrating, that he’s gone, never coming back, and he can’t even take back his claim, but leaves you trying to fix this shell.
And you can’t, because she clings so desperately to the pain. It’s all she has left- he took everything else.
I think you’re happy in this second match…
But you’re so much better for her! If only she knew that, if only she could see, that you love her, really love her, and would never, never hurt her.
But you had to. When the change came, racking your body, twisting your form, you knew then that you had to abandon her.
Oh, you resisted. You would have given anything not to have to do it. But eventually the order came and you didn’t have a choice.
Pour soul, thy face is much abused with tears…
Some of those tears are from you, from Sam’s cruel injunction that forced you to betray her, and, though it wracks you with guilt, you have a shameful secret (it makes you glad).
Because it proves you have gotten past all her boundaries. If she loves you enough to weep when you leave her, it’s enough. Not as much as she loves him, but enough.
And you feel awful about it (glad for more of her pain hasn’t she suffered enough) but it’s the honest truth.
And doth it give me such a sight as this?
When finally you tell her, when she understands, her first thought horrifies you.
She blames you for the murders, for the killings… could she think that of you? Could she so glorify those damned leeches that she’d blame you (you who loves her) for their killings?
I apprehend thee for a felon,
And when he returns, her arms are open.
It’s so unfair.
You do all this, suffer so much, and in the end, she never even considers you.
If it’s a fight, it’s one where you don’t know the rules and don’t have a weapon. Can they expect you to win? (Yes, because you love her)
They fight and Paris…
Second best, not beloved, just a friend.
They fight and Paris…
The pain, so much of it, now you know why she didn’t trust you for so long if it was this bad you don’t blame her…
They fight and Paris…