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Faces

Summary:
"I don't see them anymore, Jacob. I don't see their faces." He doesn't need to. He needs something, though, and it can't be her. She's an angel, to be put on a pedestal and worshipped. She has no place in this vast desire. Four-Shot. Jacob's POV. 


Notes:
Warning: Dark. Disturbing. Even for me. It has themes of sex, or actual sex in a non-graphic way, depending on how you see it. And bad words. And... well, he's in love with a seven-year-old, okay? Yeah, major BD spoilers. Jacob/Renesmee-ish.  I'm a huge imprinting fan, but if you look at it right, it IS pretty weird, and kind of sad. And you know Nightrose, she can never resist an opportunity for angst. i didn't put this with my Jacob/Nessie series of one-shots 'cause those are all happy and cute and this is really, really, really dark. 


2. Chapter 2

Rating 4/5   Word Count 1067   Review this Chapter

She gives him a name- “Jenny”, and a firm handshake, and they get down to business.

That’s exactly what this is, for both of them. A businesswoman providing a much-needed service to a paying customer.

“What’s your name?” she begins, fully expecting a fake one. After all, he wouldn’t want the girlfriend a guy that hot has to have finding out where he goes at night.

“Jake Black,” he answers, honestly enough that she can see it’s the truth. Curiosity consumes her—it’s a part of her nature, and she’s interested in this boy who doesn’t lie.

Her life is a web of untruths, most of them told to herself, and earnestness is refreshing.

“Where ya from, Jake?”
“La Push.”

“You’re big,” she comments, taking in all seven feet of hulking stranger.

“So’re all my friends.”

She has a net of wild red hair around the face he can’t see, and eyes that are misty in the haze of his vision but quite clear in reality, dark blue the color of midnight.

“Yeah, you actually look kinda familiar.”

He shrugs, and she doesn’t bother dredging up the memory of his equally hulking friends, one with a little girl on his shoulders and the other’s face a mask of awe and love. It’s a daydream she keeps private, sheltered with the fragments of life she has left beside this.

She imagines with closed eyes that he comes for her, falls for her, is hers, that this half-remembered prince Charming bestows a fairytale life where she doesn’t have to do this to eat.

Ambitious, isn’t she?

Jacob’s mind is somewhere else entirely. This isn’t the first time he’s had to resort to this. Sometimes he can’t seduce anyone, no matter how nonexistent his standards. And he really doesn’t have any choice.

Leah asked him once, being rude again just to piss him off, “Why don’t you just jack off? Save you the money for a hooker.”

He sighed and didn’t answer.

He couldn’t.

Because if he’s alone, then of course his mind will go to just one place. He fantasizes about one woman, one child, and he can’t allow that. Better to be able to know he’s with someone, a sort of non-entity that takes the Nessie out of the need.

She casually takes off her clothes. She’s surprised that a kid this young doesn’t gasp or even seem to pay attention at all to the fact that she’s naked, but she’s used to controlling any reactions. It’s become a way of life for her. No matter what goes on, she shrugs and accepts it.

And gets the job done.

It’s a job. It pays the bills. It keeps a roof over her head and something in her stomach and really at this point she’s not picky.

Jacob’s drowning in the desire. He wants and wants and wants and the worst part is that he knows she’d let him, if he would only try. If he’d only let himself touch her, ask her, but for God’s sake she’s seven years old.

Seven years old. She looks like a woman, an exquisite, incredible, sexy, gorgeous woman. But she isn’t. And he won’t lay a hand on her until she’s an adult, because mind and body are one thing, but she simply lacks the life experience to make this choice. She isn’t able to choose him yet.

As much as she wants to.

He can’t let himself sexualize his relationship with Nessie. It would be so easy to give in, to not wait until she’s eighteen (how is he supposed to survive eleven years of this when it gets worse and worse every day?), to simply do what they both want so much.

But he won’t. He refuses to. Stubbornly, and loudly, and much to both their disappointment.

Jenny pulls him down on the bed then. It has a blue cover on it, one that reminds him in a distant corner of his mind of the color Alice always makes Bella wear, and then he wonders what kind of sicko thinks about his future mother-in-law’s lingerie while visiting a prostitute.

Jacob’s not the typical heartbroken type. She can see, with eyes that have judged one too many times, that he’s one of those, the nice boys who come here when the latest real serious commitment has slipped through their fingers.

Love. What a joke. It’s stupid, and it breaks you, and in the end feelings are pretty much useless.

To her, he looks like one of them, sure, with the dark sorrow in his eyes, but he doesn’t act like a boy just getting over his high school sweetheart. He is ready and rough, his skin strong and burning, and when it’s over, he says her name into her hair.

That surprises her. When she picks what they call her, they so rarely bother to remember. The whole point of this is for him to pretend.

But maybe she read him wrong. Maybe he’s heartbroken because he’s looking for someone to love.

She doesn’t care.

The deal’s done. She’s fulfilled her part and playing psychologist doesn’t make it any better.

Jacob hands her the wad of cash and puts his clothes on. She thanks him and jumps in the shower, as is her habit.

In a week, when her knight in shining armor is an unexpected reality, she sees him again. She’s introduced to, “my brother, Jacob,” and tries not to laugh aloud at the irony.

Another reaction to stifle.

“I like her,” he says off-handedly to the new part of her life.

He growls with a jealousy he can’t explain.

Jenny never can bring herself to tell him, not when he names her anew and casts her in the part of an angel in his life.

Jacob doesn’t bother. How do you say that to your brother? “Oh, and I fucked your impring a couple weeks ago?”

It’s better unsaid, looming between them, another tension amongst too many.

It’s not like they were together, after all. There’s no feelings, no complications, not really.

No one needs to remember it, not when it shouldn’t have happened at all.