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Burn for Me

Summary:
AU | New Moon His dangerously black eyes looked up at her desperately, a painful cry left his throat as he collapsed to the tile floor, her thin arms still fiercely clung to him. She traced the scars on his back. "Bella, I need you to say it..I can't..please..." His fingernails dug deeper into her bare thighs as the rest of his body started to tremble. Silence JasperxBella


Notes:


3. Chapter 3

Rating 4.5/5   Word Count 2044   Review this Chapter

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author (SM). No copyright infringement is intended.

~x~

"Hell Bells, if you aren't gonna get up anytime soon I'm gonna have to shove you off." Des said. "You smell awful," he teased, his lips curling up to show crooked teeth. With bangs long enough to almost completely cover up his ice-grey eyes, I could barely make out the prominent white scar above his eyebrow. I winced at the memory of what it formerly looked like, and rolled my eyes at his unkind comment.

"Ugh, fine. It's your fault for stinking up the place you know, when I came in it was fine," I muttered, pulling myself closer to his chest. The pattern of his breathing calmed me down. For the oddest reason, I noted that Desmond's heartbeat and breathing seemed to slow when we were like this, tightly wound together. Maybe he was comforted by me as much as I was by him, which would only be fair. I trailed a finger over his collarbone, marveling at how flawless it looked. The last time I had seen it, it was crushed. A cold spike flew down my spine at the memory.

"And do you even remember what time you came in? You suck as a bartender, Bells, I have to say. You're supposed to serve the emotionally stunted- not join the club." He whispered the last few words in my ear, making sure I heard the concern in his voice. I pretended I didn't. His hand gently grazed over my back, to which I gave him a squeeze of appreciation. He wasn't pleased with how fascinated I was with alcohol, even though I could easily point out that he wasn't able to stop at one either.

"Des?" He raised his thick eyebrows up in acknowledgement. "Shut up." He laughed. "And what are you doing on my floor anyway?" I shook my head at his pile of twisted blankets and the impression he had left in the bundle of dirty laundry that he'd curled up on.

"Aw, you don't remember? You nearly knocked my door down this afternoon and insisted I come over." His smile was wicked.

"What?" I snapped. "Why?" I was horrified. Had I really been too drunk to remember? Another throb to the head snidely reminded me that it was a plausible explanation.

"Pancakes." He said simply, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world.

With one hand on the floor, I pushed myself up, looking over to my table/counter/mini-fridge. And to my amusement and surprise I saw two plates with half-eaten pancakes, from which maple syrup was now dripping. I lay myself back down and groaned, knowing that asking Desmond to clean it up for me would be met with incredulous laughter.

"And how were they?" I asked, untangling myself from him and slowly getting up onto my feet.

"Excellent." He winked at me, crossing his arms behind his head and looking up at me.

"They might have been, I don't feel as sick as I usually do when I eat anything you make." I carefully rubbed my stomach, taking the unexpected lack of queasiness into account. He opened his mouth in mock horror. "Anyway, I'm gonna take a shower. Sleep a bit in my bed; you look tired. I'll wake you up when I'm done." He smiled in gratitude and, I knew, with a hint of surprise. He was still not used to someone caring about him like I did, and he collapsed thankfully onto the forgiving surface without further delay. I smiled at his exhausted form and sighed, taking off my shirt and boxer shorts and throwing them on the floor. I quietly made my way to the bathroom and shut the door behind me. I grimaced at the reflection looking back at me. I looked much worse than usual.

My hair was a bird's nest and looked like it hadn't seen a brush in months. My skin was paler than usual and one corner of my chapped lips was bleeding. I opened the tap, dipping one finger in the water and rubbing it gently over my mouth. It burned. I grumbled in frustration, and couldn't help but take a deeper look at myself in the mirror. I didn't look twenty-one, at all. I wouldn't even have said eighteen. The only thing that aged me was the dark bruise-like color that hung under my eyes. I wasn't beautiful, not by a long shot, but you couldn't say my face didn't have character. I was emotionally stunted, as Des had so adequately put it only minutes earlier. It was only natural that I would eventually start to look the part.

After taking a quick, ice-cold shower, I wrapped a towel around myself and came out to my room, shivering from the cold. After combing out the tangles in my hair, I quickly dressed, noting Desmond's snoring form on the bed. What I wore didn't matter all that much, at least not to me. All I did was serve the drinks and pretend to be busy so nobody would talk to me. Consequently, I slipped on my old, black skinny jeans and pulled a grey hoodie over my head. I made sure the sleeves covered my arms.

I sat down at the edge of my bed, put on my sneakers, and took a sad look at Desmond. He looked so drained; I scolded myself for not noticing how little he'd been sleeping; I then realized that it was very likely that it was his idea to spend the night with me. He would rather sleep on the floor next to me than his own bed, when I could honestly admit that it was usually the other way around. We left Forks together, two runaways with no direction or will to keep living the lives we'd been forced into. Not a day had passed without one of us holding the other's hand through each pivotal step we had to make. And to be honest, he was ‘dealing' with me and my neurosis much more than I would've liked. I gently ran my hand across his face, scared to wake him, and made a vow that I would make sure he had a hot meal that night. It was the least I could do.

As I got up, I heard the bed squeak in protest and I cursed myself for being so inconsiderate. To my relief, his beautifully black lashes only twitched once in protest and his body eased more into the bed. His 6 foot frame looked out of place in my bed, his muscular brown calves hanging out from under the covers because of the lack of space. He started mumbling something in his sleep, and although it was too low for me to make out, he sounded troubled. I frowned.

I took my alarm clock and timed it to ring half-an-hour later. He needed the sleep; I'd take over for him until he came down. I smiled as I heard his light snoring starting to escalate, and turned to leave.

As soon as I entered the bar from the back door for Staff Only, I was met with a very angry, clammy, pig of a man. Martin. Whenever our manager was gone, this arrogant moron would take over for him. And for such a run-down place surrounded by the hippest clubs, he took the job all too seriously. He despised Desmond and me, mostly because our lives didn't revolve around the bar, unlike his.

"Where have you been, Isabella?" he spat. I rolled my eyes, hoping he would notice. "This is completely unacceptable." I groaned internally, practically jogging towards the bar. "I'm going to have to write your name down for the manager to see when he gets back, you've be-" he stopped. The little vein in his neck was threatening to pop as I angered him further with my expressionless face. At 5'5", the guy had a hard time intimidating people. I didn't need this; he could shove that list of names up his ass for all I cared. "Isabella! Are you even listening to me?" I could envision his beady eyes bulging in anger, I withheld a laugh. "I said, are you listening!" I shook my head no and hid a grin as I walked away.

Ignoring his stunned stuttering behind me, "Wha? I'm...Ugh...ungrateful bitch thinks she can...unacceptable..." I turned to face the stools, desperately searching for someone to serve. To my surprise, not many people were there yet and I rested my hand on the counter top as I scanned the room. I looked forward to the tips I would receive, hoping that I could drop by the grocery store and make something for Desmond once we were done. Lasagna, maybe? Some sort of pasta...Des loves that crap.

A man in his early thirties sat right in front of me and winked as he caught my eye. I resisted the urge to scowl.

"Whiskey sour." He smiled, fighting with his tie and giving me a perverse look. I looked away, scanning the room in hopes of finding someone else in need of service. But the search came to a screeching halt.

Time seemed to slow down and seconds later all I could feel was my throat starting to tighten. I panicked. I could feel the fear mercilessly tightening its grip until my legs were threatening to give out from underneath me. No. No. No. I chanted it in my head.

Calm down damn it, making a scene is the last thing that's going to help, it's your fucking imagination, get a grip...

I closed my eyes and sucked in a breath of the stuffy air. My eyes popped open, ready to be assured that the insanity I claimed to possess was acting up again.

Every hair on the back of my neck stood up. My eyes quickly snapped shut again.

"Hey cutie, a whiskey sour. Did you not hear me?" The man was getting impatient, flinging a ten at me. The bill floated slowly to the ground, gently landing at my feet. He scoffed, insulted at my indifference.

I was a deer caught in the headlights; every muscle in my body had frozen in place. I couldn't have moved if I had wanted to. My hand started to twitch and the glass in it fell. I awaited the sound of its splintering shatter.

But I never heard it hit the floor. I didn't hear anything. All my senses withered away until they were nonexistent. Nothing, but the sight I fixated on, continued to exist.

My heartbeat was suddenly deafening. It pounded in my ears, ramming against my brain.

A shiver ran through my spine and I was sure I wouldn't be able to stay standing for long.

No.

I withheld a whimper.

No.

Anyone looking to discover what had captured my attention would have thought I was shocked at the state of the man standing there. His clothes were torn and he obviously hadn't bathed in weeks. He was muttering something to himself, fidgeting uneasily. His entire body stilled as he came to the strange realization that I was real.

It wasn't the fact that the eyes staring right at me didn't belong to a human that frightened me.

It was the fact that last time I had seen those eyes, they'd been black. Black with uncontrollable desire. A desire to let instinct take over, to give in to the monster that was too insistent to fight. He had wished to cruelly pierce my neck with his teeth, sink them into the tender flesh, and suck every last drop of blood from my body.

It was a desire so strong that it had required three of his kind's strength to pull him away from me.

But what frightened me most was the fact that the way his eyes were looking at me right then...wasn't all too different from our last encounter and the vapid blackness shone clear as an onyx stone, even in the low light of the bar.

"Bella?"