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Wait For you

He is still in the back of your mind, hidden deep within your thoughts. You bite your lip and clench your fists hard to keep the beautifully painful memories from surfacing. He will always be viewed as perfection to you. You have finally given into him, the only other man you can love. Jacob. Now that he's had you, though, you feel him slip away. Your heart cannot afford to lose him, too. But is someone waiting in the wings for you?

This was a difficult and interesting story to make. I hope you feel as if you ARE Bella. It is what I was shooting for. Enjoy! I own two copies of Twilight, New Moon, and Eclipse. But they are just copies. Man, I wish I was Stephenie Meyer.

2. Think of Him

Rating 0/5   Word Count 1267   Review this Chapter

It's time. You know it is.

You have had had enough of this. He has stayed out too late tonight, not even bothering to call you to tell you he'd be gone until past four in the morning. You are up all night waiting for him.

Why is he doing this to you? Doesn't he see the anxiety it causes you to worry about him? You have done too much of that over the past couple of years.

But tonight you would yell and scream if you have to. To get your answers.

Self preservation has won. You are tired of being the one to get hurt. You have been hurt too much already.

You stand from your self-comforting position on the couch – both arms wrapped around your knees that had been brought to your chest.

You glare at him. He is unrepentant. His unsympathetic gaze stings, and your eyes lose some of their fire.

“Yes?” he asks. He never had been one to be patient.

“Where have you been?” you demand. He is dressed normally, and the now-familiar scent of cologne seems to be an insult.

“Sam wanted me to scout the town, and run the perimeter of Seattle.” The words sound too normal, too practiced. The sound of rain outside becomes a nice soundtrack to your hurt and angry mood.

Rain, you think. And you are barely wet, Jacob.

Even if what says is true, even this would not have taken him so long. You are not imagining things now, you know. You have spent enough time trying to deny it to believe that it isn't there.

But, still you do not understand. What could have kept him out so late? The back of your head throbs, almost in pain with what you are missing.

But this is where your pain is kept, where his memory lay all but dormant in your mind. You keep this part of your brain in check if at all possible. Having been on such a short leash for so long, it had learned not to lash out at you. And you had no strength to open it yourself. The thought of him would spill out involuntarily, too full and too important and beautiful to be contained.

You are damaged goods.

You think of Jacob's Rabbit, the car he had been fixing when he came into your life. You remember it's hard, empty shell, the way it had seemed to scream help me. He had given it parts, piece by piece filled it again with things that made it run. He had been so proud, so happy to see it working again.

You know where it is now. Somewhere behind the house, surrounded by green vines and overgrown grass, mud on its tires and rain pelting its roof. In the end they had been the wrong parts, only lasting long enough to make its remaker happy for a time.

Jacob gave up on it. But it still seems more content to you, laying dormant, gathering filth.

It had made Jacob smile. Even if it was now a disappointment to him.

You feel an odd connection to the rusty old car now. Jacob is still staring at you, no longer impatient, you realize, because he no longer cares what you have to say. You turn on your heel and head for the door. He does not try to stop you.

The rain is cold, and you are not wearing much as for protective clothing. But you do not care. You welcome the rain. It seems to shield you from the rest of the world. You need this right now.

Your bare feet slosh in the mud and wet grass as you approach the car. It opens without difficulty, inviting and no longer worth protecting.

The car covers you more. But you do not close the door. A part of you is still willing your Jacob to come out the door and whisk you away. But, as mythical as he truly is, he is no fantasy.

Not yours, anyway. You see an odd white light out of the corner of your eye and you turn toward it. It vanishes or was never there. It is not the first time your mind has taken control of you.

You look up when a large tree branch shivers. Then you look down again. You are not afraid anymore. You are on pack territory, and it screams safety.

Here, you realize, you may think about him.

You let the door of the back of your mind come open freely. It now controls you as you gasp for air and do your best to hold yourself together with your weak arms.

You keep thinking you will get use to it. That one day you will never have to force the door to close again. It saddens you more that it seems the day will never come. You want to think of him freely, without crying, without trembling as you are now.

But whenever you look back upon that beautiful summer and the confusing time just before it and see his face, your weak body and damaged mind can not take the loss.

You could never blame him for leaving. All you feel is love and horrible sadness as you begin to remember his face.


Slowly, you recall his features. The way his eyes looked when he was thirsty . . . would need to hunt soon . . . fully satisfied. You remember how his smile turned up more on one side, how your heart slammed against your chest when he directed it at you.

“Do I dazzle you?”


Yes, even in this jarringly clear memory he brings your heart to life.

You stay like this for another twenty minutes, until your body can no longer take the cold, then force the door to begin to close again as Jacob comes back to the front of your mind.

No, you tell the imaginary Edward in your mind. He will never be you. His eyes light up, as if the thought of being replace had hurt him.

You gasp and slam the door closed before you can think of your own replacement.

You step out of the car, feeling content with your cry. You had needed the release, though it left you numb and longing as always.

You hear the leaves rustle close by. You turn to see nothing, and let it be. You are suddenly craving warm air and cold arms.

Hmm. Perhaps you have not closed the door tightly enough. He distracts you from the pain Jacob is causing you, though, and you welcome it. You gladly accept the torture for it is all you have left of him.

You remind yourself not to think his name.

The house grants your wish of cold air as you step through the door. Jacob is asleep on the couch and you step lightly, so as not to wake him. Then, childishly, you realize you don't care about his feelings right now, and stomp your way to the bedroom.

You don't slam the door, though. You leave it cracked, another invitation. His arms may be warm, but they are arms. Arms that had kept you safe for so long now.

You fall asleep with a lullaby playing in your mind.