Saturday came streaming in through your bedroom windows on the heels of brilliant sunlight, as if the very promise of your best friend’s company had the power to wipe the condensation from the sky. You were bolt upright in bed before your body was fully ready for the transition, your vision fading around the edges as your excitement swallowed the fluid swirling behind your eardrums. Your feet struck hardwood with a firm conviction, ignoring the chill that had been marinating within the boards throughout the night, taking you blindly to Charlie’s bright kitchen. The Chief had already high-tailed it to the station, as was evident by your fleeting glance at the coat hangers by the front door; his holster as well as his officer’s jacket, the Letterman of adult life, were absent from the family line-up, proving his absence. It had to be sometime after nine, you concluded, as you stumbled into the kitchen. You reached absentmindedly for a cabinet door, proceeding to extract one of Charlie’s old ceramic breakfast bowls, your hands groping without sight at the counter top until your fingertips encountered the worn cardboard that encased whichever store-brand cereal had been on sale that week. You poured yourself a sustainable amount of… whatever catchy rhyme Fork’s supermarket had deemed necessary to slap on the box of bran flakes, walking toward the refrigerator with the same inattentive determination, sniffing the milk cautiously before drowning your cold breakfast in Bessie’s best.
Bella could be heard upstairs, her footsteps sounding as she burnt a path between her dresser and her vanity, clearly uncertain as to the proper attire one might bring to a beach in quite possibly the rainiest county in all of Washington state. A swimsuit was absolutely out of the question, but the sunlight must have confounded her, muddling her logic and tearing her mind in two between shorts and a raincoat. You’d let her figure it out; your only concern was choking down your breakfast and getting yourself out the door; the sooner you hit the road, the longer you could stay at La Push… and every extra minute you could milk out of your day with Jacob was monumental. When the last of the cereal had been devoured, the bowl lowering unceremoniously from your lips, you were flying toward your bedroom, resting the bowl in the basin of the kitchen sink with a considerably less delicate fashion than the ceramic deserved, your memory straining to recall which articles of clothing had recently been washed before you had even made it to your dresser. You selected, without any great focus on fashion, whatever your hands had first made contact with, ending your violent dressing escapade with minimal injuries and a tee shirt you were sure once belonged to Charlie draped on the much smaller frame of your shoulders. Judgement was the least of your worries; neither Bella nor Jacob would mind much that you were recycling the Chief’s wardrobe. The rest, save Angela, wouldn’t be seeing you for very long anyway. You snagged your raincoat from the back of your door as you headed out, prepping your vocals to call your sister to action.
Bella was thumping her way down the staircase as you bolted from your bedroom, her eyes brightening to see you already prepared for the journey to Newton’s Olympic Outfitters, her lips parting over an easy smile to see you so electrified. She gestured towards the front door, herding you out of the house as you worked your arms through your raincoat, her slender fingers working her own coat from the hangers by the door before following you into the sunshine. You jogged wordlessly to the passenger side of your sister’s beast of a truck, your hand on the handle before she had made it to her door, her keys jingling merrily as she unlocked the driver’s side. She slipped into her seat, leaning across the cabin to unlock your door, her eyes rolling to see your frustrated reaction to her all-too-slow movements. You leapt into the truck, the engine igniting as you closed your door, Bella’s hushed mumbles all but lost beneath the gravelly roar; you managed to catch something along the lines of “where’s the fire?” before her lips pressed into a concentrated line, muffling any oncoming laughter she thought you wouldn’t find amusing.
She drove quietly, as was often the custom in the mornings so as not to disturb the peace of daybreak, her fingers clinging loosely to the leather steering wheel as she paved her way to Newton’s Olympic Outfitters to meet up with the rest of her friend group, her warm eyes paving the road before her truck, brightened considerably from the sunshine. She remarked briefly on how she hoped the weather would last, and you quietly reassured her that sunlight this bright hardly ever faded before the day was through; Forks may be wet, dismal, and constantly buried beneath the clouds, but when the sun decided to grace the town with its presence, it tended to stick for a good handful of hours. She relaxed into the upholstery, noticeably calmer as your words washed over her, her turn signal blinking meekly as she turned into the lot of Mike Newton’s family-run camping store. Your least favourite spiky-haired junior came rushing to Bella’s window, followed closely by Tyler Crowley’s overeager grin, the second Bella pulled her keys from the ignition. You were thankful, then, that you had a solid escape route; you didn’t think you’d be able to stay docile if you were to spend more than an hour in Newton’s presence. You joined the rabble and claimed your seats (you found yourself squashed between Bella and a window, with Mike behind the wheel of his Suburban, Bella eyeballing you warily before sliding into her newly acquired position as middleman. To be fair, you had warned her that you were fully prepared to use her as a buffer to separate yourself from Mike Newton. The rest of the gang piled into Mike’e backseat and Tyler’s Sentra, your humble caravan making its way toward the reservation line. You were all but consumed with excitement by the time your ride slowed to a park at the edge of First Beach, the driftwood-littered span of coastline humming warmly as it absorbed the generous rays of sunshine, drinking it like honey as it reached through the sky.
You slipped from the passenger seat, your sneakers encountering the smooth stones so typical of La Push’s waterlines, your feet sinking slightly into the sand as you tread on towards the water, your eyes scanning the shore for the silhouette you so desired. The wind blew brine against your skin, your eyes squinting against the gentle gusts, your face burning like the end of a live wire from the sudden chill the air had kissed along your cheekbones. There were hardly any visitors by the water, though there was an abandoned fire pit already constructed just west of the path your sister’s friends were following to the sea. Bella’s hand smoothed over your shoulder, her voice low in your ear.
“Hey, I need to borrow Jacob before we leave. I’m trying to get a hold of some fish fry, I want to see if his dad has anything in his freezer. Just… I’ll need to steal him when you make your way back to the beach, if that works for you. There’s just a few things I want to ask him before we leave,” she concluded, her eyes firing unspoken inquiries atop her previous question, asking wordlessly if she was set to continue while you were making your escape. You shot her a smile, assuring her that her plan was perfectly acceptable as you backed up a step, your hand propelled her forward. Her palm slipped from your borrowed shirt as she stumbled to meet her friends, walking in step with Angela Weber, who waved her goodbyes over her shoulder, glasses glinting in the sunlight.
“I was worried you weren’t going to show,” Jacob’s voice crawled through your skin, seeping into your veins and lighting your heart ablaze. You spun on your heel, watching him saunter somewhat clumsily from around Mike Newton’s bumper, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his worn denim jeans. You rushed him, throwing your arms around his neck before he had time to properly react. Instead, he absorbed the shock of impact, staggering back a step before his arms had the freedom necessary to close around your back, his palms warming your skin through the Chief’s weathered tee shirt. His laughter rumbled from his chest and into yours, his voice giddy in your ear, his lips mere inches from your hair. “It’s good to see you too, Y/n.” You separated, your hands falling to Jacob’s forearms, his palms still planted on your waist, holding you at a distance or perhaps hungry for contact, his dark eyes glinting joyfully. “You’d think I just came back from war with that reception.” You rolled your eyes, slipping away from his grasp and falling in step with his stride, waving to Bella with Jacob doing the same beside you before you dared
to turn your body away from the shoreline,
the two of you retreating in the direction of his house.
“It’s been one Hell of a week, Jake. Forgive me if I seem happy to see my best friend,” you bumped into his side, his smile widening over brilliantly white teeth, his hand brushing against the back of your own. “I’ve been counting down the days until this trip for a week now. Just to get away from everyone drilling us about the accident… God, it’s like I can finally breathe again.” Jacob grimaced sympathetically, his stride shortening to allow you to close the fragment of distance that had blossomed between you, a natural result of your varying heights.
“Happy to be of service,” he chuckled, his eyes dancing in the light of day, his long hair shining at the crown of his head like polished obsidian. He had his hair tied at the nape of his neck with a rubber band to keep it from obstructing his vision, but that didn’t keep it from memorizing yours. You walked a few paces in silence, your arm all but glued to his own, his skin warming you through like a hot water bottle wherever you touched, his knuckles grazing your own with each step you took together. After a while, Jacob took a deep breath, inhaling slowly before releasing the contents of his lungs in a quick, jolting exhale. You were nearly at his home now; his garage was within view, the tallest cedars kept at bay by the edge of the property line encasing his little red house. He spoke as you inched down his street, your feet crushing gravel as you moved. “So, the last time we spoke, or the time before that I guess, I asked you a pretty important question,” he began, his voice solid despite his physical unease; his shoulders had become stiff from the nervous weight of his words, though he was loose where his skin met yours. You nodded slowly, his eyes burning into yours as you moved. “I was hoping to cash-in on that, well… that date, if that’s alright with you.” You smiled warmly, watching his expression bloom with wondrous, blissful victory.
“Anything to put Quil at ease,” you laughed, continuing despite his exasperated glance, his smile clear in your peripheral vision, “I only wish you would’ve told me we were doing this today, Jake. I would’ve gone for something my own size,” you laughed, pinching at the hemline of your shirt with the hand closest to Jacob, his laughter filtering through the air like a breeze. His hand inched over yours, his fingertips grazing the backside of your hand, turning your palm to meet his own. His fingers laced effortlessly with yours, your gait slowing considerably as your hands fell between your bodies, locked together in warmth and peace and thrilling comfort. It was a natural engagement, holding hands with your childhood friend, but the contact was now weighted with heavy implications, sinking like lead in still water beneath the burden of such wild emotions. This was no common act; this was entirely new territory, and Jacob had just paved the first road through the otherwise unbroken wilderness. His thumb passed a circle over your skin, his exhale softening the sky above you. You were quiet, then, absorbed entirely in the honey of the moment, your silence broken only when Jacob’s voice perked up through the air, cutting the quiet cleanly, his volume docked to a gravelly whisper.
“Well, I was planning something for a little earlier, but someone went and got hit by a car. It was completely out of my control,” you giggled at his expression, his eyes rolling back in his head as he professed his innocence, his smile blindingly bright as he beamed down at you, your bodies moving ever closer as you continued past his front door, your feet carrying you without thought to Jacob’s garage. He seemed reluctant to release your hand as you passed into the open space, his hand remaining closed around yours as you moved to sit on the bench beside his work table, your foot nudging a piece of metal that was nestled in the dirt, unaccounted for. Jacob’s body was pressed against your side, his hand squeezing yours tentatively. You lifted your gaze from his silken russet skin melting into yours, locking into his gaze. “Are you doing okay? Anything still hurting since…?” he whispered, his concern obvious behind the frail exterior wall of nerves that had been erected within his irises. You shook your head, ignoring the dull ache in your ribs from the faded print Edward Cullen had left on your skin, pressing your lips together as you pretended to assess your damages.
“Nope, everything seems to be in working order. Can’t move my right hand anymore, but other than that, I seem to have emerged unscathed,” you jested, watching Jacob’s cheeks darken as your words melted against his skin, his eyes sparkling with humour. His thumb rubbed another circle against the backside of your hand, his breath deep and easy. “Much better now that you’re here, actually. Don’t let it go to your head, though.” Jacob beamed, his happiness infectious, travelling from his palm to yours like a volt of clandestine lightning.
“It’s too late for that,” he chuckled, his voice cracking some, his eyes locked on your hand in his. He bit his lower lip anxiously, raising his eyes to meet yours, a somewhat guilty expression consuming his features. “I don’t really have much planned, as far as an activity. I figured we could, you know, just hang around and talk, but if you want to head back to the beach at some point-” he began, his voice low and honest, his eyes open as they bored into yours. You grinned, giving him a simple squeeze, sending a pule of reassurance from your hand through to his.
“Hey, it doesn’t have to be so drastically different than what we’re used to, Jake. I’m fine with just talking to you and enjoying the sunshine,” he sighed, relieved, laughing quietly at his own tension. “We’ll have to head back at some point, but there’s no rush. Bells wants to talk to you, something about fish fry. She’ll probably give you some sort of talk about… well, this, but she’s not the type to interject too much. We have plenty of time to construct your defense before then.” Jacob smiled warmly, moving to stand before you, his hand tugging you up to meet him, his chest mere inches from your own before he began moving backwards.
“Let’s enjoy that sunshine,” he grinned, walking backwards until he had successfully pulled you from the shade of the garage and into the temporary brilliance of the sunlight.
For those of you sending hate, for those of you thinking of sending hate, and for those of you passing over my blog who have in the past sent hate:
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to my muslim followers
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hate has no home here.
i am honored to know and talk to so many of you on this site who are constantly fighting with and for causes, be they individual, personal, or broad, and i applaud you all on your bravery, your pursuit, and your compassion.
but since i have recently been made aware of hate mail being spread to some of my followers, and to those who don’t follow me, i want it to be made very clear. this blog will not tolerate that. and this blog will report any sort of violation to anyone’s safety and wellbeing, should it be threatened by bigoted views and actions.