hands are shaking cold
sa passion Starcrossed. - These hands are shaking cold; these hands were meant to hold.
I was looking through all my old entries, and I realized that before I went for my brief hiatus, I promised a Blackwater chapter ficcie. So I dug through all my old documents, managed to find it, edited chapter one so that it was better, and hm, I guess I am about ready to post it. Realized that I have been obsessively posting these few days, but its a one week holiday for me now, and my ankle is not completely healed, so I am pretty much on house arrest. So here is it, people, read it, and tell me if you want me to post chapter two.Title: Move along
Pairing: Blackwater. (This practically goes without saying)
Rating: Hm, no specific rating.
Warning: None, really.
Description: His hands seemed to be shaking cold, but she tells him that they were meant to be held.
Here goes chapter one~
"Even when your hope is gone, move along, just to make it through." –Move along, All American Rejects.
Pain is inevitable when you love. She always knew that, somehow naively assuming that the pain would be tolerable, that she could move along.
I Hope You End Up Cold and Naked On the Floor of a Barn
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It has been two years. She still couldn't, and neither could he.
Two Years Ago:
"You aren't getting rid of me that easily."
Snarls, growls resound through out the forest.
'Leave."
"Make me."
"Leah. Clearwater." Jacob Black hissed through clenched teeth, his rough, callused fingers balled into fists as he slammed his head against the tree trunk, the sides of his mouth stained with vomit.
He knew that it had been a show of cowardice to run. He knew that he made promises, broken as they were. But did they still apply when her heart had stopped beating? When her heart sputtered to a stop, did his promise to always be in the sidelines, waiting, apply?
He didn't know. His legs had carried him far, too far, so that he would never know. Some people were uncomfortable with not knowing the truth. Jacob Black was more comfortable living in the world of 'what-if's' rather than dwelling on painful reality.
"Vomited, I see." Leah comments, her long black hair forming a curtain around her face as she plopped down on a tree branch next to him.
Jacob Black closed his eyes, the blurry, indistinct shape of Bella reappeared in his mind, and he felt sickened once more. He couldn't remember anything clearly during the whole saga; the only thing that seemed clear and distinct in his mind was the blood that soaked his fingers.
He had started to run the minute her heart had stopped. His feet had taken him somewhere far, far enough from her, when he started to vomit painfully, his throat burning and his stomach heaving.
"Why are you here?"
"I'm staying with you." He allows himself to look at her. Her face was solemn, almost serious, long black hair now scooped into a low ponytail, loose shirt and shorts stained with grass and mud, her feet, bare.
He didn't want her along. He wanted to wallow in his own misery; he wanted to sink back into his own despair, to be able to slip back into the same feeling of hopelessness he had harbored a few months back, he, wanted to lose himself completely.
"Leave, Leah." He snarls menacingly.
'No." She whispers, her voice surprisingly fragile and small for her.
"Please." His voice is trembling now, almost breaking, and he knows that all he wants now is to be alone, to be away from all his memories, to be able to run away from his past. He didn't want her along. He really didn't.
"I'm sorry if it's hurting you." She says softly, and this makes him feel like a child again. There were a thousand appropriate responses he could tell her, maybe he could tell her that the pain did not hurt, the pain was killing him, or all that he really wanted now was to die.
In all the noise around them, they were silent; the silence was not of content, but a rather hollow silence that resounded around them, a kind of silence when nothing was left to say.
He watches her for a long time, and sometimes he wonders if he's staring at his reflection. The pain in her eyes does not seem foreign to him and he knows that if he looks closely, he'll see the same scars. It's strange, but this fills him with something like pity. He feels pity for her. He feels pity for himself.
He closes his eyes.
'I guess you can come along.'
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