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hellooooooooo !!

My name is nya, im 18, and im currently obsessed with twilight. Sooooo this is my personal blog to dump all my thoughts ideas and obsessions!

i am tooooo damn lazy to make this any cuter than it is and don't get me STARTED on the gradient thingy. it looks cute till your an hour deep into hacking the freaking system.

Mind you I have no clue how to use tumblr so bear with me.

ALSOOO if you have any recommendations or want me to do little one shots in between chapters lmk !!

So far I have started one fic which it is .. drumroll pls

BENEATH THE SILENCE

so this is such a crazy coincidence but I just broke up with my boyfriend and his name just HAD to be jacob and the similarities just HAD to be there and the idea of writing anymore chapters for this project I lost passion for a long time ago just drains me. If you want to know how the story ends dm me and I’ll summarize it. It sucks because the plot of this was sooooo good if I just stuck to it but I have lost it all. It may come back to me but in the meantime this project will no longer continue. And I hate to say it I honestly forgot about it.

Alice

"Alice, come on. It's just Y/N. What could she possibly be capable of?"

I flop backward against the pillows, dramatically. If I can't be taken seriously I can at least be theatrical about it. "That's what everyone says right before something utterly terrible happens," I mutter.

He chuckles, that "you're just being dramatic" laugh of his, and I roll over so my back faces him. But my spine won't relax. My fingers twist in the sheets. The vision keeps looping, flickering behind my eyes like an old film reel burning through.

I've seen her before. I know I have. Only this time, she was leaving her house, on a bike, heading toward Forks. So simple, so small... but the image pulsed with purpose. The universe doesn't show me errands. It shows me turning points.

I stare out my open window placed awkwardly in the middle of the wall from ceiling to floor. Sunlight spills across the floorboards; Forks is showing off today, rare and relentless. I glare at it. "That's convenient," I mutter, already sliding out of bed. "Perfect day for breaking the rules."

"I'm going to her house."

My voice sounds final, like a bell tolling. I cross the room, fling open the closet door. The metallic shriek of a hanger scraping against the metal hanging rod makes my skin crawl. That's all it takes.

The world tilts.

A rush of sound fills my ears like static, and suddenly I'm not in my room. I'm watching her again. Y/n. There's something in her hand. Paper? A letter? She's walking out of a building, reading as she goes. My lungs forget their job. My vision fractures, flashing faster: the shimmer of sunlight on paper, her hair whipping around, the echo of water dropping...

"Darlin'? You're breathing heavy. Are you okay?"

I jolt, clutching the hanging rod. My hands are shaking. Me. Shaking. That's new. I swallow a breath that does nothing for me.

"Yeah... I'm fine," I lie, the words tight and heavy. "I just need to go."

I pull on a white lace tank top then cover it up with a black long sleeve shirt trying to find some comfortable clothes for this crisis while rummage for jeans, moving too quickly, like that could outrun the echo in my head.

"Are you sure it's safe?" he asks from the doorway, concern creasing his perfect marble brow as he folds his arms. "It's kind of bright out."

"Babe..." I exhale slowly, trying to sound like the reasonable one. "I've had two visions of her now. Three. And every time, my body reacts like I've been plugged into a lightning socket. I don't know who she is or why I keep seeing her, but I can't ignore it."

He sighs, that "I-can't-win sigh", and I grin despite the thrum in my chest. "Don't tell Carlisle or Esme," I add, sliding on my shoes. "I know he said to stay in today."

"Your wish is my command, ma'am." He leans down and kisses my forehead, I can't help but smile. "I'll distract them while you go. Stay safe, Alice."

"Safe?" I tease, tying my laces tighter. "Always?"

The door clicks shut behind him. The sunlight glints off the floor like a warning.

And I'm already halfway out the window.

I land lightly on the gravel, shoes crunching against the stones. The air smells like rain that forgot to fall. Behind me, through the window, Edward is reading, more so pretending, really,  while Esme hums softly in the kitchen, draining the last of the deer blood from last week's hunt. I duck beneath the window ledge like a spy.

The garage door creaks just enough to test my nerves, but I slip inside anyway. The familiar smell of oil and metal hits me. Rows of gleaming cars glint under the light like soldiers waiting for orders. I make a beeline for the drawer of keys.

Almost there.

"Where are you going?"

I freeze, shoulders sagging. Of course.

"Emmett," I groan, spinning to face him. "You scared me!"

He grins. "You? Scared? That's cute."

I purse my lips. "I keep having visions of someone, and I want to figure out why." My words come out clipped and fast like maybe speed will confuse him. I turn back to the keys, rattling through them picking up the pace before I'm caught by someone else.

"Who is it?"

"Oh my god" I groan even louder this time dropping my head back dramatically "Might as well tell everybody I'm leaving the house now."

"Well, who is it?"

I don't even have time to answer before the air shifts, cold, heavy. Edward steps into the doorway from the house, closing the door behind him looking at me ask he asked. The slam is soft but final, like a lid sealing on something.

"Y/n." I say, still rifling through the keys. "Charlie's kid. I keep having freaky visions of her so I'm to find out why."

"Oh Y/n?" Emmet chuckles, leaning against the hood of his Jeep "Didn't her dad like, pull her out of school or something?"

"Yeah he did and I don't know why but, something is obviously wrong.  I need to figure out why I'm having these, so something doesn't go wrong. I'm getting sick of these visions."

"Do.. you know who her mother is..?" Edward asked hesitantly, almost indifferent.

The question lands like frost. Every sound is louder than it should be. The ticking clock, the hum of fluorescent light then it just stops. The temperature drops so suddenly that I swear I can feel it through my skin, even though that shouldn't be possible. Edward's tone isn't curious; it's haunted.

I glance at him. His eyes are distant, his jaw locked. He looks like he's listening to a song only he can hear.. and it's not a pleasant one.

"Uh.. no? I don't know anything about her" I responded almost irritated. He doesn't look up. His chest rises and falls sharply, a human gesture that feels wrong coming from him. His reaction is causing me concern.

"Edward.." I say carefully, stepping closer. "Is there something you know that I don't..?"

Nothing. He just stares at the me, silent and cold, like a statue carved out of warning. He opens his mouth slightly like whatever he's thinking is about to spill out.

Emmett, bless his oblivious heart, chooses that exact moment to speak.

"You should ask her about her Mom!" he blurts, cheerful as ever and stupidly proud of himself. "And why she was taken out of school. Maybe that'll give you some answers."

I turn to him slowly, expression flat. "Wow. Thank you, Emmett. Brilliant detective work. Truly groundbreaking."

He beams. "I try."

I roll my eyes so hard it's a miracle they don't get stuck that way, grab my keys, and march to the Porsche. "Don't tell anyone I left," I toss over my shoulder.

"Sure thing! ...Wait, anyone like Rosalie anyone, or-"

I slam the door shut before he can finish, window down just enough for my voice to slip through. "Just don't tell Esme or Carlisle."He salutes me with a grin that says he was absolutely going to tell Rosalie regardless.

The engine purred to life beneath my hands, a silky growl that vibrated through the steering wheel. Sunlight spilled across the hood, igniting the yellow paint like gold on fire — a flare of color against the solemn gray of Forks. It felt almost obscene, this brightness. Like I was summoning attention instead of avoiding it.

I glanced back at the house one last time. The garage door sat slightly ajar, the stillness behind the windows pressing against me like a held breath. Edward was gone, of course he was. The porch sliced through the quiet, cutting the air with a loneliness I couldn't name.

I pressed harder on the gas. The tires whispered against the wet pavement, and the house fell away in the rearview mirror — its reflection flashing across the glass like a ghost. For a heartbeat, I saw myself mirrored in the living room window as I passed: a streak of yellow swallowed by endless green.

The forest closed in around me, moss and mist blurring at the edges of the road. The sun was gentle today filtered through clouds, still warm enough to glint across my skin like dusted diamonds. I rolled down the window, stretching an arm into the rushing air. The breeze brushed my fingers, cool and alive. Days like this made me wonder if I'd loved the sun this much when I was still human. If I'd ever let it kiss me without fear of what it would reveal.

Music filled the silence, some nameless tune that barely reached me over the sound of my thoughts. I tried not to think about how Edward had reacted earlier, but his face kept replaying, sharp and cold. His words had been clipped, his tone... distant. Almost frightened.

Did he know something I didn't? Was he hiding something from me… from all of us?

I caught myself frowning, a laugh breaking through despite it. "You're being dramatic, Alice," I muttered, shaking my head. Accusing my own brother how ridiculous.

A car approached in the distance, its headlights flickering through the trees. Instinctively, I drew my arm back in, rolling up the window. My fingers brushed the glove compartment until they found the soft silk of a scarf. I wrapped it around my neck, slipping on my sunglasses a disguise of normalcy in a world that never quite felt normal anymore.

I forced myself to focus on the road, but her face.. that girl kept flickering through my mind like a film reel stuck on replay. Her eyes, the faint shimmer of something I couldn't place. Why did I keep seeing her? Why did she pull me into visions I couldn't understand?

As I passed her house, I caught sight of her father through the window sitting at the kitchen table, still as a photograph. His eyes were open but unfocused, staring at nothing. The image lingered. They looked ordinary from the outside, that family. But something about them felt... wrong. Like a painting where one color doesn't belong.

A few blocks later, I saw her.

Y/N.

Pushing her bike along the dirt shoulder, her hair tangled by the wind, her hands trembling against the handlebars. She looked tired.. no, drained, like she'd been carrying something heavier than the bike itself. When the sound of my engine reached her, she tensed and stepped closer to the edge of the road, not daring to turn around.

The movement was small, but I felt it. The pulse of fear, the instinct to flee.

I inhaled deeply, exhaled once, steady. My fingers tightened around the steering wheel as I slowed, rolling down the window.

Time seemed to thicken.. air, light, everything as my Yellow Porsche crept beside her.

Chapter 8, word count: 1.2k

Summery: Torn from a fight with her father, y/n drifts into a tense exchange with Alice, where curiosity cuts deeper than comfort.

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The Yellow Porsche.

I hop on my bike and start walking it to the right before swinging my leg over and beginning to pedal. The sun is warmer than I expected, the kind that clings to your skin like a soft reminder that summer isn’t ready to die just yet. The kind that makes you regret even stepping outside. I stand as I ride, picking up speed, letting the breeze pull through my curls, unwinding them like the thoughts I’ve been trying to ignore all morning. The wind kisses the back of my neck, and for a brief second, I forget how heavy everything feels.

I pedal harder, weaving through the cracked asphalt, dodging potholes like second nature. Reminiscing about the times whenever me and Bella would race each other while dad followed behind us in his cop car. The road stretches ahead like it’s daring me to go further, to outrun whatever version of myself I left behind back at home.

Ten minutes pass and I already feel like cussing myself out for not bringing water. My mouth feels dry, tongue sticking to the roof of it like glue. I glance over my shoulder, the house is long gone, swallowed by distance and heat haze. I’m too far in to turn back now. Thats when I feel the impending doom of being stuck in the middle of nowhere surrounded by nothing but scolding heat and trees that only cover up so much. I don’t know what it is. The cool rainy climate that I’m used to has been unbearably hot and humid all day. Even underneath the gloomy clouds. The sun shining through just enough to burn every inch of my skin like I’m in an oven. I sigh as I feel sweat drip from my brow. I’m too stubborn to call my dad or text Jacob to pick me up so I guess I’ll just have to push through it.

That’s when I hear it. The low hum of tires on gravel, growing louder behind me. My stomach tightens instinctively. I drift closer to the edge of the road, praying that whatever vehicle slowing down next to me isn’t my dad coming to scold me. I hesitantly turned over my shoulder.

It’s a yellow Porsche.

It looks like it doesn’t belong here. Like it drove out of another world and landed in the middle of mine. Too glossy. Too perfect. It’s invading the greenery of the trees and the gray and brown of this forgotten road like a parasite.

The window rolls down, and I nearly choke.

“Y/N? Is that you?”

Alice Cullen?

She’s even prettier up close. Her black hair is cut in that asymmetrical way only people with good bone structure can pull off. Oversized sunglasses perch effortlessly on her nose. There’s this calm confidence that radiates from her like she’s never second-guessed a single thought in her life. I remember her from school. Everyone does. Alice Cullen never had to try to be noticed.

She was the kind of quiet that made people lean in. Mysterious, but never cold. I always secretly wanted to be her, or be her friend. Whatever came first.

And now she’s here. In beside of me. In a car that probably costs more than every house on my block combined.

“Y/N, right?” she asks again, voice lilting and kind, her head tilted with easy grace. “What are you doing way out here? Are you okay?”

I blink hard, caught off guard. I look down the road ahead, like it might offer me an answer.

“Uh.. yeah, I’m okay,” I hesitate, my voice a little too high, painted with a smile that doesn’t quite reach. “Just needed some air… I underestimated how hot it would be though.”

She lets out a light, genuine laugh. “Where were you headed?”

“Forks,” I shrug, wiping a bead of sweat from my brow. “Kind of… aimlessly.” I laugh under my breath, trying not to cringe at myself. Why is she making me so nervous?

Her smile widens. “Well, lucky me I’m heading there now to grab a few CDs and a book. Hop in? I could use the company.”

She says it like we’re old friends. Like this happens every day.

For a moment, I hesitate. Watching my hands tighten around the handlebars, grounding me. But then I glance back at her. Alice Cullen, offering me a ride like it’s no big deal.

If this happened last year I would’ve screamed. Honestly I feel like screaming now.

“Yeah,” I say, breathless with an awkward chuckle. “Sure. I’d love that.” I swing my leg over the bike and wheel it toward the nearest tree, resting it gently against the bark.

“Is it alright if you could drop me off back here afterwards I need to ride this thing back…”

“Oh, don’t make me laugh,” she calls from the driver’s seat. “I’ll tell my brothers to swing by and grab it with their truck. They need something to do anyway.”

Before I can argue, she’s leaning across the seat and popping open the passenger door for me. Casual, effortless, like this is a normal Tuesday. Like we do this often.

I slide into the seat, still a little dazed. The leather smells like new money and something floral. This doesn’t feel real. Like I pedaled straight into someone else’s dream. Maybe it’s heat exhaustion.

“Are you sure? I really don’t mind riding back-”

“Y/n it’s fine,” she leans in, waving her hand like she’s swatting the idea away. She pulls her sunglasses off and tosses them into the cup holder. “It’s really nothing. Trust me.”

She looks over at me again with that same soft smile before pulling back onto the road. Her eyes catch the light a strange, burnished gold, like sunlight was poured directly into her pupils.

“You looked like you needed rescuing,” she says.

And honestly? Maybe I did.

“Was it that obvious?” I joke, turning toward the window to hide the sudden swirl in my chest. Part of me wants to ask if she wears colored contacts to fill the awkward silence between us.

“I had a hunch,” she says, leaning back. “Thought you could use some company.”

She speeds up just slightly over the limit, one hand on the wheel, the other relaxed on her lap. She’s not even trying to be cool. She just is. I have to physically stop myself from staring.

“So…” she says after a beat of companionable silence, “How was your summer?”

I glance out the window, watching the trees blur into green streaks. “Pretty fun, actually” I say trying to sound more interesting than I am. “Spent most of it out in La Push.”

At that, Alice’s expression shifts. Barely. But just enough that I catch it. A flicker of something unreadable crosses her face. Like someone turned off a light and quickly flicked it back on. Her smile doesn’t drop, not completely, but it softens in a weird way. More measured. Not surprise, but… something close. Her fingers tense slightly around the wheel. The change in her expression is barely there but I see it. Shes driving with both hands now.

“La Push?” she repeats, like the words taste funny in her mouth. “That’s… interesting.. not very common for people from Forks.”

I glance sideways at her. “Yeah….” I drag out reading her expressions to see where she stands. “My friend lives out there. It’s kind of peaceful.” I pause thinking about all the dumb shit we did this summer. “Most of the time.” I finished with a bashful grin and chuckle.

She hums again, but this time the sound is a little more focused. She keeps her eyes on the road, but there’s an edge of curiosity to her voice now.

“You must’ve heard a lot of stories,” she says, voice casual but her eyes are sharper now. Curious. “The legends, I mean. Quileute stuff.”

I shrug, keeping my voice light. “Sometimes. They’re fun to listen to.” I glance at her. “Why?”

Alice smiles again, but this one feels… curious in a way that makes my skin prickle. “Just wondering. Not a lot of people from Forks go out there often. It’s kind of its own world.”

“Yeah,” I say, shifting in my seat. “That’s part of the reason I like it.” I said as I leaned closer to the door. Shes intimidating in the worst way possible. With this being such a casual conversation things feel so.. intense. Heavier than they should.

“Is your family from there?” she asks, too carefully. “Sorry for asking I just don’t know much about you” she finishes with a soft laugh that felt like it completely wiped out the uncomfortable tension in the air.

I shake my head. “No. My dad’s Charlie Swan. He’s the Chief of Police here.”

Recognition flashes across her face. This time, unmistakably.

“And your mother? You have a sister too don’t you?”

I hesitate. I knew this would come up eventually. “My mom..” I hesitate pulling at the hair tie around my wrist. Im unsure if I should sugar coat it or be honest. “She left when I was really young and my Bella lives with her biological mom” That sounds a lot better than the truth.

Alice nods slowly, like she’s filing the information away. “Bella.. it sounds so familiar.” she said with a hum, her attempt to make the conversation lighter didnt help, but I found it comical. “So are you blood related or..?” She trails off turning to look at me.

“Shes my half sister.” I said with an awkward smile. Trying to sound and look lighter than I feel. I don’t mind having this conversation but it feels unnaturally heavy.

“I’m sorry,” she says, and for once it doesn’t feel rehearsed. “Do you know where she is now? Your mom?”

“No,” I reply a little too quickly. “Not exactly. It’s complicated.”

“Well,” she says after a pause, “I’ve always thought people with complicated families are the most interesting.”

I force a small smile. “You don’t say.”

There’s a silence after that. Not uncomfortable, but heavy enough to make me feel like I said more than I meant to. I glance at her again, and this time her expression is unreadable.

I can feel her glancing at me again, like she’s trying to see something. Not just my face, but through me. Like she’s searching for the catch in my story.

“So…” Alice starts, her voice light, like she’s just making conversation. But there’s something about it measured, almost rehearsed. “You go to La Push often. Tell me about it”

I nod, staring out the window. The fog is beginning to lift from the trees, but the road still feels quiet. Too quiet. The way she said La Push felt like a curse word. I hesitate before answering. “Yeah. Almost every summer, actually.”

“That’s kind of far from here, isn’t it?” she says, a little smile curling her lips. Shes repeating herself now, like that’ll make me give a different answer. “What kept dragging you out there?”

I stare outside the windshield blankly, confusion creeping upon my face. “I practically grew up there. There’s something new everyday and mind their business.” The last part of my statement coming off colder than I intend.

“Do they?” she asks, tilting her head like she’s trying to peer around my answer. “Who do you know out there?”

There’s a pause before I say, “A few people.”

She hums. “Anyone I’d know?”

I glance over at her. She’s still smiling, but her eyes are sharp like she’s looking for something beneath my skin.

“Do you know Jacob black?” I ask finally, letting the name hang in the air. “I hang out with him mostly.”

At that, her expression flickers, barely. But I catch it yet again. Her lips press together just for a second before she looks back at the road. “Hmm.”

I narrow my eyes. “What?”

“Nothing,” she says. “I don’t know him but the name sounds familiar.” Her tone premeditated and fake. My brows knit together as I turn to look at her. “I’ve heard their nothing but a pack of trouble”

She says it like a joke, but it doesn’t land like one. The air in the car feels tighter.

“They’re good people,” I say, a little too firmly.

“I’m sure they are,” she replies smoothly. “I just didn’t realize you were so close to the Quileute boys. Jacob especially.”

I don’t answer right away. My fingers twitch against the hem of my sleeve. “Why does that matter?”

She blinks, innocent. “It doesn’t. Just curious.”

“Right.”

She drives now in silence, the air is anything but calm. I can feel her glancing at me, even when she’s not.

Then, out of nowhere. “And your family..”

I blink. “What about them?”

“Just wondering,” she says. “I mean you seem… different. Your dad at least. Well, from most people, really.”

I stiffen, caught off guard. “Different how?”

She shrugs lightly. “I don’t know. Like you’re holding something in. Or back. Can’t quite tell which.”

I stay quiet.

The silence stretches out again, this time louder, fuller. The kind of silence that feels like it’s watching you.

Alice finally smiles again, softer this time. “You don’t have to tell me anything, y/n. But sometimes it’s nice to talk to someone who sees more than they let on.”

I turn my head slowly. Shes still steadily driving like this conversation isn’t weighing the car down by at least ten tons. I try my best to control my facial expressions but shes really freaking me out. I play into it though. I don’t believe a word shes saying and quite frankly shes prying too much for my liking. Coincidentally enough, Jacob said the same thing to me. I feel like I’m being interacted by Angela and Eric. This is so odd. I shift in my seat before I respond.

“Do you?”

She glances at me, and for just a second, her eyes aren’t playful at all. They’re knowing.

“Sometimes.”

Then, softer this time: “Did you… ever see anything strange while you were there?”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” she says quickly. Too quickly. “Just wondering. That place has a… feeling to it.”

I look at her, narrowing my eyes slightly. “Do you always ask this many questions?”

She smiles at that, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Only when I’m curious.”

I don’t say anything. I just stare out the window again, pulse thrumming a little too loud in my ears. The trees look darker now, even in the daylight like they’re listening. It takes me back to that night when I was with Jacob. When we saw the..

Dedicate a song (or two or more ykwim) to each chapter?

Make a few playlists based off of time/setting in fic or vibe?

Make separate playlists for different characters?

Do all of the above and make a separate playlist for songs that I just played while writing

Chapter 7, word count: 1.3k

Summery: The truth simmers beneath the surface. Unspoken and unbearable. Y/n at the edge of herself. Jacob on the verge of something he doesn’t understand. Before the shift. Before the silence. There was this.

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Beginning Of The End…

I should’ve just shut it down.

Should’ve walked it off, clenched my jaw and counted to ten or something. But no. I let my mouth run off like it always does. Like I always do. And now here we are, driving through a damn monsoon in silence so thick I can feel it in my teeth.

She hasn’t said a word since I told her to forget about the damn wolf. Figures.

The rain claws at the windshield, louder than I’d like, but not louder than her silence. Not louder than my thoughts. I steal a glance. Her arms are crossed like she’s building a damn wall. Her hairs still wet, sticking to her cheek, as she just stares out the window like I’m not even here.

Seriously?

I grip the wheel tighter. My knuckles crack and ache.

This is what I get for bringing it up. For shutting her down. For not just letting her believe whatever she wanted the first time.

“Y/n…” I say, low, trying to keep the bite out of my voice.

Nothing. Not even a blink.

I grit my teeth. “Look, I didn’t mean to…”

But I don’t know how to finish that. I didn’t mean to what? Yell? Lie? Embarrass her? Be right?

She started it anyway. Asking that question like I was supposed to have some magical answer after shutting down my question. Like I haven’t been trying to figure out the same thing myself.

I pull into her driveway. The porch lights are on. Charlie’s probably on patrol. I’m glad I took her home if that’s the case. I try to relax my grip, tapping my fingers against the wheel like that’ll help my brain spit something out. I shouldn’t’ve snapped. That wasn’t fair.

I breathe in, about to say something, when she finally speaks.

“You don’t have to walk me in. I can survive the ten steps to my door.”

Her voice is soft, too calm. That fake kind of calm she uses when she’s mad and trying not to cry. That same tone that makes me feel like a complete douchebag.

I glance over. She won’t look at me. Shes just faking that stupid smile while she grabs her bag. I meet her gaze noticing how she studies mine like she’s trying to see if I care.

I do. I just suck at showing it.

“It’s just…” I pause, looking at the dash. “Never mind.”

My hand tightens around the steering wheel again. I hate this. I hate how she made me feel like I was stupid for even bringing it up. We believed in that stuff together. What changed? Why did she look at me like I was crazy?

Then she cuts in, sharp as a slap.

“No. Say it.”

That tone. The way she says it like I’m a little kid about to get lectured. It pisses me off all over again.

I shake my head, scoffing. “I don’t like the day ending like this. With us… weird.” I awkwardly say unable to find a comfortable way to say what I’m truly feeling.

She turns to me now, finally looking me in the eye. Her expression sharp.

“Then maybe don’t blow up on me every time I say something you don’t like.”

Boom. Like thunder, right on cue. The rain pounds even harder, sheets of it hitting the windshield like fists. Her voice cracks through me sharper than the storm.

She’s right. And I hate that.

But I also hate that I care this much. I don’t know why I do when she started it anyways.

“I didn’t blow up,” I say, flat as I can manage, though my voice betrays me with the edge it carries. Cool and collected? Yeah, not even close. I sound pissed because I am pissed.

She shifts in the seat beside me, and I can hear that little smirk laced in her silence. I can hear it. Even when she’s quiet, she’s loud in all the ways that get under my skin. Like she’s already decided she’s right. Like this is a game, and she’s winning.

This stupid back-and-forth neither of us asked for.

It’s infuriating.

“You kind of did,” she says, way too calm for my liking. “At La Push. You pushed that whole conversation on me. About the wind, the silence, the storm, whatever the hell it was. I tried to move on, but you wouldn’t let it go.”

I roll my eyes so hard I’m surprised I didn’t see stars. I grip the steering wheel tighter, biting the inside of my cheek forcing myself not to respond. Holding back what I want to throw at her. It’s not worth it. Not yet.

But then I hear it. That shift in her voice. Softer. Shakier. Emotional.

That gets to me. Way more than I want to admit

She’s rambling now, the way she does when she feels like she’s not heard. Embarrassed. Confused. I know it all to well. I drop my gaze to my lap, jaw clenched. I try to stay grounded. Try not to react. Let her speak. Let her get it out without my stubbornness getting in the way.

“I don’t know what happened that day…” she trails off, unsure. Her voice cracks, and it guts me. I close my eyes, letting her get it out. Let her get it out. If I don’t, we’ll just circle back to this later. Louder, messier.

“…but the way you were talking to me made it seem like you were blaming me for it. Which is weird because you know I’m not capable of something like that. Neither of us are.”

My head jerks up.

Neither of us are?

That pisses me off more than anything else she’s said tonight.

She doesn’t know. Not yet. But I do. I think I do?

And hearing her say that, hearing her completely underestimate herself, makes me feel sick. Like I’m lying just by staying silent.

“And now you’re mad at me because…?” I mutter, exasperated, letting my head fall back against the seat. I turn to her slowly, giving her a look that says I’m so done with this conversation. Hopefully she got it.

Yeah. It’s petty. It’s immature. I know that.

But I’m tired, and my head hurts. I feel like I’m balancing a grenade between us and she just keeps poking it with a stick.

“I’m not mad, I’m just… irritated,” she says.

That tone? It’s the same one she used when she fell out of the treehouse and broke her arm tears running down her cheeks, insisting she was “fine.” It’s her default setting when she’s very much not fine. She’s mad. She’s furious. And, honestly? Same.

“I mean, when I brought up the wolf I know we both saw it you shut me down,” she adds, and I go still. My blood goes cold.

Here it comes.

“Why do you get to push me for answers,” she says, voice trembling, “but the second I ask questions, it’s like you turn into Fort Knox?”

I almost laugh at that. Fort Knox? Really? But I don’t, because her voice cracks mid-sentence and now I feel like I’m choking.

“Why do you get to ask all the hard questions and then act like mine are too much?”

I look away. My jaw tightens. I chew on the inside of my cheek like it’ll stop the guilt from rising in my throat.

Because I do know the answers. Most of them. Because I’ve been keeping secrets I didn’t ask for. Because the second I let her in, she’s in for good and I don’t know if that’s something she’s ready for. Hell, I’m not even ready.

“It’s different,” I mutter, low and guarded. The words barely make it out of my mouth.

But she’s already snapping back. “How?”

I can feel the heat in my chest rise like a damn furnace. Not just anger. Shame. Fear. The kind I can’t explain. The kind I don’t explain.

And the worst part is she’s right. And I still can’t tell her.

I look at her, guilt sitting heavy on my chest like a weight I can’t shake. It’s written all over my face. I know it is. I hate seeing her like this. I hate being the reason she looks like this. It guts me, the way she folds in on herself, like I’m something sharp she has to brace for. I don’t know why I care this much, but I do. And that just pisses me off more.

“Y/n,” I start, voice low, trying to hold it together. “You know I didn’t mean it-”

She cuts me off. Cold. Distant. Hurt. “Actually, I don’t know, Jacob. Because you won’t even tell me what you did mean.”

And there it is. The punch straight to the gut. My chest tightens. I look at her, and for a second I can’t even breathe. I want to reach out. I want to fix this, to rewind everything, to say the right words. But I don’t even know what the right words are anymore. I don’t understand myself lately. And to make it worse, my body’s burning again, unnaturally hot, too tense, like I’m about to burst from the inside.

“What’s going on with you, Jay…?” Her voice breaks when she says it. And that nickname… God, that nickname. It only hurts worse when she uses it like this. It feels like a reminder of when things were much easier. Understood.

“You like completely flipped a switch on me today.” she goes on. “And like I said I thought we were joking at La Push till you got all up in my face”

Thats hard to believe. I sigh and look down. Actually it’s not hard to believe, she’s right. She’s right about all of it. And it’s killing me.

“One second we’re joking, like we always do, and the next you’re acting like I crossed some line I didn’t even know existed” my heart skips a beat. Her voice trembles, but she’s still talking, still trying to piece together the mess I made. I wish could just go back to when we were at the beach and never bring it up.

I can’t look at her. I stare down at the floor of the truck, my jaw clenched so tight I swear I hear it crack. The part that kills me is that she’s not even mad anymore, she’s hurt. And I did that. Me.

She leans forward, voice lower now. “And yeah maybe I push to far sometimes. I know that. But thats just… how we are. Thats how we’ve always been. I tease you, you tease me.”

I shake my head in frustration, trying not to completely fall apart. She’s not wrong. She’s never wrong about us. And that’s what makes this so much worse. “Shit you do it even more than I do” she snaps, and I flinch. Not because she’s yelling, but because I deserve it. “So how am I supposed to know when suddenly none of it’s okay anymore?”

She exhales like she’s been holding it in all night. “Im not a mind reader Jay. If you don’t tell me what you’re feeling and thinking before you blow up, how am I supposed to understand.”

And there it is. The truth.

I don’t want her to understand. Because if she did if she knew even half of what I’ve been dealing with lately, she’d look at me different. Maybe with fear. Maybe with pity. Definitely not the way she’s looked at me our whole lives.

I feel shitty for reacting the way I did. Especially knowing that she isn’t aware of what the world around her is capable of. Deep down I know she does. She just can’t accept it. And after tonight, I learned that isnt my battle to fight.

I shift in my seat, fingers tightening on the steering wheel. The silence stretches between us. Heavy, uncomfortable, and a little too loud. I search for something to say, anything that might rebuild the bridge this conversation burned straight to ash.

But before I can open my mouth, she beats me to it.

Her voice is quieter this time. Softer. “And I’m sorry… if I was being an ass. I didn’t mean to make things worse I was just…” she hesitates, swallowing whatever honesty was about to break through. “confused and maybe I was hiding behind jokes because if i actually said what I felt-“

She trails off, leaving the sentence to die in the dark.

She doesn’t have to finish. She didn’t have to. I get it. More than she probably knows.

I nod my head and slowly reach for the gear shift. “Get inside, okay?” I muttered softly, eyes locked on the dash because I can’t bring myself to meet hers.

There’s more I want to say. A dozen things bottled up behind my teeth. But none of it would help. It would just complicate everything.

It was getting late anyway. I knew this would keep her up and the longer I kept her in here the longer it would take for her to get some sleep. And the longer I keep her out here, the harder it’s gonna be to let her go.

And I don’t think either of us can afford that.

She steps out into the rain like it doesn’t bother her, like she belongs in it. The downpour clings to her curls, darkening them into spirals that frame her face. Her tank top sticks to her like second skin, the fabric soaked and heavy, like the weight of every unsaid thing between us.

She lingers by the door, fingers brushing the handle like she’s about to turn back, like she’s thinking of something to say that’ll wreck me. But she doesn’t.

And still… still.. I can’t stop staring

Even furious, soaked in rain and half-hating me, she’s still stupidly beautiful.

And I hate that I notice.

I hate that it hits me like a gut punch. That I feel it in the center of my chest, in a place I don’t have a name for. She’s Y/N. And yet here I am, jaw clenched and heart racing like a complete idiot.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I blink hard, like I’m trying to reset my brain.

She’s my friend. My friend. The same girl who once ate a whole jar of pickles and cried about a raccoon in the same night. The one who punched me in the arm for stealing her fries and then cried laughing when I almost choked on one. The one who’s always been there, who’s always just been Y/N.

I shake the thought off fast. Not the time.

Then, without a word, she slams the door shut.

I hear her mumble something under her breath too quiet to catch, but loud enough to sting. Typical.

She doesn’t walk away right away. Just stands there, in the downpour, right outside my window. We lock eyes through the fogged-up glass. She really knows how to make me feel like shit.

“Goodnight,” I murmur, barely above a whisper. I don’t even know if she hears me. I don’t even know if it matters at this point. I genuinely hope she gets a goods night rest after this. Seriously.

She nods, slow, tired and annoyed as she steps back. The rain’s pounding now, and she finally bolts toward the porch.

I sit there, still gripping the wheel, watching until she’s inside.

Through the window, I catch her looking back at me. Watching me. Like the weirdo she is.

I let out a soft, breathless chuckle and pull away. Not because it’s funny.

But because even after everything… she still watched me leave.

I sit there for a moment, staring at the dent in the dashboard where I punched it last winter. My chest feels like it’s folding in on itself, like it’s trying to crush something small and soft inside of me before it can get any bigger.

Why does this hurt so much?

I lean back, run my hand over my face. I can still feel the heat of her anger in the passenger seat. It’s like she left a version of herself behind, ghosting the air with frustration and something else I don’t want to name.

Then she’s gone.

Not in the forever kind of way, but in the not-mine kind of way. And that hits harder than it should.

What am I even talking about? Mine? Get a grip Jacob.

I sit there for a beat longer than necessary, staring at the porch light flickering above her door. My breath fogs the inside of the window. I’m too hot. Burning, even. I push the window down halfway, but it doesn’t help. My pulse thunders in my ears. My body’s vibrating like I’ve swallowed lightning and it’s just waiting for an excuse to burst.

I don’t know what the hell’s happening.

Not really.

But something’s shifting. In me. Around me.

And it started with her.

Her scent is still lingering in the car. Some faint mix of rain, old books, and whatever lotion she always wears. I want to hate it. But instead, it’s anchoring. Calming. Too calming. And that’s a problem.

Because all I want to do is hit something. Or run. Or yell.

Or go back and apologize. But only if she apologizes first. Maybe. I don’t know.

God, this is so messed up.

My fingers twitch again. My whole body feels stiff, like skins prickling like it’s too tight for my own bones. My breath catches as the heat rises. Fast, like a fever breaking.

And just like that, I feel it.

The shift.

Not fully, not yet but the beginning.

Like something ancient in my blood just opened its eyes for the first time.

God I need to get home.

I start the engine again and back out of the driveway, the tires skidding a little on the slick pavement. I need to get out of my head. I need to run.

I don’t even remember the ride home, the way I took home, or how long it took to get from her place to mine. It was all an uncomfortable blur. It felt like my skin was ripping, like my bones were too big for my body. I abruptly parked and opened my door spilling out of it. The rain almost evaporating off my skin.

I feel like my lungs are shrinking. I stumble in my house leaning against the nearest wall. I can hear my dad moving around. I hope I didn’t wake him up. I groan and grab my stomach leaning over as I try my best to walk to my room still holding the wall.

I can hear my dad rolling up to me. All my senses feel heightened. I start to panic. Whats going on with me. “Son whats wrong” my dad had asked reaching out to touch my shoulder as I’m still leaned over, folding into myself like I have a stomach ache. “I.. I don’t know” I muttered flinching back before he can touch me, like whatever I have coulad be contagious. Dangerous.

I don’t stop moving. I can’t. I barely make it to my room before I rip my shirt off and fall into bed, but I can’t stay still. My heart’s thudding against my ribs like it’s trying to warn me. I can hear him doing something in the kitchen as I toss and turn in my own puddle of sweat on my what seems like a too small bed for what I’m feeling now. My long hair is sticking to my sweaty skin. I just wanted to chop it all off.

Minutes pass feeling like hours before my dad rolls into my room with tea. “Drink this” he said handing it to me. I sat up and took the mug from his hands. Drinking it slowly. It was hot, not as hot my body feels though. It felt like cold water going down my burning throat.

“It’ll relax your muscles and help you get some rest” my father had dryly said with a hit of concern as he watched me rock forwards and backwards grabbing my rib cage like they were breaking inside of me finding any way to escape. The look on his face grew more disturbed when he noticed hot tears streaming down my face.

“We need to have a talk” he said as his hand hesitated over my skin before lightly tapping my shoulder. I can’t shake this feeling of shame and guilt. I know he hates to see me sick or ill, I hope I’m not causing too much pain. I knew this day would come eventually I just didn’t know it would happen so soon. I don’t know what’s triggering it. All I know is I’m going to do everything in my power to suppress it. Stop it, slow it down as much as I can.

I can feel my heart beat pumping in my ears and fingertips as I look down at my sweaty palms. I breathe in all that I can before I let it all out. Knowing once I did, everything I once knew would change.

Deep down, I always knew the stories were real. They were warnings. I just never thought they were meant for me. Our blood remembers what our mouths deny. I feel like a fool for trying to convince her knowing I’m in denial myself. I shake my head and close my eyes breathing in once last time before letting out a long deep sigh.

Chapter 6, word count: 1.7k

Summery: A long-awaited conversation pushes Y/n closer to the edge of everything she thought she knew. When words fail, movement becomes her only answer.

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Where It Hurt To Wonder…

He chokes on his coffee, nearly spitting it out. Coughing into his sleeve as he sets his mug down, clearing his throat like the question physically caught him off guard.

"Yeah," he says finally, voice low and cautious. "I still have it."

I stare at him, almost colder than the sharp uncomfortable silence between us. No matter how much I look at him, I can't tell what he's thinking. "Do you ever... read it?"

He nods with a sigh as he looks away like he's dreading this moment. From that single motion I know whatever comes next wont be something I want to hear. 

"More than I should. It's not long. But- I..  yeah, I read it." He begins to fold the paper up, adjusting his vest the way he does when hes nervous or uncomfortable. "Sometimes just to make sure I didn't miss anything the last time" He says readjusting himself in his seat like that'll make this conversation any less difficult.   "Like what?" I ask, fiddling with the hem of my shirt under the table, trying to brace myself for his answer.

"I don't know," he admits after a long pause, rubbing the back of his neck. "Anything...." He grabs a napkin and wipes his hands, though they're already clean. "A name. A clue. Something to help me figure out who she was."

Silence settles between us again. Forcing it's way between us like its the only empty space in the house.

I watch the steam curl from his coffee almost glowing from the morning sun forcing its way through the kitchen windows. The sun that's rising slowly behind the trees turns everything gold in its wake, some how missing us. My mind runs a mile a minute, thoughts tripping over themselves. I want to ask more but I feel like if I even speak now I could ruin my chance of getting any answers. One wrong word could shut this down immediately, he would become unreachable again.  Not even a name? That thought floods my mind more than I'd like to admit. After a long pause I let out a sigh before I speak.

"I've thought about this conversation a thousand times," I say, eyes still on the window. I knew if I were to look at him, I'd cry. "In the mirror, in the shower, walking to school... I've rehearsed it so many times I almost didn't believe I'd actually ask." That lands harder than I expected. I close my eyes and inhale before I speak because I don't trust my voice not to crack.  I can feel him staring at me. I keep my eyes closed and my face to the window at my side.  I don't know what possessed me to ask him this today. Maybe it was the nightmare I had. Who knows. All I know is I'm tired of pretending that not knowing my mother or being able to see the one of the only things she left for me isn't bothering me or the fact he's been staying out late and avoiding me isn't making me question if he loves me.  "I'm not afraid of the truth," I say quietly, eyes fixed on his face. "So you can be honest with me." I study him, his down turned tired eyes avoiding me at all costs, the way his jaw tightened when I said "the truth", how guilt is stitched into every line on his face. I'm trying to read the emotion hes to scared to show. 

"Y/n..." he says softly dragging my name out like it physically hurts him to say. Nearly breaking me. As his voice drops, so does his eyes with a sigh heavy enough to carry years. 

Before he can continue, I cut him off. "Am I a burden to you?" I abruptly ask. My question hitting the air like glass shattering. He flinches like I reached to slap him, but my words did the work for me. "I've noticed you've been distant lately. You can tell me if I am. I  swear I won't be mad I.. I just want to know."

His breath catches. His shoulders cave inward as he leans back into the chair like I've knocked the wind out of him. His mouth opens like hes about to say something, but nothing comes out. He can't  even look at me. 

"I know what I am," I go on. "You were married. Bella's mom was pregnant. Then... whatever happened, happened. And now here I am." My hands are trembling now, resting in my lap like they don't belong to me. I try to meet his eyes hoping it would make me feel a little lighter, grounded even. Praying he would give me that fatherly look that makes me feel okay again, but his gaze keeps shifting, moving. Window, floor, cabinets, anywhere but me. 

"You don't know the whole story.." he mutters, voice rough and hurt like he's using all his energy just to speak. It's almost like I can see the light flicker out of his eyes. Like whatever he's been keeping to himself is haunting him like a shadow anytime it's brought up. 

"No, I don't." I say sharper than I meant to. "Because no one tells me anything. I swear I'd have better luck piecing it together from a stranger in the checkout line." The fire in my chest spreads to my throat and eyes, it burns just to exist. 

"But I know enough." I take a breath that doesn't feel full. "I know I was born into chaos. And every time I walk past a picture of Bella, or hear you hesitate before telling me about your past, I feel it."

"Feel what?" he asks, barely above a whisper.

"That I ruined it." I whisper back. "That I broke whatever perfect thing you had before me." He leans forward, drastically shaking his head like hes trying to physically rid himself of my words. "You didn't ruin anything, y/n. That was me. My decisions. Not yours."

"But I'm the result of those decisions," I say, voice steady but full of weight as I look down at my clammy palms. Laying on my thighs like an impostor to my own body. "You lost your family and now you're stuck with me."

His head snaps up. "Don't you ever say that again," he says firm and fast like a reflex. "You're not something I'm stuck with."

"Then what am I?" I ask him, barely above a whisper.

But silence answers first. 

He exhales shakily as his jaw tightens. His hands clench into fits on the table like he's holding himself together by sheer will. Slowly, he released them pressing his palms flat against the wooden dining table like he's trying to ground himself.

"I made the worst mistake of my life," he murmurs. "And somehow.. from that, I got you. And whatever I lost- whoever I hurt" he paused, "I've never stopped being grateful that I got you out of it all." He looks down at his hands before he draws them back into his lap awkwardly. "No matter how we got here.. I love you regardless" he says after a long bit of silence.

I don't respond. I don't move. I can't. It's like my ribs are folding inward, pressing against my lungs and piercing my heart. I watch the candle in front of us flicker out and fade into nothingness. As the smoke disappears into thin air, for a moment, I wish I could do the same. 

He speaks again, quieter this time, like he's talking to a version of me that's already walking away. "I don't know who your mother really was," he says rubbing his temples with one hand, eyes shut tight like the memory itself hurts. Like if he opens his eyes she'll be right there sitting across from him.  "That night was a blur. She came out of nowhere and left just as fast. It was the first and last time I saw her."

He pauses, breathing out slowly like whatever he's about to say has been weighing on his chest. "It's complicated, kid. I've been trying to figure it out myself but it's hard when.." He trails off stopping himself from finishing his train of thought. Like it got caught in his throat. He clears it with a dry cough and sits up straighter, defaulting to the version of him that "has it all figured out". 

"She left a letter," he says finally "And she left me you. And maybe I haven't done the best job showing it, but you're not a burden, y/n."

I close my eyes just for a second, trying to breath through the sting behind them. But it doesn't help.

"Then why did you lie about me being your daughter?" My voice is barely audible but the words land with force.  He goes still. 

His Jaw locks but he doesn't speak. 

"You told people I was your niece," I mutter, "You let me grow up thinking you were doing me a favor by taking me in. You let me feel like an outsider in my own house" 

"It wasn't like that.." he starts, irritation growing in his voice. 

"It was exactly like that," I cut in. My voice is shaking now, but louder. "You let me think that I was less than what I really am because you were scared of what other people thought" 

"You don't understand" he murmured, I couldn't hear him over my own voice. He was looking down shaking his head. 

"Bella was you real  kid while I was just your charity work. Some kid you just.. just something you dealt with" 

His face twits, pain and anger flashing across it like police sirens. "It was complicated and it wasn't all my decision-" He started before I him off once more. Anger and hurt radiating off of me like the sun.  "So what," I start, short and sharp "You're going to blame Renee?" I said close to a shout "You know who horrible she was to me and you just turned a blind eye to it each and every time. I used to blame her for everything but it was you too" I shouted this time. I felt like everything I pushed down since I was young is coming back up.

"I was young and naive y/n and you and Bella were just babies. I didn't know how to keep my family together and at the time we thought that would be the safest option. I didn't know how to explain it to the people. Hell, I didn't even know how to process it myself."  

"You didn't have to explain anything dad!" I snap, shaking my hands in front of me. "You just had to tell the truth. From the jump. You should've just told me" My voice shakes, tears welling in the corners of my eyes. "Even if it was messy. Even if it hurt you should've just-" 

He stands up suddenly, pushing his chair back hard enough that it scrapes the floor, almost falling backwards. "I WAS TRYING TO PROTECT YOU Y/N!" He cuts me off with a shout loud enough to stop my heart. 

"FROM WHAT?" I stand too, heart pounding in my chest as I shout louder than he did. "From knowing I was an affair child? From getting bullied? Because news flash it's hard to lie about something like that when I look like I could be your daughter because I AM!" I shout, trembling. "What makes it worse," I pause to stop myself from breaking down "is that I found out you were lying after Bella left, and not from you either" A tear begins to fall from my eye before I angrily wipe it with the back of my hand. 

He runs a hand through his hair as he paces back and fourth still avoiding any eye contact. "You don't understand the kind of chaos that surrounded your birth. There were people involved, missing pieces to something much bigger than I could've ever imagined." he says, frustration oozing out of  him like basalt. "Things that didn't and don't make since y/n."

"But none of that was my fault!" I shout. "And how am I supposed to understand when you don't even try to explain? It's feels like you avoid me because being around me is just a reminder of something you regret. And I hate feeling like that." 

He stops in his tracks to look at me, his brows slowly pull towards each other. Regret written across his face like a messy drawing. His mouth opens then shuts. He looks at me like I'm someone he doesn't recognize. Maybe he doesn't. 

"I.. I never wanted you to feel that way.." he says finally, his voice raw and shaking with an ache I've never seen or heard from him in my life.

"But I do dad," I whisper, voice trembling as I let my tears run down my face, hot and unwelcomed. "for years." 

We stand there, the space between us feeling wider than ever. I can't look at him. If I do, I might shatter into something I can't put back together. 

"I needed a dad," I say, quieter now. "Not a man constantly haunted by a decision he made one night" 

His shoulders slump. In the span of ten breaths, He looks ten years older. Like this conversation drained the life out of him. The silence between us folds into something unbearable, sharp around the edges. The weight of it wraps around my chest until I'm holding myself up by the edge of the table. Leaning into it to keep my balance. Watching my hot unbearable tears drop onto the wooden table beneath my hands. 

He still hasn't said a word. He's just standing there. Hands over his face like hiding from this will make it all go away. I shift my weight trying to ground myself, and stop myself from passing out. I feel like I'm floating in the kind of quiet that only follows in heartbreak, which makes my stomach churn and head ache. 

"Sit down" He mutters after a long bit of silence. I find myself zoning out. The only thing I can focus on as I sit is the sound of the wind outside and the low hum of something breaking between us. 

So we sit there, quiet again.

But this time, it's not empty silence.

It's full of things we're both still trying to say.

He finally looks at me. And there's something different in his eyes, not his normal regret but something more. Or maybe it's just exhaustion. "I love you y/n. Nothing will ever change that" he says softly, looking into my eyes like he was searching for something. "You're my biggest blessing"

My lips press into a thin line. I don't answer. Not because I don't care, I do. But I don't know if he truly means it. 

The quiet returns like a tide. 

This time more suffocating.

Until I break it. 

"Can I read the letter?"

His expression shifts almost instantly. "I don't think it's a good idea right now kiddo." He says softly before looking up at me like we didn't just scream our heads off at each other not even five minutes ago. "I don't want you to be disappointed. Especially with school starting soon... I.. I just don't think it's the best thing for you right now"

"Disappointed..?" My voice flat, but there's an edge to it now. He nods slightly. "There's not much in it, y/n..." he leans forward in his seat looking at me. Oh boy. He's getting serious now. "Just a few lines. No name. No real answers. It's more of a memory than a message. Every time I read it, I feel further away from her, not closer." "But that's how you feel" I say leaning in. "You don'y know what that might mean to me. Maybe it's just a few words, but they're hers. Maybe it's the only piece of her I'll ever have" My voice cracks "Maybe it can help me find her." He almost flinches when I say this. Confusion and  loss itched all over his face "Please Dad, I've been waiting my whole life for this" 

"I know," he says gently.

"Then why won't you let me see it?" I can't hold it in anymore. "I've imagined what it says, how it sounds, what her handwriting looks like. The way she'd say my name. The way it might feel to read something that was made for me and only me." I'm practically begging, letting the tears fall as they please.  "I'm not afraid of the truth, Dad. I'm ready." I scoot to the edge of my seat "maybe it'll help if anything, what if that letter helps me find.." I pause "myself and who I am maybe it'll piece everything together." I begin to tear up "maybe it'll help fill the part of me that's always felt missing. Please, Dad... I feel like I'm losing myself"

"Y/n..." His tone shifts firmer now, more like the cop he is than my father. "It's not about being ready. It's about timing. And right now isn't it." His brow furrowed.

"So when is?" I ask, tears stinging at the corners of my eyes, my throat burning. "When you feel like it? When its convenient for you? When you're ready? What about me? It was from my mom I should be obligated to read it whenever I please" 

"I said no," The sharpness in his voice slices through the room. "Please don't push this. My answer is no and you need to respect that. I'm still your father."

"And I'm still her daughter" I fire back staring at him through his soul. The hurt settles deep in my chest, I can feel it spread throughout my body. He stares back, unphased standing his ground like any threatened father would.

"Where is it?" I ask dryly wiping a tear from my cheek. He groans as he turns his head to the side, disappointment and frustration plastered on his face like a joke. "At the station." He says as he folds his arms looking at me. 

"You're just saying that so I don't look for it in the house" I said with a frown on my face, "I'm not five, I know what your doing" He shakes his head closing his eyes like I'm in the wrong for asking. Like I'm a fool. 

We stare at each other in silence. I feel like I'm five again getting scolded at for breaking a glass cup because I wasn't careful enough. "Is it really at the station?" I softly ask looking down at my hands scared to meet his gaze. 

"I'm not going to repeat myself again" And there it is. The truth. The truth that's too much for him to speak out loud. At least I know where the letter is. But why? The station out of all places? I know he doesn't want me to read it but I didn't think it was ever that serious. We stare at each other, both hurting and too damn stubborn to back down. 

I nod. Not because I agree but because I know there's no getting through to him.

Not today. Not anytime soon.

Eventually, I stand. 

Not because I'm finished but because I have to. Because staying in this room is suffocating. The chair screeches loudly as I push it back. Sounding like our screaming from earlier. I carry my plate to the sink without a word, then head towards the door.  

"Where are you going?" he asks, standing up, voice wary but stern and demanding.

"I don't know," I mutter without looking back. "I just need to go"

I storm out of the house slamming the door behind me. The morning air hits me like a splash of cold water. Like a punch to my lungs, cold, shocking, sobering. I need this. I walk to the side of the house and wheel my old bike out from the garage. God I need to get this fixed. The tires are a little soft, but it'll get me where I need to go, wherever that is. And that's enough. 

I slowly push it to the end of the driveway, my fingers wrapped tight around the deteriorating handlebars. I pause at the very edge like I always do breathing in the sharp cold morning air.

Decisions. 

To the left there's La Push. The beach. Jacob. His knowing eyes, his stubborn silence, the storm that still lingers between us but the comfort I feel just being near him. Our history and our unknown future. The in between and blurred lines we chose to ignore for the sake of our friendship. It's all complicated and dumb. 

And to the right: Forks. The quiet town. A few shops I could wander through for school stuff. A place where I could disappear into the crowd, even just for a little while. I do need to get some new notebooks anyway. Maybe being around people who have it all figured out could cure me. 

I stand there for a moment, one foot on the pavement, the other still in the driveway. Looking at my options.

Part of me wants to see Jacob. Part of me wants to scream at him for shutting me out yesterday. I want to tell him about my dream and ask him what he thinks about it. Tell him about the conversation I just had with my dad, but more than anything, I just want to be near someone who feels like an answer.

I can't think straight. I need to breathe, clear my head before I go and knock on the door of another person who shuts me down.

I look back at the house one last time. He's not at the window watching, like he always does when I'm leaving the house. I don't know if that makes it better or worse.

I inhale one last time, the decision sitting heavy on my chest.

I grip the handlebars.

And I turned right,

Chapter 5, word count: 1k

Summery: A haunting dream, a strange breeze, and the kind of morning where everything feels just slightly out of place. Y/n tries to shake the weight of something she can’t explain leaving her with a question shes always been too scared to ask.

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Almost Normal..

I gasp awake.

My sheets are tangled around my legs. I’m soaked in sweat. The air in my room is dry and still. Light floods through my bedroom in streaks through the blinds. My chest is heaving, my hair damp. The sound of a distant car passes outside. I blink hard, disoriented and then I see him. My dad beside me clearly concerned.

It was just a dream.

I mean it had to be a dream. Yet the window across my bed is cracked open and the faint smell of saltwater still lingers. What is going on with me?

I blink again before I stare at the window like it’s going to move. Like something’s still out there, watching. At my side my dad has his hand resting on my shoulder comforting me as I wake. Concern hilariously painted all over his face.

The breeze brushes in, soft and cool. But it does nothing to calm me. I turn to my dad catching my breath. My dad, kneeling next to me clearly panicked.

“Hey Kiddo,” he says gently, concern tightening his brow. “You okay?”

I wipe at my eyes and look around, trying to convince myself I’m fully awake.

“I- I guess. Just a weird dream,” I mutter, my voice hoarse. Noticing the tear run down my face.

“You were tossing pretty hard. I could hear you mumbling all the way down stairs.” He says as he wipes the tear from my cheek letting his hand linger

I inhale slowly, rubbing my hands over sweat soaked face, eyes closed. “Sorry.” I abruptly said still unaware of my surroundings. Something feels misplaced.

“No need to be sorry,” he said patting the top of my head as he stood up “You want breakfast?” he stretched as he stood, holding his back as he leaned backwards.

I nod again, this time smaller and more conscious. “Yeah. I’ll be down in a sec.” I started to uncover myself letting the cold air hit my skin removing my legs from the bed and letting them hang over the edge as I prepare to stand up.

He gives me a longer look, like he wants to ask more. But instead, he just nods and quietly and rubs the top of my head messing up my already messed hair and closes the door.

I get up and quickly close the window hastily, locking it with trembling fingers. I see my reflection in the glass. I look a sickly pale and shaken, like I just came back from somewhere I was never meant to be.

I press my forehead against the cool pane and exhale.

It was just a nightmare y/n.

No matter how hard I try I can’t shake it. Not the water, not it’s voice. “You don’t belong.”

And the figure… the one outside the bathroom window… it was the same. I know it was the same. It had to be the same.

My heart won’t slow down, and the thought of going back to sleep feels impossible. I walk to my dresser, grab an old hoodie I stole from my dad, pulling it over my head. My skin feels too exposed. Too seen. Like something might still be watching.

I hate this feeling. It’s like the whole day has already been haunted before it even began. Like I’m not alone, even when I am.

I sit down on the edge of my bed, phone in hand. I want to call Jacob. I don’t even know what I’d say. I almost press the button but stop myself.

Unfortunately, I’m incredibly stubborn so the idea of me reaching out first to call him after he blew up over some bullshit sounds a little pathetic right now.

Not even ten minutes awake and I already want to hear his voice. God, I need to get a grip. This is ridiculous.. isn’t it?

I still don’t understand why he kept pressing the issue like I was the answer to some ancient riddle neither of us asked for. The more I think about it the harder it is to breathe.

I toss my phone down and run my hands through my hair, gripping it at the roots like I can squeeze the confusion out of my skull.

“I don’t belong…?” I whisper to myself, recalling the nightmare that felt like a distant memory.

The words feel like they were meant for someone else. But they’re echoing in me now.

I glance toward the hallway. It’s silent. My dad’s downstairs waiting for me. I check the clock it’s 8:57 AM. I grab a blanket off the foot of the bed and wrap it around my shoulders like armor before walking out into the house.

Each floorboard creaks beneath me. The air feels heavier than it should. Like the dream didn’t fully let go. Like part of it stayed behind, folded in the corners of the ceiling and in the cracks of the steps.

I breath the house in before I exhale it all out trying to rid of my dream before I reach the kitchen. I arrive at the very last step of the staircase, I stare down at it before stepping down with my eyes closed, breathing slowly trying my best to let it go.

In the kitchen, I pour a glass of water with shaking hands and lean against the counter, staring at nothing. The calendar on the fridge catches my eye again. School starts in two days. Normal life is supposed to start in a few days. I’m so unprepared.

How can I pretend to be normal when everything in me feels like it’s changing? Another year of an unnecessary amount of essays and math assignments that drive me to the brink of insanity.

I cannot wait!

“Ahem” my dad coughs breaking the ice cold silence between us and stopping my train of thought almost instantly.

“I already made you a plate” he softly says after he set my plate down before me as he sits across from me reaching for the news paper. “Thanks dad” I softly smile as I set the glass of water by my plate before sitting down.

As I sit across from him I stare out the window preparing myself for my dream to turn into a reality. The smell of breakfast, the scrape of his fork, it all feels too normal. Like my body’s here but the rest of me’s still somewhere else.

He leans over his plate to look out the window with me “Is something outside? Is it that damn raccoon” I abruptly looked at him seeing his playful smile as he looked outside “Its nothing” I say quickly with a chuckle as I look down at my plate with a bashful smile. I was praying he wasn’t going to bring that up.

Waffles instead of pancakes. He remembered.

I softly smile as I begin to cut my waffle in half, I looked at his plate to see he made himself pancakes instead. “Thanks for the waffles dad”

I softly said as I drizzle syrup across every inch of my plate. Moments like these make me forget all the heartache and confusion between us. All because he remembered I like waffles more than pancakes.

“No problem kiddo” he says like he always does. “You’ve got a big year ahead,” he says, sitting across from me glancing at me above the paper in his hand. “Senior year. You ready for it?”

“I mean I guess so” I responded unsurely, pausing before I answer with more enthusiasm as he looked at me just as unsure as I am “I mean, yeah. I’m just… still getting used to everything.”

He nods like he understands, but we both know we’re only halfway there. “You’ll find your rhythm. You always do.” He says with a reassuring smile.

“Hope so,” I say softly. “Feels like I’m still catching up to everyone else.” I play with the syrup on my plate, watching it drop from my fork

He sips his coffee. “You don’t have to rush. Life’s not a race.” He says with that fatherly tone, sounding so sure of himself.

I smile a little at that. It’s something he’s said since I was a kid, back when I used to try and out-sprint Jacob or Bella in the driveway even though I always found myself second place.

“It’s the end of something old and the start of something new. Everybody feels that way right now, you aren’t alone.” he continued “You got me, okay?” He finished, trying his best to ease my worry.

We eat in silence for a minute before I speak again, quieter this time. “Dad?”

He looks up, fork paused midway to his mouth.

“Can I ask you something?”

He drops his fork and picks his mug up. “Of course,” he says, sipping slowly.

I let the silence hang for a beat before I say it.

“Do you…” I pause, fingers tightening around my fork.

“Do you still have the letter?” I glance up.

“The one…” I hesitate, softer now.

Chapter 4, word count: 2k

Summery: After a long day of miscommunication and an unnerving amount of reality checks y/n ends her day noticing that silence has a way of echoing louder than expected. Between storm clouds, memories, sticky notes and strange shadows, something feels… off.

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A Storm Is Coming…

“This is so stupid” I groaned to myself, yanking the fridge door open. Cold air spills out, hitting my face almost waking me up. Half a tomato. Wilted lettuce. A few slices of Bacon that probably should’ve been used yesterday and two pathetic excuses for slices of bread. I’ll do.

I drop everything onto the counter and start prepping my lazy BLT. Everything is beginning to frustrate me. My movements are stiff and sharp unable to shake off tension from earlier. I lean against the counter and try not to think about the way Jacob looked at me.

I hate this.

Why did he get so mad? He’s the one who kept pushing me back at the beach, practically begging me to admit something was off. But when I ask about the wolves, he shuts down. Tells me to drop it.

“You can keep pretending it was just a storm… but I was there, and I know for a fact that it wasn’t a damn storm.”

I scoff through my nose as I pick up the slices of bread and throw them into the toaster

how is that fair?

I should’ve slammed the door harder

The bacon starts to sizzle in the pan. I lean on the counter, arms crossed.

He always does this. He gets close, then pulls back. Like I’m the one asking for too much, like I’m the one imagining things that aren’t there. But I’m not stupid. I saw something. We both did.

I flip the bacon and reach for the bread, still chewing on my own frustration when something quieter creeps in underneath it.

Why is Dad gone so much lately?

I try to brush it off, but the thought digs in deeper. It’s been almost every night now. Late shifts. Last-minute calls. No real explanation. Just notes on the counter and if I’m lucky takeout in the fridge.

Does he even like being around me anymore?

The question stings more than I want to admit.

I mean, we’ve gotten closer these past few years. So it couldn’t be that. I hope.

I started to assemble my sorry ass sandwich before it hit me.

Is he avoiding me?

I finish the sandwich and take one slow bite before pushing the plate away. I’m not really hungry anymore. I lost my appetite around the second argument today. I just needed to feel like I was doing something productive. Eating counts, right? Technically?

The house is painfully quiet and empty. No TV. No unusually loud footsteps from my father. Just the hum of the fridge and the low groan of the old pipes behind the walls.

I need to do something.

I pick up my sandwich and walk to the front door cracking it open before a huge gust of wind does the rest of the work for me, slamming it against the siding with a bang that makes my heart jump and body flinch. That was unnecessarily loud. I just love that for me.

The rain has starts to fall sideways, like it’s in a rush to get somewhere, anywhere but here. The sky is completely ink-black, lit up every now and then by lightning sketching veins across the stormy clouds. Even the trees look like they’re holding their breath. I hope Jacob made it home safe.

Barefoot, I walk to the edge of the porch crouching as I break the sandwich into smaller pieces so it’s easier for my raccoon friend to eat.

My dad hates the damn thing but I’ve always wanted one so I may have been feeding it for the past year. We have a mutual understanding. He eats my scraps and I get to admire from a far wishing I could keep him. I finish tearing my sandwich up before I stand up walking back to the door. At least someone will appreciate it more than I do.

The rain kicks up again just as I dash back inside. It pelts the windows, finally drowning out the aching silence that’s been clinging to everything all day.

As I pass through the kitchen, my eyes land on a note stuck to the fridge with a crooked magnet I picked out when I was younger.

I sigh leaning up against the kitchen doorway staring at my father’s messy hand writing wiping the rain from my forehead.

“Late shift, stay safe. - Love Dad”

Maybe he does care.

I softly pick up the note before turning it around to see the back.

“I know about the raccoon. Stop feeding it.”

I can’t have anything nice around here.

I turn kitchen light off and walked through the hallway heading upstairs, dragging my hand along the wall like I used to when I was little.

As I pass the hallway calendar, something catches my eye.

First day of school: three days.

I stare at the red circle I drew last month, back when I thought I’d have everything figured out by now. I don’t. Not even close. Where’d all the time go?

I walk to my room noticing how all how much this day has physically exhausted me. I take my tank top off as I make it through my door way grabbing one of my worn down T-shirts as I slip my jeans off and put some sweatpants on trying my best to unwind. I cant stop thinking about it.

I sit on the edge of my bed, twisting my hair up so I can wrap it for the night. I sigh.

Why was is he being so short with me? Who does he think he is?

I got up and walked to the bathroom leaning against the sink looking into my sunken tired eyes.

Not like I care anyway.

I bend down to rinse my face before I wash it. I open the mirror and that’s when I heard it. I slowly closed the mirror and looked to my left.

Something outside the window moves.

I freeze.

It’s quick, barely a flicker but my heart stumbles in my chest. I stand tall, eyes fixed on the glass.

I step closer, pressing my hand to the window. The glass is cool against my skin, and my breath leaves a faint fog on the surface.

I blinked.

It was gone. I wiped my face in distress then looked again, my face planted on the glass window. There was nothing. I back away slowly, the hairs on the back of my neck still standing.

Was it the wind blowing the trees? Maybe the raccoon or that wolf? I don’t know. I’m too exhausted to care at this point.

I washed my face and brushed my teeth with urgency yet barley conscious enough to remember doing it.

I dried my face with the rag hanging next to me then drag myself to my room, climbing into my bed tucking myself in. Trying my best to get comfortable and melt away the unnerving and stressful day I just had. But sleep doesn’t come easy.

I keep thinking about the shadow. The wolf. Jacob’s face when he said it wasn’t just a storm. How unpresent my father has been. Today was just unnecessarily….

A lot.

My thoughts tangle and twist fighting for the wheel before I fall asleep, but the weight of today lingers even in my unconscious body.

The smell of bacon pulls me from sleep.

For a moment, everything feels warm safe. Morning light pours through the kitchen windows, golden and soft, casting long shadows across the tile floor. My dad is at the stove, humming low and off-key as he flips pancakes. He’s wearing the flannel he always wears when he’s actually home for breakfast.

I rub my eyes, blinking against the brightness. “You’re up early,” I say, sliding into the seat across from him.

He chuckles, setting a plate in front of me. “Could say the same for you.”

I smile, even though something in me feels off. Like I’m watching a memory through a window instead of living it.

“So..” I said awkwardly using my fork to play with the food on my plate “how was patrol” I ask as I watch him walk from my seat to the stove as he makes his own plate

“It was,” he paused “fine.” He said uncertainty dry as he pours himself a cup of coffee

He stiffens, barely but just enough I could catch it. His smile fades. “Quiet night,” he says quickly. “Nothing to worry about.”

I tilt my head, chewing slowly. “You sure? You’ve been coming home later and later.” I ask watching his every move, something seems… off.

He sits across from me now, mug in hand and the news paper in the other. His eyes are unusually sharp, and cold as he looks at me above the paper in his hand. “You don’t need to worry about where I am, Y/N. I’m always where I need to be.” A soft grin creeping upon his face, it seems so.. fake

His voice is calm, but it’s wrong. There’s something artificial about it. Something almost uncanny.

I laugh nervously, trying to shake it off. “Okay, creepy much?”

He doesn’t laugh back.

I quickly look down at my plate losing my appetite almost instantly. I push my plate in front of me. My gaze is being pulled to the window beside the kitchen table.

I freeze.

It’s there.

That tall, still figure, just past the tree line.

Watching.

The fork slips from my hand and clatters on the plate. My breath catches. “Dad…”

He doesn’t even turn to look.

“Dad, someone’s out there,” I whisper, standing up slowly, hand pressed to the glass.

Still, he doesn’t move. Just sips his coffee like nothing’s wrong.

I spin toward him. “Do you not see that?”

He looks up at me then, and his eyes… they’re different.

Harder. Colder. Like they’ve stopped recognizing me.

“You don’t belong here, Y/n.”

The room stills. My heart drops.

“What?”

“You never did.”

The lights flicker overhead. I back away from him as the shadows stretch longer across the floor. The windows dim. The golden sunlight fades into gray. His smile returns, but it’s too wide now. Like it’s being worn, not felt.

“Dad…” My voice cracks as I step back from the table. The whole room seems to be shrinking, warping like I’m underwater. “Stop messing around.”

But he doesn’t move. Just watches me with that hollow look in his eyes, like whatever part of him was my dad just… shut off.

“You were never supposed to stay,” he says flatly, rising from his chair so slowly it feels unnatural. “You were supposed to leave like she did.”

“What are you talking about?” I whisper, but I already feel my legs trembling.

“She didn’t belong here either. The tide always pulls its own back eventually.” His voice echoes now, somehow both quiet and booming, like it’s vibrating from the walls. “the water always remembers.”

Suddenly, the lights flicker once more, then go out.

Complete darkness.

I scream, stumbling backward, heart racing. I try to find the doorway, any door, but the floor beneath my feet squelches.

Wet.

A fast, icy flood of water sweeps across the tiles, soaking through my socks. The air turns thick and salty like the ocean. I cover my mouth as water begins dripping from the ceiling, seeping through the walls. The house groans like it’s drowning.

“No, no, no, Dad!” I spin around but he’s no longer at the table.

I turn to the hallway to see it there just standing, staring at me pulling me in.

“What are you” I shout trying not to panic as the water rises. “What are you doing here”

“You belong with me,” it says calmly.

“What?”

“In time.” It’s voice distorts echoing inside my head and soul like it’s no longer a voice at all. “You’ll be where you truly belong.”

The water crashes into me from nowhere, an invisible wave knocking the breath out of my lungs.

I’m sinking. I can’t breathe. I can’t see. Everything’s cold.

“Wake up, y/n”

yall.. ive been working on the very last chapter and when i tell you IM HURTINGGGGGG😓 you guys are gonna hate me omg😭 (not really jk)

Chapter four is getting edited as we speak🥳🥳 and I just wanted to give a heads up idk how long this series is going to be all I know is that it’s going to be so worth it🤞🤞 and im working on that playlist as well!! Just wanted to update you guys rq😛

Chapter 3, word count: 2.5k

Summery: Rain, silence, and a wolf in the woods stir old magic and new tension between Y/N and Jacob with a weight they can’t quite shake. The night ends messy but maybe that’s how it has to be…

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Miles Between Us…

The ride back was quiet.

The kind of quiet that only comes after a conversation you’re still trying to forget.

Jacob drove with one hand on the wheel, the other tapping against his knee to a song we both knew. It took everything in me not to hum along to the song playing in his head.

The trees blurred by the windows, tall and dark, brushing against the dark evening sky.

The rain picked up.

Not heavy. Just steady enough to make the windshield wipers groan every few seconds.

Well, this is awkward.

I cannot stop thinking about earlier. I turned to look at him, his eyes are on the road. Focused. I can’t tell if he’s still upset or not and now I’m too afraid to crack a joke. So, I kept my eyes out the window.

As we turned onto the narrow road that hugged the forest, I saw something between the trees.

“Jay..” I sat up straighter than before, squinting through the foggy glass. “Did you see that?”

He didn’t answer at first. But he saw it too.

A wolf.

Massive. Still. Watching us from just inside the tree line. Its fur was dark and matted from the rain, its eyes reflecting the last sliver of light from the disappearing sun.

Neither of us spoke.

The wolf didn’t move. It just stood there. Like it had been waiting. Waiting for us. Watching.

“Holy shit…” I whispered. “That can’t be normal.”

Jacob tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “It’s just an animal.” He started to speed up.

“On steroids maybe.”

I sat on my knees pressing my face to the window right before we passed it, astonished by what I’m seeing. “No way… we were just talking about this earlier.”

Well, I’ll be damned.

“That has to be a werewolf,” I said with a grin, excitement written over my face, my voice laced with sarcasm. I shifted, folding one leg underneath me and letting the other hang over the edge of the seat. “I guess I’ll give it to you,” I added, “werewolves are real,” still pretending I had the upper hand.

Yet inside, I still feel like shit. The second the words left my mouth, I regretted them.

He hadn’t even said anything yet, and here I was already brushing it off like it was a joke, like I always do when something feels too big to believe in. Just like earlier.

I don’t know exactly when I stopped believing in all of it. I know it wasn’t a sudden thing. Just little pieces of magic fading, bit by bit, until one day the world felt heavier. Every time I try to trace it back, it always leads to the same memory.

Bella’s mom had caught us in the backyard pretending to be vampires and werewolves.

We’d been up late the night before listening to stories around the fire with Jacob and his dad, he told us about the pale faces and their own ancestors. I remember we stayed up all night retelling the stories under the blanket with flashlights. Our heads still spinning with magic and wonder the next day we decided to recreate them.

We had absolutely ruined our clothes covering them in mud and moss trying our best to bring our imagination to life. Pretending to be all that we heard, all that we believed in. We hid behind trees and chased each other with sticks. Screaming at the top of our lungs, just happy to be alive and together.

But to her mom, it wasn’t cute. It wasn’t harmless. It was destructive.

She grabbed my wrist so tight it left marks on my skin as she dragged me inside. She told me to stop ‘being immature.’ Said I was turning Bella into some rebellious little monster, she said I needed to grow up before I tainted her. I still remember to this day what she said to me.

“You’re turning her into something she’s not. She’s not like you. You’re ruining her.”

She made it sound like I was some sort of infection.

I was only five.

I don’t think I ever forgot the way her voice cracked when she said it. She acted like I’d broken something in Bella just by believing in the make believe. It’s not like it could be real anyway. I realize that now.

Ever since that day, anything magical started to feel… foolish. Childish and stupid, embarrassing, even. I kept pretending I didn’t care. I trained myself to roll my eyes at the stories I used to love. I shut down the parts of me that still lit up at the mention of them. Pretending it was all below me.

Because growing up meant being realistic. And being realistic meant never being that girl again.

I still remember how my heart sank, how small I felt standing there with dirt on my palms and scrapped knees, trying to figure out what I’d done wrong. My tears falling turning my dirt disguise into mud.

She made it sound like wanting adventure was something dangerous. Like imagining more from the world was wrong. She made it seem like make-believe was bad, like wonder was something we should grow out of. I stopped believing the unbelievable.

From that day on, wonder became weakness.

And I stopped letting myself reach for anything that didn’t have both feet on the ground. I shut down anything that wasn’t real, because if I know it’s real, it can’t hurt me and believing in it won’t make me stupid.

After that, I started keeping my stories to myself. I stopped looking for shapes in the clouds or signs in the wind. I even started to shut Bella down when she tried to play make-believe with me.

I told myself it was just a part of growing up. Because pretending got me punished and believing got me left behind.

But now, sitting in this truck, thinking about what we saw… I feel that old wonder pushing through the cracks again. It kinda breaks my heart knowing I shut it out for so long. And it scares the hell out of me. But a part of me feels like it’s coming home.

As we passed the wolf I turned my body towards it, like it was pulling me in same way a magnet would.

I let a long pause stretch between us, and this time, I didn’t try to fill it with anything clever.

Instead, almost like a confession I spoke. “What if it’s actually real?” I muttered quietly as I turned to look at him moving as slow as I can like I didn’t want to scare the thought away.

He didn’t answer right away. Just kept his eyes on the road, jaw clenched. “Right… because last time I checked I was ridiculous for even entertaining the thought that those stories could be real,” he said, barely above a whisper.

I wasn’t sure what threw me off more, the abnormally humongous wolf in the woods, or the way Jacob refused to look at me when I said it.

I studied his face for a moment, trying to understand what he’s thinking.

“Maybe I do believe in them like you do,” I replied before looking down, guilt eating me alive. “I mean… I want to.” I added softer than before.

He let out a short breath. Half laugh, half sigh as he shook his head ever so slightly.

“You made it pretty clear back there that you think it was all some kind of joke.”

“I mean, it would be cool if it was real, things would more exciting” I said exhaling a laugh out my nose, I turned to look at him roll his eyes.

I looked out the window, regret chewing at me.

“I’m being serious, Jacob, I just-” I murmured.

“No, you’re not,” he snapped, eyes still on the road. “You don’t get to mock it and then suddenly decide you believe in it because it looked cool for five seconds.”

I flinched.

“I wasn’t mocking you, Jacob,” I snapped back. “You don’t understand, I just thought we were jo—”

“You always think we’re joking,” he cut me off, voice rough and stern. “I know we joke around a lot but you act like you’re too smart for all of it.” He sighed leaning his head back against his seat. “Yeah, well, guess what y/n, some of us don’t get the luxury of pretending everything’s just a fairy tale.”

“What are you talking about?” I snapped turning to look at him, his expression angry and hurt.

“Y/n,” he said sharply, “just forget about it.”

The silence between us returned. Heavier this time.

But I didn’t say anything. I just angrily nodded and looked back out the window, toward the trees, toward whatever might still be waiting to be believed in.

The rest of the drive is quiet, too quiet. Jacob keeps one hand on the wheel, the other draped out the open window, the rain water runs down his forearm as his fingers still tap the same restless rhythm from earlier. The rain started falling harder now, blurring the yellow lines in the middle of this empty road. Even with the downpour beating against the roof, it’s not enough to drown out the silence between us. It hangs heavy, louder than anything, louder than my thoughts and the question that still hangs over my head. What was he talking about?

I shift in my seat, suddenly hyper-aware of every second ticking by, each one dragging like we’re driving through molasses. I hate molasses. I swear every minute adds 28 miles to this cursed road. I can’t even relax as the rain picks up starting to flood the road. I sneak a glance at him, trying to read his expression. He’s not angry anymore. Just… quiet. Still.

When we pull into my driveway, he doesn’t reach to turn off the engine. He just stares ahead, jaw working like he’s chewing on words he doesn’t know how to say.

“You don’t have to walk me in,” I say, trying to sound lighter than I feel. “I can survive the ten steps to my door.” I grabbed my bag beside me and put my shoes back on.

He finally turns to look at me. His expression is unreadable. Heavy raindrops fall on the windshield racing down before the windshield wipers end their race.

“I just-” he starts, then shakes his head. “Never mind.” He grips the steering wheel.

“No, say it,” I said quickly, almost like if I didn’t speak up fast enough, he would forget what he was going to say.. what’s been on his mind the whole ride here.

He hesitates, then sighs. “I don’t like ending the day like this. With us… weird.”

A part of me softens, but I hold my ground. “Then maybe don’t blow up on me next time I say something you don’t like.”

His brows knit together. “I didn’t blow up.”

“You kind of did,” I say quietly, fiddling with the strap of my bag. “At La Push. You pushed that whole conversation on me. About the wind, the silence, the storm whatever the hell it was. I tried to move on, but you wouldn’t let it go.”

“I don’t know what happened that day,” I said even unsure of myself, “but the way you were talking to me made it seem like you were blaming me for it which is weird because you know I’m not capable of something like that… neither of us are.”

“And now you’re mad at me because…?” he finishes, voice low waiting for me to explain myself.

“I’m not mad I’m just irritated,” my voice calm but the feeling inside me is far from it. “I mean, when I brought up the wolf, I know we both saw you shut me down. Why do you get to push me for answers and I can’t ask questions without you turning into Fort Knox?”

My voice begins to crack. “Why do you get to ask all the hard questions and then act like mine are too much?”

Jacob looks down at the steering wheel, jaw tightening. “It’s different.”

“How?” I asked frustratedly.

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he looks at me again, eyes suddenly stormy of something I can’t name no matter how hard I try. “Y/n, you know I didn’t mean it..”

“Actually I don’t know, Jacob,” I snap, the words sharper than I intended. “Because you won’t even tell me what you did mean.”

My voice softens, but the ache inside sharpens. “What’s going on with you, Jay?” I ask, voice soft but stern. “You like completely flipped a switch on me today. And like I said I thought we were joking at La Push till you got all up in my face.”

My mind starts to race just as fast as my heart is. “One second we’re joking, like we always do, and the next you’re acting like I crossed some line I didn’t even know existed.”

I can feel my throat tightening, heart racing even faster than before, but I push through it. “And yeah, maybe I push too far sometimes. I know that. But that’s just… how we are.” I lean forward trying to meet his gaze but he looked down, avoiding mine.

“That’s how we’ve always been. I tease you, you tease me.” As I spoke he began to frustratedly grin and shake his head. “Shit, you do it even more than I do,” I said mirroring his attitude. No matter how hard I try to pretend this isn’t bothering me I start to feel my eyes water out of pure frustration. “So how am I supposed to know when suddenly none of it’s okay anymore?”

I let out a shaky breath, trying to keep it together blinking away the tears welling up in my eyes. “I’m not a mind reader, Jay. If you don’t tell me what you’re feeling and thinking before you blow up, how am I supposed to understand?”

God, I need to shut up. He’s not even listening.

I stopped talking. I’m just digging myself into a deeper hole. He stopped listening to me five minutes ago anyway. I sighed looking down. This is the first serious argument we’ve had. Why now? My mind wonders as I replay the whole day in my head picking apart the smallest things trying to find when it all went south.

“And I’m sorry if I was being an ass. I didn’t mean to make things worse. I was just… confused. And maybe I was hiding behind the jokes because if I actually said what I felt-” I stopped myself from finishing, biting the inside of my cheek. No. Not now.

He doesn’t respond. Just shakes his head and reaches for the gear shift. “Get inside, okay?”

I step out, but I linger by the door letting the rain pour down on me. I want to say something but I stop myself. “Whatever,” I mumbled under my breath as I roughly shut the door.

Our eyes met through the cracked passenger window. “Goodnight,” he said just above a whisper, like that was his way of apologizing.

I nodded slow and annoyed as I took a step back from the door.

The truck pulls away, as I stand in the fading light watching the red taillights disappear around the curve of my street. I don’t know what it is, but the whole reason we had this argument has to be because of something much deeper than whatever the hell that was.

The porch light’s on when I make my way to the door. That’s Dad’s way of saying he’s out working late. Again.

Inside, the house is empty. My dad’s probably still at the station, most likely won’t be home until well after midnight. I throw my bag on the couch angrily and make my way to the kitchen, to make something to eat.