#pathokinesis

B stands for BLOODY: how bloody are they willing to get for their object of obsession?

•Jasper gave up human blood a long time ago and while he still struggles-killing for you would never even be a question for him

•He would kill anyone and everyone he has to, he would come home dripping in his enemies blood if it ensured that you were safe

C stands for CRUELTY: would they ever hurt their object of obsession?

•Jasper would never purposefully harm you

•Sadly there would be a few moments in his anger that he causes you a few bruises but it would be very rare

D stands for DARLING: would they cross their object of obsession’s limits?

•No, Jasper would never violate you in anyway

•The man has all the time in the world, he doesn’t need to rush, he can take his time and let you come to terms with your new life

E stands for EXPOSED: how much do they expose their own feelings to their object of obsession?

•Jasper can physically show you how he feels and he often does-Allowing you to feel his emotions and how he feels about you

•He does love you, you can feel it-truly you can…

•However most of what he feels for you is obsession

F stands for FIGHT: how would they react to their object of obsession fighting back?

•Jasper would find it funny and downright adorable if you tried to fight him

•He would let you get it out of your system and fight until you tired yourself out and he would carry you to the giant, soft bed that he had gotten so that you could be comfy in his room

G stands for GAME: do they think this is just a game?

•This is not a game to Jasper-You are his mate, his everything.

•The idea that someone could even think that this is a game to him is offensive and he will kill for the mere suggestion that he is fucking with you

H stands for HELL: what would be their object of obsession’s worst experience with them?

•The worst experience would probably be when Jasper had needed to hunt as well as most of the family and he had left Edward to watch you while he was with Bella

•He was busy proposing and you were starving-Edward had been supposed to get you food but he had only fed Bella all day and so you wandered out of the house and tried to get to town

•Needless to say you got lost, eventually ending up in the wolves territory and being taken back to Emily’s where you were fed and thawed out from being outside all night

•To say Jasper was pissed would be a massive understatement-everyone in the family had to work together to keep the Major from killing Edward once the wolves had returned you

I stands for IDEAL: what are their plans for their object of obsession?

•He plans to turn you once you understand how much he loves and needs you

•When you come to accept that you are his mate he will change you and you will be a vampire right alongside him for the rest of eternity

J stands for JEALOUSY: how they react when jealous? Do they get jealous?

•Jasper does get jealous-needlessly but he still feels it

•Usually the only time he gets jealous is when he feels one of the asshole jocks getting horny as he stares at you in your uniform

•Before getting with Jasper you were a cheerleader at your old school and you made the teams in Forks as well though you only stayed on the team for a few weeks before Jasper had you quit to spend all of your time with him and to get you away from the football assholes that thought they could smack your ass and not pay for it

K stands for KINDNESS: how they act around their object of obsession?

•Jasper worships the ground you walk on

•It took some time to get used to how obsessed he is with you but you come to enjoy it. Jasper may be a lot to handle but he is sweet and gentle with you

L stands for LOVE LETTER: how would they approach their object of obsession?

•Jasper started getting your attention leaving sweet notes in your locker

•He signed his name so you knew who it was and he would wave a bit whenever you would make eye contact-watching over you every day

M stands for MASK: how different are their public persona from their true selves?

•Jasper is quiet and reserved in public and while he’s not loud at home either he is much more open and talkative

•He needs to keep himself in control in public which is why he is so quiet but when you are with him he finds it much easier to keep control

N stands for NAUGHTY: how would they punish their object of obsession?

•Jasper would keep you locked in your room if you needed punished

•Isolation and not having anyone around-even Jasper-would be horrible for you and he knew you hated it. He didn’t leave you alone for long-he never did-just long enough for you to apologize

O stands for OPPRESSION: how many rights would they take from their object of obsession?

•All of them until you are turned

•Once you’re a vampire and you understand how he feels for you Jasper finds it much easier to give you free reign of your life-knowing that you’ll choose to be beside him almost all of the time

P stands for PATIENCE: how patient are they with their object of obsession?

•Jasper is very patient with you

•He can feel your emotions and understands that you need time and space

Q stands for QUIT: if their object of obsession died or escaped, would they ever be able to move on?

Died: Jasper would hunt down whatever vampire took you from him and he would pray that giving you his venom would be enough to turn you

Escaped: Jasper would never stop hunting you, he also has a few tracker friends like Alistair that he can ask for help in tracking you down…you will never get away from him

R stands for REGRET: would they ever regret harming their object of obsession? Would they ever let them go?

•He would absolutely Never let you go

•However he would feel bad for harming you any and every time that it happened he would comfort you as much as possible

S stands for STIGMA: what made their yandere tendencies bloom?

•Seeing you for the first time was all it took

•Your scent was intoxicating and he couldn’t stay away even if he wanted to which he absolutely didn’t

T stands for TEARS: how would they react to their object of obsession crying/breaking?

•Jasper would love to hold you while you cry, it makes him feel like he’s doing a good job as your mate to comfort you

•He would find someone to blame and try and kill them for hurting his Princess despite the fact that it’s probably him who hurt you

U stands for UNIQUE: something different they would do compared to others yanderes.

•He would take you hunting with him-he hates leaving you alone and so he will always take you with him everywhere

•His family offers to watch you for him but he refuses, not trusting even them with his mates safety

V stands for VICE: what weakness their object of obsession could use against them?

•The only real weakness he has is his bloodlust and you could use that to distract him though that could easily get someone killed which leaves you unable to do anything

•Other than that he doesn’t really have any weaknesses

W stands for WIT’S END: would they hurt their object of obsession?

•No, never purposefully

•If he did hurt you he would comfort you until you feel better and ensure your injuries are healed and bandaged-never allowing his princess to suffer

X stands for XOANON: would they worship their object of obsession?

•Jasper would worship you like a Queen

•You are his everything and he will kneel at your alter for the rest of his eternity

Y stands for YEARN: how long would they pine after their object of obsession before they snap?

•Jasper would watch you for a bit, sending you letters before approaching you but it wouldn’t take long at all before he is so desperate for you that he can’t take it anymore

Z stands for ZENITH: would they ever break their object of obsession?

•Never

•Jasper doesn’t want you broken, just for you to love him back as desperately as he does you

Every step toward the double doors feels like wading into a thick, heavy fog. My heart is beating too fast--a frantic, stubborn, biological pulse of my hybrid nature, thumping an erratic rhythm right against my ribs. I can feel the adrenaline spiking, hot and sharp through my veins, and with that physical panic comes the terrifyingly familiar loosening of my grip.

Don't look, I tell myself, a desperate mantra looping within my thoughts. Don't reach out. Don't slide. Watch your step. Careful of their paths.

Even without physical contact, the swirl of emotions within the parking lot hit me like a physical wall of static electricity. Curiosity, anxiety, overwhelming boredom, petty irritation--it all bounces off my skin, bleeding into my mind. It's too loud. For me, a hybrid whose nervous system processes the world with the raw, active intensity of a living, breathing body, a crowded school isn't just uncomfortable. It's a damn minefield.

If I panic, if my pulse spikes at all, my gift misfires. And if anyone so much as accidentally brushes against me within these narrow hallways, I won't just sense their teenage angst, I will project my own deepest, darkest terror straight into their nervous system. I will break their mind with a single, involuntary touch, forcing them to feel an emotional agony so devastating it can silence a room.

To make matters worse, I desperately need to feed. Or eat. The hunger is a dull, relentless ache in the back of my throat. It's what I like to think of as a biological thirst that makes my power louder, more volatile, and infinitely harder to contain. Regular food can sustain my human half, but it doesn't quiet the nervous system. Only blood can soothe that.

I pull my oversized wool coat tighter around my frame, burying my hands deep and secure inside the pockets to ensure absolutely no skin-to-skin contact can happen. Weaving through clusters of students like a ghost trying desperately not to disturb the living, I try to blend into the background. I can feel eyes tracking me--one pair specifically, coming from a girl with brown hair sitting inside a classic, yet rusted orange truck--but I keep my gaze fixed hard on the floor. One step, then the next. Avoiding sneakers and boots alike. One step after the next.

Just get the schedule, I breathe, keeping my chest shallow so I don't inhale too much of the warmth around me. Find an empty corner, survive the day.

The heavy glass doors of the school creak open, forcing me inside a maze of institutional green tile and lockers that rattle like loose teeth every time someone slams them shut. The air inside is thick, smelling of wet canvas, cheap body spray, and the distinct, dizzying warmth of too many heartbeats packed into a confined space. 

Just get to the office, I tell myself, focusing on the steady click of my boots against the muddied floor. Left foot, right foot. Don't look up, don't make eye contact.

As fate would have it, my physical efforts to remain invisible do nothing to dull my psychic radar. The moment I enter the main hallway, the emotional static morphs into a roaring swell. I pass a group of boys laughing by the trophy case, but beneath their loud bravado is a sharp, jagged spike of insecurity. It's a desperate need to fit in that tastes like copper on the back of my tongue. A girl rushing past me is radiating a panic so pure and frantic over a forgotten assignment that my own pulse answers it, jumping a dangerous ten beats per minute.

I stumble slightly, my shoulder nearly clipping the edge of a locker. My hands tighten into fists inside my coat pockets, the fabric hiding how my nails bury into my palms. Control it, I order my frantic nervous system. If my skin so much as grazes someone through a rip in their jeans or a short sleeve, my empathy won't just absorb their stress--it will violently bounce back tenfold, laced with a psychic agony that could probably drop an elephant. I wouldn't really know, I've never tried.

"Excuse me? Are you lost?"

The voice is quiet, hesitant, and entirely too close for comfort.

I freeze, my breath catching in my throat as I finally force my eyes upward. Standing just two feet away from me is the brown-haired girl from the rusted orange truck. Up close, her aura is vastly different from the loud, aggressive emotional frequencies of the other students. She isn't shouting for attention. Instead, she is shrouded in a quiet, deeply rooted isolation that feels incredibly familiar. It's a heavy, suffocating blanket of displaced loneliness. Silence. 

She has a map of the school clutched in one hand and a slip of paper in the other. Her brown eyes are wide, assessing me with a mixture of cautious curiosity and a sudden, tentative hope.

"I'm Isabella," she says, her voice dropping a fraction lower, as if she's just as overwhelmed by the morning crowd as I am. "But everyone calls me Bella. I'm also new here, just moved in from Phoenix." 

She takes a small step forward, stretching out her hand in a universal gesture of greeting. My eyes immediately drop to her bare skin, her fingers are exposed. Her skin is pale and vulnerable against the damp air of the hallway. To a normal teenager, extending a hand is an innocent attempt at making a friend on a miserable first day. To me, it is a loaded weapon aimed directly at my chest. 

I instinctively take a sharp, rigid step backward, my spine colliding with the cold metal of a locker. A loud clang echoes down the corridor, drawing a few passing glances.

"I... I can't," I stammer, the words rushing out in a breathless, fractured whisper. My heart is pounding so loudly against my ribs that I'm terrified she can hear it over the noise of the bell. The hunger in my throat flares violently, a burning, predatory reminder that my human facade is paper-thin right now. "I'm sorry. I just... I can't touch anyone."

Bella's hand hovers in the air for a second too long before she lowers it, her fingers curling inward. A wave of acute embarrassment ripples off her, a painful, stinging rejection that hits my psychic senses like a slap to the face. She thinks she's done something wrong, that I'm rejecting her.

But right behind the embarrassment, something else settles into her emotional atmosphere: an intense, purely intentional empathy. She looks at my white-knuckled grip on the hem of my jacket, notices the way I'm practically trying to melt into the wall to put space between us, and her defensive walls crumble. She doesn't look offended, she looks at me like she recognizes the sheer terror radiating from my posture. Like she's looking at a startled animal.

"It's okay," Bella says softly, her voice entirely devoid of judgement. She steps back, deliberately giving me a wide, respectful berth. "It's really loud in here, yeah? I get it. I hate how big the crowds are too."

The relief that washes over me is instant, her understanding nearly making my knees buckle. Her emotional aura stabilizes into something grounded, calm, and entirely unthreatening. She isn't pushing, nor is she demanding an explanation for my freakish behavior.

"I'm Ophelia," I manage to say, my voice finally finding a steady thread as I force my heart rate to decline. I tuck my hands firmly back into my pockets, though I allow myself to look her in the eyes for the first time. "I'm new too. You can call me... Opie."

"It's nice to meet you, Opie," Bella replies, offering a genuine smile that doesn't quite reach her tired eyes, but carries a warmth that feels incredibly rare in a place like this. She looks down at her schedule, then back up at me. "I'm heading toward the front office to drop off my slip. Would you like to walk together? You don't have to talk at all, but it might be easier if we cut through the hallway with each other."

I look at the sea of moving bodies ahead of us, then back to Bella. Her quiet, steady presence acts like a minor anchor against the chaotic storm of the student body. She is a shield I didn't expect to find.

"Yes," I whisper, stepping away from the lockers but keeping a strict, two-foot perimeter of empty air between us. "Please."

The heavy wooden door to the front office cuts of the worst of the hallway's roar, replacing it with the steady, comforting clack of a keyboard and the humming groan of an ancient copy machine. The air in here is warmer, smelling of stale coffee, old paper, and damp umbrellas.

Bella steps fully inside first, her quiet presence guiding the way. I follow closely behind her, keeping my mandatory two-foot perimeter, my hands still tightly clenched inside the pockets of my wool coat. The hunger in my throat gives a vicious, sharp pulse. A simple reminder that my control is running on empty. I take a slow, measure breath through my mouth to avoid inhaling the scent of the office staff. 

Behind the counter sits a plump woman with red hair and kind, tired eyes, her desk buried under a small mountain of manila folders. She looks up, her face immediately brightening into a practiced, welcoming smile as she sees us approach.

"Hello, girls. How can I help you this morning?"

Bella steps forward, handing over her pink slip with a quiet, polite nod. "I'm Isabella Swan. I'm just dropping off my signed slip. I didn't get the chance to yesterday."

"Ah, Chief Swan's girl! I'm glad to see you made it through the first day okay, Isabella," the woman says warmly, stamping the paper with an official-looking thud. "I'm Ms. Cope, or Miss Shelly. I'll be here if you need anything going forward, mm?"

As Ms. Cope files the slip away, her eyes shift over to me. The moment she takes in my face, her posture completely changes. Her polite, routine customer-service demeanor evaporates, replaced by a sudden, sharp spike of absolute awe and eager curiosity that hits my senses like a brilliant flash of lightning.

"Oh! Oh, my goodness," Ms. Cope breathes, her hands fluttering to her chest as she sits up straighter. "You must be Ophelia, dear! Ophelia Rosenwald."

I stiffen, a familiar wave of anxiety rippling through my stomach. Please don't make a scene, I pray silently. Please.

"Yes," I whisper, keeping my voice as soft and unremarkable as possible. "I'm here to pick up my registration packet and schedule."

"Of course, of course! Right away, dear," Ms. Cope says, her voice rising an octave in excitement. She immediately begins rummaging through a specific drawer, completely forgetting the pile of work on her desk. "We were all so incredibly thrilled when we heard you were enrolling. Your father, Mr. Rosenwald, is practically a legend around here! The entire county has been talking about his firm's latest high-profile case in Seattle. He is just a brilliant lawyer, so sophisticated. To think he chose to keep his main estate right here in Forks!"

Beside me, I can feel Bella's sudden wave of surprise. She glances at me from the corner of her eye, her internal curiosity spiking, though she keeps her expression perfectly neutral. She hadn't realized who my family was, I guess. 

I manage a small, tight nod, keeping my lips pressed together. They think of Arthur Rosenwald as my father--the powerful, high-rolling human lawyer who commands respect in every courtroom across the Pacific Northwest. They don't know the truth. They don't know the man that he once was, the human man married to my late mother, a woman that belonged wholeheartedly to the shadows. They don't know that after she passed, Arthur chose to stay, keeping the Rosenwald name alive and fiercely protecting me, hiding my hybrid nature beneath the golden, untouchable shield of his wealth and societal status. To the town of Forks, I am just an eccentric, aristocratic heiress to a massive legal fortune.

"He is very dedicated to his work," I offer softly, the lie tasting bitter. Arthur is dedicated, but mostly to keeping me safe from the things that look like me.

"Oh, absolutely! A true professional," Ms. Cope gushes, finally pulling out a thick, neat folder with my name printed in elegant script across the side. She sets it on the counter, along with a stack of heavy, brand-new textbooks that look like they haven't even been cracked open yet. "Here is your schedule, your map, and your locker assignment, sweetie. And these are your materials for the semester."

The pile of textbooks is massive, and as Ms. Cope slides them across the counter, the top one slips, threatening to crash against the linoleum floor. Instinctively, I reach out a hand to catch it, forgetting my mantra. My habit that keeps me safe.

My bare wrist flashes out from the sleeve of my coat. Ms. Cope, reacting to the falling book, reaches out at the exact same time.

Time seems to slow to a torturous crawl. I see her fingers traveling directly toward my exposed skin. If she touches me--if her warmth collides with my volatile, starved nervous system--my panic will ignite. I will project the horrific, suffocating terror of my hybrid thirst straight into her mind, breaking her composure and silencing this office in a heartbeat.

Before our skin can meet, a physical barrier slides between us. Bella's hand shoots forward, catching the falling textbook with a dull sound of thick paper hitting human flesh. Her arm firmly blocks Ms. Cope's hand from making contact with my wrist.

"I've got it," Bella says quickly, her voice a steady anchor in the sudden spike of my panic.

I pull my hand back violently, tucking it deep inside my coat pocket, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I'm trembling, my breath coming short and shallow as the adrenaline floods my system. Too close. Too close.

Ms. Cope blinks, slightly startled by Bella's quick movement, but she quickly laughs it off, entirely oblivious to the psychological disaster that was just averted. "Oh, thank you, Isabella! My reflexes aren't what they used to be."

Bella doesn't say a word about my breathless, terrified reaction. She just looks at the heavy stack of books, then looks back at me, her brown eyes filled with that same quiet, unjudgmental understanding she'd shown me in the hallway. Without being asked, she reaches down and scoops up half of the heavy textbooks, cradling them against her own chest.

"I can help you carry these to your locker, Opie," Bella says softly, her emotional aura radiating a calm, protective warmth that instantly helps soothe my spiked pulse. "My next class is right down that hall anyway."

I look at her, a profound sense of gratitude washing over me, temporarily quieting the burn of the hunger in my throat. She saved me. She doesn't even know what I am or what I can do, but she saved me anyway.

"Thank you," I whisper, my voice thick with emotion.

Ms. Cope beams a the two of us, practically oozing satisfaction at the sight of the town's two new girls bonding. "Have a wonderful day, girls! Let me know if you need anything at all, okay?"

Bella offers a polite nod, and together, we turn and walk back out into the hallway. I stay two feet to her left, my hands safely hidden against my chest where I cradle the rest of my textbooks. To say that I'm grateful for the human at my side would be an understatement, she's a shield that I didn't know existed.