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And Love is Cruel and Unforgiving (Jacob Black)

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“It’s… It’s happened. It’s her. I’ve found her.” Jake looks down at you almost ruefully, as if he hadn’t wanted it to be this way. “I’m sorry… But everything with Bella makes so much sense now. It’s her… It’s her daughter.”

The mention of Bella makes the taste of anger rise over your tongue. If Jake notices your facial expression change, he doesn’t mention it and keeps talking.

“We can still be together, please. Nessie and I, we’re nothing right now. I’m nothing more than a brother. I still want to marry you.”

Jake keeps talking, digging himself deeper and deeper, like the hurt burrowing in your chest. You had known, of course, that one day your boyfriend would imprint and he would be gone, and you had shared him with Bella for what felt like years, but he’s speaking with an air of finality and you remember Sam. You remember Emily.

Most of all, you remember Leah.

You see Leah, too, on the porch. You and Jake are standing in the rain and he’s keeping his voice low. He’s fidgeting. He wants to go back to her - to the baby that single-handedly ruined your life sitting in the perfect blonde’s arms.

His best friend is dying upstairs, his partner dying in front of him, and he only cares about the stupid fucking baby that already looks too old too fast. Your life is crumbling in front of you, silver band on your pointer finger heavy and burning, as if the undoubtable shift in Jacob’s affections hurt you on more than an emotional level.

Your chest burned, too.

You wondered if you could die from a broken heart.

“Please, say something.” His hands are warm on your rain-slicked biceps, nose pressed against yours as his eyebrows pull together. You wonder if he can feel it - how wrong the affection feels now, “You know I can’t help it, you know that it doesn’t mean I’ll love her like I love you.”

You find your voice, pushing Jacob away.

“I hope you never love her like you love me.”

You can tell your words visibly hurt him, wounding him as they strike his chest, but you have to say everything before you collapse, before you lose your wits and strength and resolve.

“I hope you love her better. I hope you get over me, if you’re not already over me, before she decides that she loves you like I love you. I hope she never has to feel like she’s sharing you like I did. I hope she never has to lay awake at night, knowing that her boyfriend is at a woman’s side, watching her die for a child. I hope she never has to feel inferior because I hope you treat her like you used to treat me before Bella came back. I hope you actually love her, and I hope she knows it. I hope she never cries over you, Jacob. Most of all I hope that someone can love me like that one day.”

Everyone is floored and you can see Leah pressing a fist to her face, trying not to cry. If you keep in contact with anyone from the pack, it will be Leah. When she had phased she prepared you for when Jacob would imprint.

Even hearing her talk about how it hurt when Sam finally explained, feeling it was two thousand times worse.

But you can’t look at Jacob anymore, or Leah, or the baby in Rosalie’s arms. You have to leave, and you have to leave before your resolve breaks. You may have been able to drive a car sobbing, with a gaping hole in your chest, but you had brought your motorcycle.

As much as you hurt, you aren’t going to die because of a relationship.

You were out of the Cullen’s driveway before you could process that you had crossed the yard and gotten onto your bike, and the drive to your home was the same way. When you arrive you’re chilled to the bone from the rain, welts rising over your face and neck from the impact of the drops. It takes your four tries to open your front door and even though it’s warm, and dry, inside you’re tempted to leave. Jacob had been staying at your place between Bella-Watch and your home still smells like him.

But you don’t leave, and you try not to breathe as you traverse your small, one floor home opening all of the windows and trying to locate some air freshener. You’ll cleanse yourself of everything Jake soon, to minimize the pain you’ll feel later but you’re tired.

Oh, God, you’re so tired, but your bed smells like him. Your sheets still hold the scent of the last time you had Jake, and it makes your stomach turn.

You lay down on the couch after turning all the pictures of your relationship around. The gentle hum of the rain lulls you into a sleep that’s tainted by nightmares and an ache in your chest, and when you wake the rain is gone and so is your resolve.

If any of the pack are lingering outside your house, and they hear your heart wrenching blood-curdling sobs, they don’t come check on you. If they hear you, they don’t tell Jacob. If they hear you, they don’t leave until you cry yourself back into a fitful sleep.

If they hear you they do their best to make sure you don’t know they’re there.