Jacob vaguely remembers a time when he believed in love. He distantly recalls a girl with a heart of gold and better things to do.
The memories are shadowy to him, just like old time movies: kisses and tears on a snowy cliff, angry letters, broken hearts, broken bones and being left behind. They all blur together, arranging and rearranging themselves into dreamlike sequences. Jacob is inclined to think he is crazy, as the memories shuffle themselves over and over. The stories are always different, but every time one thing stands out.
He always sees himself pleading, tugging at reluctant hands, begging an unwilling silhouette to make the right choice, and in the end, she always walks out the door.
But that was years ago (or maybe weeks, he can't remember anymore), and now love has turned into need, pure, unadulterated, animalistic need.
Jacob needs Leah, there's no point in denying that. He needs her warm body against his during the night, needs her husky voice in his ear to chase away the incessant jumble of distant memories.
Above all, what he really needs is for her to stay the fuck in La Push and get over her fucking self. And while he'll never admit it, he needs her so much, so far beyond what words can express, that the thought of her leaving sends him to his knees.
And then, Jacob's living in his dreams again.
He's holding one of her hands in both of his, tugging it close to his chest, pleading, saying things like "Don't fucking be so fucking selfish" and "I don't think you fucking understand".
Leah isn't hearing him, and Jacob feels like he is about to shatter into a million tiny pieces again. Her bag is in the door, her auburn scarf is wrapped tightly around her neck, her mouth is set and she is not changing her mind.
Jacob exhales, and tries to force the words out, stuttering, "I- I- I need you so much more than I care to tell."
Leah's face doesn't change at all, and Jacob accepts defeat. He leans his fever-hot forehead down to touch the back of her hand and sighs.
"Just… Just… Don't go. Please," he murmurs weakly. Then, like magic, Leah's hand is soft in his. Her face relaxes and she takes off her scarf. "Don't go." She turns her back away from the bag in the doorframe and puts her hand on his head. "Don't go," and something tells Jacob that today he has won.