title. before the night turns into dawn
fandom. twilight series
pairing. edward cullen x jacob black
part. part i
words. 2 640 words
notes/warnings. inspired by never too late by three days grace; warnings are severe angst, self-mutilation (cutting), and attempted suicide.
disclaimer. i do not own the twilight series, it's the property of stephanie meyer.
Self-loathing, anger, hate, questions of 'why did this happen to me?' all of this rockets around inside of his head without relent. The scars, the wounds, they leave are tearing him apart, leaving raw gashes across the already fragile nature of his mind. No matter how he might deny it, it's somehow happened, and he can't live with it, can't live with the knowledge of how many people he'd have to tear apart and break to feel any sort of relief.
Jacob wrapped his arms around his knees, hiding in the seclusion of the closet in his room. It's a childish thing to do, almost silly, but it's the one place where he feels safe, where he can hide from the horror that he is, and not have to confront the problems lurking just outside of his door. The others will worry, have started too already, but he couldn't find it in him to care.
All that matters is the pain, that inescapable realization that he's in dire need of something, someone, who he can never have.
One problem after another, that's been thrown at him, and there's no way out of the hand which has been dealt to him. Jacob's stuck in a deep and dark hole where there's no escape, no escape and yet he's clawing for one, and he can't blame anyone, blames himself it's all his fault.
It had to be this way, that's what the dark and cruel voice in his mind, tells him; what's worse is how intently he listens to it, how deeply he believes that what it says is the truth. The only expectation is that something he did brought this on him, something he would never have asked for, but he's searching in vain for a reason that doesn't exist.
None of this is his fault, none of it could have been avoided, but Jacob kept heaping on the blame, unable to find anywhere else to look to for solace. Relief doesn't come to him.
Taking his head into his hands, Jacob gripped his head so tightly that the warning stabs he felt on his scalp were a temporary escape from the pain which held his entire being in its cruel thrall. And the worst thing is, is that he knew that it wouldn't leave him, not ever. He doubted that even dying would have made the pain stop, but it would be an escape from having to feel it in every limb, every thought, every emotion.
Death was starting to look a lot more appealing.
Jacob was never suicidal, not ever, not even when his life took such a dangerous turn into the lands of fable and myth. But that one thing which was supposed to bring him happiness, relief in a world where he could find it nowhere else, was given way to thoughts about just how worthless he was, to thoughts of death.
He doesn't need you, why would he need you? He has her; he has the girl of his dreams, one who can give him that sweet innocent love untainted by anything unnatural. What could you offer him that she couldn't? Jacob tucked his head between his knees, holding it so hard and tightly, but it wasn't enough to blot out the pain, to blot out the dark thoughts which refuse to go away no matter what.
If it would make the voice stop, Jacob would be perfectly willing to just end it all, because nothing could compare to that torture, that hell, which he was going through.
Death, escape, need to escape, doesn't need me, doesn't love me, hates me, worthless. Jacob's thoughts were nothing more than ramblings with no real cohesion to them except for the knowledge that the one he had imprinted on, the one that would mean everything to him, could never love him, could never need him. All the one who he had imprinted on could ever do was hate him.
Not only had he been rejected by the only one who could make him whole, but the entire debacle had made him an enemy, an outcast of his family and pack. Jacob can't escape from that terrible reality that he was alone in the world, with no one and nowhere to turn to. Another purpose, one more scrap of clinging to reality was torn away.
There was no comforting 'everything will be alright', instead all that echoed through Jacob's mind was that dark voice telling him to do it, to end his life because there was nothing left for him. Only in death would he ever be able to free the one who he'd come to care so much about unwillingly, only then would they be grateful to him. It wasn't so much that this was motivated by his own selfish desires, but it is because he wants the pain and suffering to just stop, but also for some perverse and twisted wish to free the one he's bound so tightly to.
The closet doors weren't shut all the way, and Jacob could see the corner of his desk from where he sat huddled in the bleak sanctuary of his closet. He knew about the scissors which were kept in one of the drawers of that desk, it wouldn't be that hard, to just retrieve them and use them to take care of the problem which his life presented.
All of this had to happen to him. Bella would hate him, loathe him, because of this. Obviously she'd blame him for this having happened, even though he had no control over it. She was unstable in the way that she needed him, the leech, just as much as Jacob knew that he needed him, and there was no way that she would ever just give him up. She had fought too hard and for too long to just give him up, or to even ask him to step in and save him; it would be better for Jacob to just tear himself apart, that way no one else would have to get hurt.
He was the only one hurting, and the mere thought of making him, Edward, hurt too meant that Jacob felt the pain even more. Every part of him railed against that, even that small part of him which had been telling him how disgusting he was for letting this happen.
It wasn't until the scissors were in his hands, and he was making jagged slashes across his wrists, that he felt any kind of relief; even if it was only temporary.
Billy Black was starting to adjust to tragedy. He was still reeling from the death of one of his closest friends, Harry, and now he was having to deal with a mess of other things. Lately, he'd been so preoccupied with dealing with the everyday trials which faced him as an elder of their tribe, that he'd neglected his son.
At first, he hadn't been too worried about Jacob. After all, he had the entire pack to look out for him and to hang out with whenever he wanted too. But after that day's visit with Quil and his family, Billy was starting to get worried.
"No, I haven't seen Jake around for days."
Quil was one of Jacob's closest friends, they'd been friends since they were in diapers, and if he didn't know, then it was unlikely that anyone else would. He didn't need that leech's mind-reading ability to know that something was wrong.
He just didn't know that something was very, very wrong.
When he got back from his talk with Sue (and Seth had been kind enough to offer to help him back to his house), he came home to find that all the lights were off and the entire place was dead silent. Billy turned to ask Seth, who had much sharper senses then him, if there were any unusual scents or sounds coming from anywhere near the house, but the horrified look on Seth's face told him almost everything.
Seth leapt into action before Billy could see. He was around the elderly man and down the hall in a flash, and he opened the door to Jacob's room with such force that it nearly ripped it off its hinges. Everything else was lost to Billy, to quiet for him to hear, but the anguish in Seth's voice when he nearly shrieked orders at him scared him.
"Call 911! Hurry! Jake's not going to last much longer!"
The wait in the small, reservation hospital room was agonizing. Billy sat there, white as a ghost while he waited for news on his son. No one had told him what was going on, except that Jacob had tried to kill himself using a pair of scissors and that he'd nearly been successful. If Seth hadn't found him when he did, then Jacob would've been dead.
Billy had known the risks of letting the reservation nurses treat his son, he had to protect the tribe's secret, so when they told him that they were going to have to call the leech doctor down because they weren't authorized to perform any sort of treatment for the wounds which Jacob had sustained, Billy welcomed the news. This would be keeping the secret, and the doctor would know what to do; he might not have ever treated a werewolf before, but he had some faith (despite the doctor being his tribe's mortal enemy) that he would know what to do.
The wait, for news and the doctor's arrival, were taking their toll on the older man. Seth sat beside him, his hands clenched so tightly together that they were shaking. His eyes stared at the floor with a distant look to them, and his body was slumped forward in the chair. This was hard on him too, Seth had looked up to Jacob like an older brother.
Seth's head snapped up when the blond doctor walked in, looking more like a fashion model then a small town doctor, but there was an air of calm reassurance about him that just set one at ease. For a moment, the leech looked around the waiting room, before he spotted the two of them, hunched over in their seats but looking at him with entreaty in their eyes. For as much as Billy despised the Cullens, he still had faith that he'd be able to save his son.
"Mr. Black," he greeted. "I'm doctor Carlisle Cullen, I'll be treating your son."
For whatever reason he felt like giving an introduction, he did. Seth's couldn't stop staring at him, and Carlisle gave him a warm smile in return, which seemed to reassure the young teen, because his posture relaxed from its tense bearing, and his hands stopped shaking.
"I'll do everything I can to make sure that Jacob pulls through," and then he swept from the waiting room on the heels of one of the nurses.
Now all Seth and Billy could do was wait. Wait and hope that whatever had driven Jacob into doing this would be resolved; both couldn't deal with the loss of someone else so close to them.
Carlisle really didn't need the nurse's help to show him where he was supposed to go to find the young werewolf, he could simply follow the scent, but he had a human charade to keep up for her benefit. So he followed behind her at what could have been considered an agonizingly slow pace.
She stopped in front of a plain, unmarked door in the ICU, "This is it. Please call if you need any more assistance."
"Yes, of course," Carlisle didn't wait for her to leave before he pushed open the door and stepped into the room.
The scent of blood was weak, just like the heartbeat which pumped the blood through the young werewolf's veins, and his breathing was shallow and ragged. Carlisle frowned, and was immediately at the youth's bedside, and was shocked at what he saw.
Bandages had been wrapped snugly around his neck and wrists, the latter of which were encased in restraints which were then attached securely to the bed frame (the bed in question was nailed securely to the floor). The werewolf's skin had an unhealthy ashen hue to it, reminiscent of a corpse, and he was completely still.
Carlisle placed his hand on the youth's forehead. The skin was too cold, unnaturally close to his own skin temperature; he doubted that the werewolf would have noticed any difference. Taking his hand away, Carlisle picked up the chart which had been left at the end of the werewolf's bed and began to quickly read through it. He made a quick list of what he needed to see to, and what treatment options there were.
Superficial wounds to the neck, hesitation cuts on the wrists and forearms, with heavy bleeding originating from two large, deep wounds on the patients wrists. It was an effective way of suicide, and usually was the resort of someone who had no other way to take their own life. Carlisle knew that he'd probably used a weapon or object of convenience, one that was close by and he had easy access to.
Looking up from the chart, Carlisle knew that the gashes on Jacob's wrists would need to be stitched up or else they wouldn't be able to heal properly. Setting his case down on the edge of the bed, Carlisle set to work.
There was a sterile tray on the small rolling cart, and a chair, both of which Carlisle pulled to Jacob's bedside. He set out everything he would need on the tray, and took a seat on the chair before setting himself to work.
First, he cut off the bandages which the nurses had so hastily applied to slow the rate of bleeding, and they began to pulse slowly with blood when Carlisle removed them. He applied the necessary pressure to slow the bleeding, and sterilized the wound and area with an alcohol swab, before he carefully and slowly began to stitch the wound shut.
His stitches weren't as neat or small as Esme's were, but they were effective and would do the job they were meant to do well. The biggest concern Carlisle had, was him tearing the stitches if he struggled, which was obviously way he'd been restrained and sedated. Of course, they couldn't keep Jacob like this forever, eventually he would be moved to a room where he wouldn't be able to hurt himself in the psychiatric ward.
Obviously in a town as small as Forks, a psychiatric ward was unheard of, much less in a small reserve hospital. Carlisle knew that this tiny hospital wouldn't be well-equipped for dealing with something like this; which meant that either a room would have to be designated and refurnished for Jacob, or he would have to be transferred to the Forks General Hospital.
This was all turning into quite a mess.
But, the question that was burning in Carlisle's mind as he treated the unconscious Jacob's self-inflicted wounds, was why? Why had Jacob done this? What had driven him to such an extreme measure? None of it was making too much sense to him, and unless a suitable reason could be found, then Jacob could never fully recover.
Carlisle felt his heart ache, even though it didn't beat any longer, because he couldn't bear to see someone in such pain. It recalled back those painful moments when Esme, beautiful Esme who had been so alive and vibrant with life when he had first saw her, had been brought into the morgue near death. It wreaked havoc with Carlisle's mind to know that someone else had tried to take their own life.
It couldn't end like this, it just couldn't.