Disclaimer: All of the characters, concepts, and anything affiliated with the Twilight saga belong to (their rightful owner) Stephanie Meyer. The rest of the work belongs to me and should not be copied in any way, including translations, without my explicit consent.

The lyrics used from Snow Patrol's "Make this go on forever" belong to their respectful owner and were used to emphasize the emotion in the piece.

Major thanks to Flyaway Dove for Beta-ing this.

Set: Sometime after BD.

Note: This is acting as a very vague 'sequel' or 'companion piece' to "I want my Fairytale" only it's in Jake's POV and is some time after Leah leaves.

Jake POV.

Getting you Back

"Please don't let this turn into something it's not," she pleads.

I look at her, affronted. What does she mean, 'something it's not'? I'm fighting here. I'm fighting for her (just like you wanted). But she's not having any of it.

"We're just not working. We're not 'meant to be'." She looks at me with pleading eyes, begging me to understand.

I don't. I'm giving her everything. I'm giving her everything I have, just trying to show her, to prove to her that we can work, that we make sense, that we're 'right.'

Why isn't that enough?

"I can only give you everything I've got," I tell her.

This seems to irritate her since she snaps her head away, looking away from me and somewhere deep into the forest.

What does she want from me?

Staring at her feet, she sighs, "I need more."


She has to be joking because I've given her everything; I've given every single part of myself to her! Why is she doing this? Why is she doing this to us? She said that she cared, that she wanted me, that she needed me in her life. I was enough then, she didn't need 'more' then, why now? What changed? What does she want?

She pries her eyes from the floor and stares at me with glistening eyes and says in a steady voice, "I need more than what parts of you can give me. I don't want the bits and pieces of you that she hasn't claimed yet." Her breathing gets heavy as she speaks passionately, "I want all of it! I should have all of it! If we were to do this, to actually make this work, I should have all of you!"

All of me.

All of the bits and pieces.

I can't.

I want to, but I can't.

I love you, too. You have claimed some parts of me that will always belong to you. No matter where I am, who I'm with, where you are, or who you're with.

Parts of me will always belong to youbecause you claimed them first. You wanted them first.

I can't cut those ties. No; I can, I just don't want to. They're the only reminder that I'm steady in this world, that I have a balance, a center, that there's some sort of normalcy in the world.

Something that make sense.

You are something that makes sense.

I stare at her with big eyes. "I'm sorry."

She shakes her head and lets out a frustrated sigh. "It's not enough."

I want to say: "I'm sorry that I can't be as sorry as you think I should, that I can't behave like you want me to, dress like you want me to, talk, act, and pretend to be the man that you want, that you need." I want to say that I'm sorry I'm not strong enough to give you up.

But I don't say anything.

Because here, with her, I can still feel it. Our link, our connection, our goddamn bond to one another. We're on opposite sides of the world and are with two different people, but I still love you more than anyone else could, more than he could.

She starts to talk about you now. How you don't like her, and how she doesn't like you. How you 'ruined everything' and how it was my fault for 'encouraging you in the first place.'

All that I keep thinking throughout this whole fight is it could take my whole damn life to make this right. To make things with you, her, and our whole goddamn situation right again.

But how can I do that? You're not even here anymore.

One day, you were just done with it all and left: poof, gone.

Never to be heard from again.

I try and hold us together; all of us. You, me, her. I try to keep us together, pretending that you didn't leave, that you still love me and think about me, and that everything with her is different. That she doesn't want the things she wants from me, that she found someone else so I can let her go, that I don't want her.

Especially when I still want you more than I want her.

I feel everything splinter beneath me, beginning to crack and deteriorate. Everything that she and I have built is starting to crumble. This splintered, fractured dream of me and her that I'm holding on to won't save me for long.

I can feel you. I can still fucking feel you and our fucking link, but you won't talk to me. You won't listen to me. You don't acknowledge me.

It's fine because I know damn well that what I did was wrong.

I'm sorry, but you just won't believe me.

So I stayed here with her. And watched you go.

You: the last girl and the last reason to make this 'relationship' with her last for as long as I could. You told me to stay away, to be with her. But I can't.

Not anymore.

God, I can still feel the tingling on my lips from our first kiss; the first time that I felt connected to anything other than her. We could make this work. We could do this. That kiss should have been proof enough.

The weight of your body pressing against mine, the way you told me to look past everything I had ever learned to be able to try for us: just me and you.


Before her. Before everything to do with her.

Right before you left.

I tried to convince you that we have gotten through so much worse than this before. What was so different this time that you can't ignore? Is it because it was her?

I made a mistake. It was an accident. You understood. You understood and we moved on, together. It was nice, just you and me. We constantly fought, yelling things we didn't mean, yelling things we did mean, but that was normal. It was normal and we always came back to each other. No matter what you said to me, or what I said to you, we always came back to one another. To fix things, to yell, to apologize.

Together, we were normal.

Then, one day, things got out of hand. I couldn't handle it, you said something, just one little snide comment that usually wouldn't affect me, and I just lost it. I lashed out at you, saying things that I knew would hurt, hoping, praying that it would hurt you like you hurt me.

I wanted you to hurt.

You cried. I only saw that one tear before you ordered me out of the house, out of our house, and told me to never come back.

So I didn't. For three days, I was with her. I was at her house, with her family, trying to forget the ache in my chest caused by you.

I finally came back to you, walking through the unlocked door (a sign of forgiveness) and helped you make dinner, not saying a word. You didn't spare me one look until we went to bed, when you snuggled up to me and said, "Never again. You will never leave me like that ever again."

And I didn't.

For six months.

That's when I slipped. It was another argument, you were pissed off at me and I was so angry. You just kept on yelling and cutting me down, blaming me for everything. Fuming, I let you lash out at me, before it was my turn. I said so many things that day. Many were things I didn't even believe, but made up just so that you could hurt.

Because you were blaming me.

Because you were my punching bag.

Because you were right.

I was weak.

Unable to face the truth, I ran. I ran right back to her. I didn't want it to happen, but it seems like every time something like this happens, I just need to run to her. She was there for me.

You have always been there for me, but I always went to her.

I stayed with her for four days before you found out.

You didn't yell, cry, kick me out, or anything like that. No, you accepted it, you accepted it so quickly. You asked me, point blank and I answered you truthfully. All you did was nod your head and tell me that Dad called before getting back to dinner.

Your aloofness and acceptance of the whole situation bothered me until I figured it out: you always knew.

The next time I came back from seeing her, you waited up for me. You sat in your chair, surrounded by darkness before you turned on the light, alerting me of your presence. The room flooded with light, allowing me to see you properly. You looked up at me with sad eyes before you cleared your throat and announced, "I'm leaving."

Only then did I notice the suitcase by your feet and the clothes you were wearing. I looked at your face and recognized how serious you were, how tired you were, how free you wanted to become.

You were going to leave.

"Where?" I asked in the naïve hope that it would just be a short trip to your mother's.

You closed your eyes briefly before shrugging, "Won't know until I get there, I suppose."

"For how long?" I barely choked out.

You shook your head before sighing, "I don't know yet. I really do just need some time to myself."

My eyes started to sting when I begged, "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to go to her. It was a mistake. I need you, please, I need you."

You let a shaky sigh before you wiped at your eyes.

You said it was much more than just my last mistake. That this never would have worked, even without all this mythical crap in our lives. "We just don't make any sense."

I shook my head at you, knowing that you were wrong about us.

That you're still wrong about us.

"We're better without each other. You're able to be with the one you truly love and I can discover myself." You tried to smile.

Shaking my head, I refused to give in. "We make sense. I'm the only one who understands you, who can love you the best. And you know more about me than anyone. Please, please just forgive me, it was a mistake."

"It's more than that. You know that. It's more than just a 'mistake.' We need to be with other people. We need to actually live. I need to meet new people. I need to move on from this!" You gestured from me to you. "We should spend some time apart for both our sakes."

You picked up your bag, pecked my cheek, wished me good luck with my 'true love,' and walked out.

The last girl and the last reason to try and make me and her work.

Well, not anymore.

She continues to talk about how we aren't working, how she's sorry and that it's "for the best."

I try to object, to fight with the fiery passion that was always with you, but my words just break and melt when she says, "You don't want me, you've never really wanted me. You want her."

I try to reassure her, to let her know that I did care for her, that I did love her, but she's right, I want you.

I want the feeling of our first kiss on my lips. I want the feeling of someone being as connected to me as I am to them.

I had that with you.

Remembering the feel of your body underneath my hands, the sound of your voice, the smell your scent, the feeling of your hand in mine. I want that back.

I want you back.

I want you back so badly and I don't know where to look. You never told anyone where you went. Not even your family.

So I leave her, I leave this place and I run. I think of all of the places you said you wanted to see, to explore: Mexico, Australia, Canada, Japan, New Zealand…

I remember you said something about being jealous of my trip to Canada and how you've always wanted to go to British Columbia and see the forest and the mountains for yourself. So I decide to run there first.

I run and vow to not stop running until I've found you, until I have you in my arms again.

I'm getting you back.