Disclaimer: I don't own twilight...I just like playing with the characters :)


I sigh heavily. Why can't I just press send?

Dreary and gray outside, rain from earlier still clings to my closed window. I sit fidgeting with my cell phone, biting my lip and staring at the seven digits beneath his name on the screen.

"This is so stupid," I say out loud. "He's supposed to be my best friend. I just—"

Just what? I think. Inside, a desperate intense need to see Jake, to talk to him, quickens my pulse and twist in my gut. Time suddenly feels so incredibly short.

Without another thought or a plan, I find myself pulling on my shoes and a hoodie and rushing to my truck. My tires squeal as I back out of the driveway and speed towards La Push.

I only look over my shoulder once to see if I'm being followed. The thought alone angers me, causing me to push the gas harder. I refuse to feel guilty for going to see Jake. He's my best friend.

I'm not even sure what I'm doing here. It's cool and dark as I step out of my truck and carefully make my way to the small makeshift garage. I can hear the radio faintly playing and there is a light glowing in the darkness, beckoning me forward.

And yet, I'm so confused and nervous, I can barely but one foot in front of the other. When I finally make it inside the door, I find Jake sprawled beneath his car, bare chested. My words lodge in my throat. I watch, fascinated by the muscles moving beneath his tan skin.

Stupid Bella. Am I trying to make this harder on myself?

"Bella," Jake says, startling me. "What are you doing?"

When I don't answer, he pushes out from under the car and sits up. Jake's dark eyes widened slightly when he focuses on me. I'm sure he's wondering why there are dark circles under my eyes, why I look so disheveled.

His eyes don't leave mine, but he frowns as he picks up a rag to wipe his grease and oil stained hands. Then he stands, towering over me, he takes my hand in his warm grasp and leads me back outside and into the house.

Maybe he's not wondering. Maybe he just knows.

Billy doesn't bat an eyelash or offer anything in his expression when he sees me come through the door. He only looks up once from his newspaper at the kitchen table.

Jake pulls me forward and makes me sit on the couch. He plops down next to me; one arm draped around the back of the couch, and grabs the remote to flip on the TV. I can feel his heat seeping through my clothes. I don't even know how to describe what I'm feeling, except I can suddenly breathe. I slowly exhale and relax against him.

It's hours later when we finally speak. Billy has gone to bed. The house is dark and quiet except for the flickering of the TV and the murmuring of voices from the movie playing.

"Jake," I begin softly.

"Hmm?"

"Are you asleep?"

"No," he answers, then yawns and stretches, like he's been waiting for me to talk.

"I'm scared," I admit.

Jake snorts. "I'd be scared too, Bella."

Jake shifts. So do I until we are looking at each other. His hand curls around mine.

"Hell, Bells, I'm scared too."

I furrow my eyebrows. Jake brings his hand to my face, cups my cheek and strokes his thumb across my skin. He leans forward slightly and for a minute I think he's going to kiss me. I'm not sure if I'm relieved or disappointment that he doesn't. But I know I wouldn't have been able to resist.

"What are you scared of?" I manage to whisper.

His dark eyes trace the lines of my face; his fingers tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.

"I don't what you to die."

"But Jake, I won't be...dead!" I can barely say the word. "I'll live forever. Everything will be perfect. I'll be perfect. My life will be perfect."

Jake grunts and removes his hands from my face, putting distance between us for the first time since we sat down on the couch. He leans over, propping his elbows on his knees, he runs a hand through his inky black locks.

"Jake—"

"Then why are you here Bells? If everything is so perfect?"

I flinch at the anger in his tone. When he looks up at me, his eyes bore into mine with a feverish intensity that both frightens me and thrills me.

"Because I—"

Jake grabs my face, his long fingers tangle in my hair. "Life isn't meant to be perfect! You aren't—we aren't—meant to live forever! Life is messy, Bella. That's what makes it beautiful."

I can't speak. His eyes are glowing, his lips are so close, his heat is too intense, and yet none of it is enough.

"If you live a million days, all strung together, looking the same as the last...where's the beauty in that? Where's the passion?"

Passion. There's something about that word that reverberates inside me, knocking loose a thousand emotions I don't know how to decipher.

"You will never be as beautiful as you are right now," Jake says, dropping his voice into a low husky whisper. "This scar," his fingers pass over the fading scare on my forehead eliciting goose bumps across my flesh. "Your crooked lip," he says softly, leaning forward, his thumb touches the imperfection. "Your two left feet, your freckles—"

His voice catches. He swallows hard, his Adam's apple strains against the skin of his throat.

I can't fight the tears that drip from my eyes.

"Don't you see, Bella? That's what makes life beautiful and perfect...that's what makes every moment special. The imperfections, the not knowing, the—"

"Passion," I finish.

Before another moment can pass, I press my lips to his.

There is an explosion between us. It's not danger or fear fueling my adrenaline. It's passion. It's fire red as it tingles down my spine and burns my flesh.

Jake is not soft or gentle, but intense and hungry. His lips fuse to mine. His tongue explores my mouth. I cling to him, pulling myself closer until I can feel all of him pressed against me. It's still not enough.

It's only moments later that he pulls away. I'm terrified it's for good. That he's going to tell me to leave.

Breathlessly, he asks, "My room?"

I can only nod as I pull his lips back to mine. Jake scoops me up and carries me to his room, locking the door behind him.

I'm no longer thinking or over-analyzing. I'm no longer scared. As soon as I start to remove my clothes, his hands are there, helping, guiding, touching. In a matter of minutes, there is nothing separating us except thin scrapes of fabric.

He kisses me everywhere as he removes the last boundaries. Sensations I've never known rocket through me. I don't know where lust and passion, desperation and want end and love begins, but in those hours before sunrise, I feel it.

And I know nothing will ever be the same.