SENSELESS : Jacob Black

14

I don't have time to wait for their reaction. Instead, I feel something gurgle inside me. I make it to the kitchen, where I vomit into the garbage can. If I had thought my throat was raw before from the alcohol, I was wrong. It's burning now.

Note to self: stay away from vodka.

Someone is behind me, holding back my hair as a puke up my guts. I continue to grip the garbage can as tightly as possible.

"Come on, Fawn," Quil says. "Just puke it up."

"That's what I'm doing," I tell him, right before more vomit splashes out of me.

Once I'm done, I head into the bathroom to brush my teeth. I hope that I don't accidentally trigger my gag reflex and puke all over again. Finishing up, I spit into the sink and look up at myself.

The guys here really think I'm pretty. My dirty blonde hair covers my round face. My green eyes are big and glossy. A tear streams down my face, and I cannot tell if it's a consequence of vomiting or part of the horror of trying to see myself through someone else's eyes. I wipe the tear away with the back of my hand, staring back at my face.

I don't look any different from when I first got here. Maybe I should have dyed my hair.

When I return downstairs, Quil and Embry are gone. Jacob is still sitting on the couch. His head turns as the stairs beneath me creak.

"Fawn?" he asks.

I nod, taking a few steps closer to him. "Yes, it's me."

"I figured you would've gone to bed," he chuckles. "Should've thought better."

"All I needed was to brush my teeth," I point out. "I can keep playing."

"It's probably best you didn't," Jacob says. "You can't hold your liquor like the rest of us."

Right, because they are built like tanks. I join him on the couch, leaning my head back. When I look over at him, a question spills over my lips. Like a waterfall.

"Why did you hate me?" I ask.

He scoffs, "I've never hated you, Fawn. Not once."

"They why were you so rude at the bonfire?" I ask. "And in the car, you were so demanding."

"Don't you think I would've kicked you out if I hated you?" he asks, shaking his head. "I just... I wanted to keep you safe in the car. At the bonfire, I... I was in a sour mood. It wasn't fair of me to take it out on you. I'm sorry."

An apology was all I needed to hear. It soothes me over. The convent never apologized to me. Not when I would tear myself up training to them, not when they would gaslight me whenever I showed disbelief. Only once I arrived in Forks and La Push have I heard apologies. This one smooths over all of my rough edges.

"It's okay," I tell him. "I'm sorry for being so difficult. I was worried you were a cult, like the people I ran away from."

"Well, we do have a bit of a cultish nature to outsiders, I'll give you that," Jacob smirks.

He reaches forward and finds a shot glass on the table. He carefully pours vodka inside. I reach over to guide his hands, making sure they don't spill. He's warm to the touch. Hot, like the bonfire all those nights ago.

"You're cold," he points out. "Do you want a blanket?"

I shake my head. "I'm good, thank you."

With that, he takes the shot and pounds it back. He's drunk more times than I have tonight, but he seems much soberer than me. Vomiting gave me some clarity. Being near Jacob does not.