The Movement of the Earth

Chapter 3: Red Pill

we're so close to something better left unknown / i can feel it in my bones
Metric, "Gimme Sympathy"

3: Red Pill

The dirt lot at First Beach was devoid of other vehicles. If the weather had been nicer, then there likely would have been a few people on the shore, families or groups of teenagers, surfing maybe, or sunbathing or picnicking - but it was after eleven-thirty and there was no sign of the sun peeping through the clouds. The day would be gloomy. It seemed appropriate, somehow.

I didn't see Jacob - but I knew where he'd be if he was still here.

I paced down the beach toward the north seawall, finding a rough path through the tall hedge of weeds. The wind whipping off the water was frigid, and I wrapped my arms around my middle, trying to hold in a bit of the precious body heat that seemed to be eluding me at the moment. I glanced down at my cast, irritated. If the weather didn't warm up soon, I would have to walk around with an afgan over my shoulders like an old woman - or cut off the right arms off all my long-sleeved shirts.

After a few minutes of picking my way carefully across the rocks, trying not to fall and break my other arm, I found what I had been searching for: a long bone-white driftwood tree stranded far from the beach. The roots twisted up at the seaward end, like a hundred brittle tentacles.

Jacob was sitting on the largest branch, staring out at the waves. His short hair still rendered him almost unrecognizable. Maybe I'd get used to it eventually.

I came forward until I was only ten feet or so away, then stopped, pebbles shifting under my feet; Jacob had to have heard me, given that everything about my travel had been noisy, but he didn't speak up. My eyes roved over his half-naked form - was there some sort of rule in this 'pack' about wearing shirts? - until finally I blurted out, "Aren't you cold?"

Jacob's mouth twitched, but he didn't look away from the ocean. "Nope," he said. His voice was quiet and dark. It made me think, foolishly, of unsweetened chocolate.

Anger swelled up in me again. It wasn't right that Jacob, the sweetest person I'd ever met, had somehow been made bitter. I hated it. I had to fix whatever it was that was making him that way, and I had to fix it right now. "Jake, what-"

"I was thinking maybe you weren't going to come," he said, interrupting me before I could complete the question.

I grimaced guiltily. "Yeah. I'm really sorry, I meant to come first thing, but the painkillers knocked me out-"

"Don't be sorry," Jacob interrupted again. His face was stony in profile. "I was hoping you wouldn't."

The stark rejection of his words made me feel even colder, like I'd stumbled into the seawater on the beach. "Oh," I whispered. I tried to wrap my arms around the holes in my chest that threatened to shatter me, but the stupid cast kept getting in the way.

Jacob frowned suddenly, obviously registering my words for the first time. "Wait, what painkillers?" He swung his long legs off the branch and turned to face me; when his eyes met mine, his expression shifted into that thing I didn't understand, save that it caused him pain. I studied his features, trying to make sense of what I was seeing, and he swallowed hard under my scrutiny... but he didn't look away. I had the vague feeling that his intense gaze should have felt uncomfortable, or invasive.

It didn't.

After a long moment, his eyes left my face and moved over my form, coming to rest on my right arm, still cradled to my chest. "What happened to your wrist?" he demanded. "It wasn't like that yesterday."

"It's not my wrist, it's my hand," I corrected him, uneasily noticing the tension in his body. Jacob seemed... on edge. I decided that this wasn't the time to tell him about my pathetic attempt to injure his cult leader. "I fell out of bed and broke a couple of bones. Just one more misadventure in the hopeless life of Isabella Swan." I shrugged like it was no big deal.