Chapter 7, word count: 1.3k
Summery: The truth simmers beneath the surface. Unspoken and unbearable. Y/n at the edge of herself. Jacob on the verge of something he doesn’t understand. Before the shift. Before the silence. There was this.
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I should’ve just shut it down.
Should’ve walked it off, clenched my jaw and counted to ten or something. But no. I let my mouth run off like it always does. Like I always do. And now here we are, driving through a damn monsoon in silence so thick I can feel it in my teeth.
She hasn’t said a word since I told her to forget about the damn wolf. Figures.
The rain claws at the windshield, louder than I’d like, but not louder than her silence. Not louder than my thoughts. I steal a glance. Her arms are crossed like she’s building a damn wall. Her hairs still wet, sticking to her cheek, as she just stares out the window like I’m not even here.
I grip the wheel tighter. My knuckles crack and ache.
This is what I get for bringing it up. For shutting her down. For not just letting her believe whatever she wanted the first time.
“Y/n…” I say, low, trying to keep the bite out of my voice.
Nothing. Not even a blink.
I grit my teeth. “Look, I didn’t mean to…”
But I don’t know how to finish that. I didn’t mean to what? Yell? Lie? Embarrass her? Be right?
She started it anyway. Asking that question like I was supposed to have some magical answer after shutting down my question. Like I haven’t been trying to figure out the same thing myself.
I pull into her driveway. The porch lights are on. Charlie’s probably on patrol. I’m glad I took her home if that’s the case. I try to relax my grip, tapping my fingers against the wheel like that’ll help my brain spit something out. I shouldn’t’ve snapped. That wasn’t fair.
I breathe in, about to say something, when she finally speaks.
“You don’t have to walk me in. I can survive the ten steps to my door.”
Her voice is soft, too calm. That fake kind of calm she uses when she’s mad and trying not to cry. That same tone that makes me feel like a complete douchebag.
I glance over. She won’t look at me. Shes just faking that stupid smile while she grabs her bag. I meet her gaze noticing how she studies mine like she’s trying to see if I care.
I do. I just suck at showing it.
“It’s just…” I pause, looking at the dash. “Never mind.”
My hand tightens around the steering wheel again. I hate this. I hate how she made me feel like I was stupid for even bringing it up. We believed in that stuff together. What changed? Why did she look at me like I was crazy?
Then she cuts in, sharp as a slap.
That tone. The way she says it like I’m a little kid about to get lectured. It pisses me off all over again.
I shake my head, scoffing. “I don’t like the day ending like this. With us… weird.” I awkwardly say unable to find a comfortable way to say what I’m truly feeling.
She turns to me now, finally looking me in the eye. Her expression sharp.
“Then maybe don’t blow up on me every time I say something you don’t like.”
Boom. Like thunder, right on cue. The rain pounds even harder, sheets of it hitting the windshield like fists. Her voice cracks through me sharper than the storm.
She’s right. And I hate that.
But I also hate that I care this much. I don’t know why I do when she started it anyways.
“I didn’t blow up,” I say, flat as I can manage, though my voice betrays me with the edge it carries. Cool and collected? Yeah, not even close. I sound pissed because I am pissed.
She shifts in the seat beside me, and I can hear that little smirk laced in her silence. I can hear it. Even when she’s quiet, she’s loud in all the ways that get under my skin. Like she’s already decided she’s right. Like this is a game, and she’s winning.
This stupid back-and-forth neither of us asked for.
“You kind of did,” she says, way too calm for my liking. “At La Push. You pushed that whole conversation on me. About the wind, the silence, the storm, whatever the hell it was. I tried to move on, but you wouldn’t let it go.”
I roll my eyes so hard I’m surprised I didn’t see stars. I grip the steering wheel tighter, biting the inside of my cheek forcing myself not to respond. Holding back what I want to throw at her. It’s not worth it. Not yet.
But then I hear it. That shift in her voice. Softer. Shakier. Emotional.
That gets to me. Way more than I want to admit
She’s rambling now, the way she does when she feels like she’s not heard. Embarrassed. Confused. I know it all to well. I drop my gaze to my lap, jaw clenched. I try to stay grounded. Try not to react. Let her speak. Let her get it out without my stubbornness getting in the way.
“I don’t know what happened that day…” she trails off, unsure. Her voice cracks, and it guts me. I close my eyes, letting her get it out. Let her get it out. If I don’t, we’ll just circle back to this later. Louder, messier.
“…but the way you were talking to me made it seem like you were blaming me for it. Which is weird because you know I’m not capable of something like that. Neither of us are.”
That pisses me off more than anything else she’s said tonight.
She doesn’t know. Not yet. But I do. I think I do?
And hearing her say that, hearing her completely underestimate herself, makes me feel sick. Like I’m lying just by staying silent.
“And now you’re mad at me because…?” I mutter, exasperated, letting my head fall back against the seat. I turn to her slowly, giving her a look that says I’m so done with this conversation. Hopefully she got it.
Yeah. It’s petty. It’s immature. I know that.
But I’m tired, and my head hurts. I feel like I’m balancing a grenade between us and she just keeps poking it with a stick.
“I’m not mad, I’m just… irritated,” she says.
That tone? It’s the same one she used when she fell out of the treehouse and broke her arm tears running down her cheeks, insisting she was “fine.” It’s her default setting when she’s very much not fine. She’s mad. She’s furious. And, honestly? Same.
“I mean, when I brought up the wolf I know we both saw it you shut me down,” she adds, and I go still. My blood goes cold.
“Why do you get to push me for answers,” she says, voice trembling, “but the second I ask questions, it’s like you turn into Fort Knox?”
I almost laugh at that. Fort Knox? Really? But I don’t, because her voice cracks mid-sentence and now I feel like I’m choking.
“Why do you get to ask all the hard questions and then act like mine are too much?”
I look away. My jaw tightens. I chew on the inside of my cheek like it’ll stop the guilt from rising in my throat.
Because I do know the answers. Most of them. Because I’ve been keeping secrets I didn’t ask for. Because the second I let her in, she’s in for good and I don’t know if that’s something she’s ready for. Hell, I’m not even ready.
“It’s different,” I mutter, low and guarded. The words barely make it out of my mouth.
But she’s already snapping back. “How?”
I can feel the heat in my chest rise like a damn furnace. Not just anger. Shame. Fear. The kind I can’t explain. The kind I don’t explain.
And the worst part is she’s right. And I still can’t tell her.
I look at her, guilt sitting heavy on my chest like a weight I can’t shake. It’s written all over my face. I know it is. I hate seeing her like this. I hate being the reason she looks like this. It guts me, the way she folds in on herself, like I’m something sharp she has to brace for. I don’t know why I care this much, but I do. And that just pisses me off more.
“Y/n,” I start, voice low, trying to hold it together. “You know I didn’t mean it-”
She cuts me off. Cold. Distant. Hurt. “Actually, I don’t know, Jacob. Because you won’t even tell me what you did mean.”
And there it is. The punch straight to the gut. My chest tightens. I look at her, and for a second I can’t even breathe. I want to reach out. I want to fix this, to rewind everything, to say the right words. But I don’t even know what the right words are anymore. I don’t understand myself lately. And to make it worse, my body’s burning again, unnaturally hot, too tense, like I’m about to burst from the inside.
“What’s going on with you, Jay…?” Her voice breaks when she says it. And that nickname… God, that nickname. It only hurts worse when she uses it like this. It feels like a reminder of when things were much easier. Understood.
“You like completely flipped a switch on me today.” she goes on. “And like I said I thought we were joking at La Push till you got all up in my face”
Thats hard to believe. I sigh and look down. Actually it’s not hard to believe, she’s right. She’s right about all of it. And it’s killing me.
“One second we’re joking, like we always do, and the next you’re acting like I crossed some line I didn’t even know existed” my heart skips a beat. Her voice trembles, but she’s still talking, still trying to piece together the mess I made. I wish could just go back to when we were at the beach and never bring it up.
I can’t look at her. I stare down at the floor of the truck, my jaw clenched so tight I swear I hear it crack. The part that kills me is that she’s not even mad anymore, she’s hurt. And I did that. Me.
She leans forward, voice lower now. “And yeah maybe I push to far sometimes. I know that. But thats just… how we are. Thats how we’ve always been. I tease you, you tease me.”
I shake my head in frustration, trying not to completely fall apart. She’s not wrong. She’s never wrong about us. And that’s what makes this so much worse. “Shit you do it even more than I do” she snaps, and I flinch. Not because she’s yelling, but because I deserve it. “So how am I supposed to know when suddenly none of it’s okay anymore?”
She exhales like she’s been holding it in all night. “Im not a mind reader Jay. If you don’t tell me what you’re feeling and thinking before you blow up, how am I supposed to understand.”
And there it is. The truth.
I don’t want her to understand. Because if she did if she knew even half of what I’ve been dealing with lately, she’d look at me different. Maybe with fear. Maybe with pity. Definitely not the way she’s looked at me our whole lives.
I feel shitty for reacting the way I did. Especially knowing that she isn’t aware of what the world around her is capable of. Deep down I know she does. She just can’t accept it. And after tonight, I learned that isnt my battle to fight.
I shift in my seat, fingers tightening on the steering wheel. The silence stretches between us. Heavy, uncomfortable, and a little too loud. I search for something to say, anything that might rebuild the bridge this conversation burned straight to ash.
But before I can open my mouth, she beats me to it.
Her voice is quieter this time. Softer. “And I’m sorry… if I was being an ass. I didn’t mean to make things worse I was just…” she hesitates, swallowing whatever honesty was about to break through. “confused and maybe I was hiding behind jokes because if i actually said what I felt-“
She trails off, leaving the sentence to die in the dark.
She doesn’t have to finish. She didn’t have to. I get it. More than she probably knows.
I nod my head and slowly reach for the gear shift. “Get inside, okay?” I muttered softly, eyes locked on the dash because I can’t bring myself to meet hers.
There’s more I want to say. A dozen things bottled up behind my teeth. But none of it would help. It would just complicate everything.
It was getting late anyway. I knew this would keep her up and the longer I kept her in here the longer it would take for her to get some sleep. And the longer I keep her out here, the harder it’s gonna be to let her go.
And I don’t think either of us can afford that.
She steps out into the rain like it doesn’t bother her, like she belongs in it. The downpour clings to her curls, darkening them into spirals that frame her face. Her tank top sticks to her like second skin, the fabric soaked and heavy, like the weight of every unsaid thing between us.
She lingers by the door, fingers brushing the handle like she’s about to turn back, like she’s thinking of something to say that’ll wreck me. But she doesn’t.
And still… still.. I can’t stop staring
Even furious, soaked in rain and half-hating me, she’s still stupidly beautiful.
And I hate that I notice.
I hate that it hits me like a gut punch. That I feel it in the center of my chest, in a place I don’t have a name for. She’s Y/N. And yet here I am, jaw clenched and heart racing like a complete idiot.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I blink hard, like I’m trying to reset my brain.
She’s my friend. My friend. The same girl who once ate a whole jar of pickles and cried about a raccoon in the same night. The one who punched me in the arm for stealing her fries and then cried laughing when I almost choked on one. The one who’s always been there, who’s always just been Y/N.
I shake the thought off fast. Not the time.
Then, without a word, she slams the door shut.
I hear her mumble something under her breath too quiet to catch, but loud enough to sting. Typical.
She doesn’t walk away right away. Just stands there, in the downpour, right outside my window. We lock eyes through the fogged-up glass. She really knows how to make me feel like shit.
“Goodnight,” I murmur, barely above a whisper. I don’t even know if she hears me. I don’t even know if it matters at this point. I genuinely hope she gets a goods night rest after this. Seriously.
She nods, slow, tired and annoyed as she steps back. The rain’s pounding now, and she finally bolts toward the porch.
I sit there, still gripping the wheel, watching until she’s inside.
Through the window, I catch her looking back at me. Watching me. Like the weirdo she is.
I let out a soft, breathless chuckle and pull away. Not because it’s funny.
But because even after everything… she still watched me leave.
I sit there for a moment, staring at the dent in the dashboard where I punched it last winter. My chest feels like it’s folding in on itself, like it’s trying to crush something small and soft inside of me before it can get any bigger.
Why does this hurt so much?
I lean back, run my hand over my face. I can still feel the heat of her anger in the passenger seat. It’s like she left a version of herself behind, ghosting the air with frustration and something else I don’t want to name.
Not in the forever kind of way, but in the not-mine kind of way. And that hits harder than it should.
What am I even talking about? Mine? Get a grip Jacob.
I sit there for a beat longer than necessary, staring at the porch light flickering above her door. My breath fogs the inside of the window. I’m too hot. Burning, even. I push the window down halfway, but it doesn’t help. My pulse thunders in my ears. My body’s vibrating like I’ve swallowed lightning and it’s just waiting for an excuse to burst.
I don’t know what the hell’s happening.
But something’s shifting. In me. Around me.
Her scent is still lingering in the car. Some faint mix of rain, old books, and whatever lotion she always wears. I want to hate it. But instead, it’s anchoring. Calming. Too calming. And that’s a problem.
Because all I want to do is hit something. Or run. Or yell.
Or go back and apologize. But only if she apologizes first. Maybe. I don’t know.
God, this is so messed up.
My fingers twitch again. My whole body feels stiff, like skins prickling like it’s too tight for my own bones. My breath catches as the heat rises. Fast, like a fever breaking.
And just like that, I feel it.
Not fully, not yet but the beginning.
Like something ancient in my blood just opened its eyes for the first time.
I start the engine again and back out of the driveway, the tires skidding a little on the slick pavement. I need to get out of my head. I need to run.
I don’t even remember the ride home, the way I took home, or how long it took to get from her place to mine. It was all an uncomfortable blur. It felt like my skin was ripping, like my bones were too big for my body. I abruptly parked and opened my door spilling out of it. The rain almost evaporating off my skin.
I feel like my lungs are shrinking. I stumble in my house leaning against the nearest wall. I can hear my dad moving around. I hope I didn’t wake him up. I groan and grab my stomach leaning over as I try my best to walk to my room still holding the wall.
I can hear my dad rolling up to me. All my senses feel heightened. I start to panic. Whats going on with me. “Son whats wrong” my dad had asked reaching out to touch my shoulder as I’m still leaned over, folding into myself like I have a stomach ache. “I.. I don’t know” I muttered flinching back before he can touch me, like whatever I have coulad be contagious. Dangerous.
I don’t stop moving. I can’t. I barely make it to my room before I rip my shirt off and fall into bed, but I can’t stay still. My heart’s thudding against my ribs like it’s trying to warn me. I can hear him doing something in the kitchen as I toss and turn in my own puddle of sweat on my what seems like a too small bed for what I’m feeling now. My long hair is sticking to my sweaty skin. I just wanted to chop it all off.
Minutes pass feeling like hours before my dad rolls into my room with tea. “Drink this” he said handing it to me. I sat up and took the mug from his hands. Drinking it slowly. It was hot, not as hot my body feels though. It felt like cold water going down my burning throat.
“It’ll relax your muscles and help you get some rest” my father had dryly said with a hit of concern as he watched me rock forwards and backwards grabbing my rib cage like they were breaking inside of me finding any way to escape. The look on his face grew more disturbed when he noticed hot tears streaming down my face.
“We need to have a talk” he said as his hand hesitated over my skin before lightly tapping my shoulder. I can’t shake this feeling of shame and guilt. I know he hates to see me sick or ill, I hope I’m not causing too much pain. I knew this day would come eventually I just didn’t know it would happen so soon. I don’t know what’s triggering it. All I know is I’m going to do everything in my power to suppress it. Stop it, slow it down as much as I can.
I can feel my heart beat pumping in my ears and fingertips as I look down at my sweaty palms. I breathe in all that I can before I let it all out. Knowing once I did, everything I once knew would change.
Deep down, I always knew the stories were real. They were warnings. I just never thought they were meant for me. Our blood remembers what our mouths deny. I feel like a fool for trying to convince her knowing I’m in denial myself. I shake my head and close my eyes breathing in once last time before letting out a long deep sigh.
