Chapter Text
Lesya
In 2006 my Appalachian hometown was small and poor, and always has been. All you could do for fun as a kid was climb the water tower, tag the abandoned train cars and shipping containers, and climb the fire tower. That's a good reason for any fifteen year old to want to move away or go on an adventure for the summer or forever. If only I could say that was my reason, but it’s more unpleasant than any of my peers would care to dive into past the superficial ‘I got kicked out’. To be fair, I wouldn’t relish in telling them what went on in that house and the messed up web that is my family life, so I’d much rather have them think I’m a rebel who stuck it to The Man.
The same ‘don’t ask don’t tell’ mentality leaked over into where I was going; Astoria, Oregon. ‘Yes, where the Goonies was filmed’ This is my default reply after going through the last three horrifying, long days before I left. They dragged on for so long I thought God had placed me into purgatory for betraying my parents and allowing CPS to be called. I repeated it so much that my sister swore I was saying it in my sleep to the monsters that are other kids in my dreams.
CPS had recommended that I live with a relative while my parents got their shit together to get us back. Since there were six of us, we couldn’t stay together, and my aunts and uncles all picked up my younger siblings gradually over the three days, again why I called it purgatory. It’s not easy to be in the process of ‘losing’ your siblings, tearful goodbyes and exchanging of good-luck charms, kisses, and hugs, only to be left alone with one or two less siblings to return to the ire of our parents. As if by punishment, I was sent away last and alone to my Dicyc’s home in Astoria. He had moved away when I was two with a woman who he left my Babycya for, they had a kid shortly after, we weren’t allowed to communicate with them as my dad was adamant that we weren’t to talk to the one who ‘tore our family apart’. Hypocrite. There was no tearful good-bye for me, no hug or kiss, only a painful grip on my arm and a harsh ‘Behave’ in Ukrainian from my dad and a muttered threat from my mom that I don’t even want to think to recall. I climbed into the social worker's van and the drive to the Greenville-Spartanburg International Airport began.
It was my first time on an airplane, it was loud, I could barely hear the music coming out of my portable CD player. After we took off, it quickly became cold. I tried to push myself farther into the big, slightly flattened, cushy vinyl seat to keep warm. It was also awkward. The social worker, who accompanied me, Pepper, was one of the hippie-types. She was tall, almost as tall as me, and her hair seemed to reflect her personality, wild and all over the place as she was. Even though it was put up into a huge mess of a knot that was on her head, it was frizzy, with coils springing every which way, a wide, tye-dyed bandana covered her hairline, the curls bounced slightly towards me as she tried to start up random and useless small talk to try and make me feel better. I obliged to it, but I wasn’t familiar with navigating it so it would fall dead within a minute or so, only to be tried again on her part, which continued a tiring cycle.
“Les-Leseeyah, right? Pretty name. Can I just call you Lessy? It’d be easier for me to remember. I’m not even going to give a try to your last name or else I’ll really fudge it up.” She said as she winked at me, trying to play off her lack of trying as quirky.
Every American did this, they don’t give a shit and I’m tired of them pretending to, I’d rather them just call me ‘commie’, ‘ruskie’, ‘red’, or ‘hunky’ then giving me shitty nicknames, I’ve heard them all from school anyway. Americans are horrible at nicknames, and even worse at nuance.
“Yeah” Was the only thing I could muster out without cussing her out. What kind of social worker is she? Ain’t they supposed to be good at this? Pah.
I could tell she pitied me with her wide, hazel eyes, made bigger with her thick, squared glasses that were rounded at the edges, it made me angry, but I held my tounge and tried to keep myself from shivering in my dark green, thin, long sleeved hennely top, I tugged at the frayed sleeves, pulling them over my knuckles and sliding them in between my thighs. My hands were always cold, my dad always said it was because I carried a block of ice for a heart. She was prepared for the cold with a green zip-up hoodie with white sherpa lining the inside over a blue faded, knit turtleneck and worn jeans, from the constant trips dropping kids off, I assumed. I pulled my shirt’s equally thin hoodie to try and keep the air conditioning from blowing into my ears and making the air pressure hurting my ears worse as I was prone to earaches from cold wind no thanks to my dad and his shitty genes.
After the multiple layovers in Atlanta and Dallas, and then to the Portland airport, I was tuckered out. I could barely move an inch. The social worker was still suspiciously peppy, constantly talking, which I tried my best to tune out, again, it irked me and I again, bit my tongue and trudged on as we headed towards the baggage claim with a dolly to get my numerous bags. Before I could ask where to go next, she pushed me towards the sliding doors that lead to the exit, as she trailed behind me through the doors, where the unfamiliar September cold hit me before I could properly exhale, almost knocking the wind out of me. It was a stark difference from the low 80s that was September weather back home, which to be fair, was a whole lot warmer than average but it was never in the 50s. It felt like the September that I knew and that had watched me grow up had abandoned me too. I couldn’t help but shiver now. My teeth started to chatter so I clenched my jaw so tight that it felt as if my molars were about to split. She started walking towards an old, black Ford F-150 that had rusting and mud in and above the wheel wells. With all of my luggage in front of her, and with the dolly practically stacked to the sky, she leaning over slightly to see where she was going and loudly apologizing and announcing she was coming through, I slowly followed after her, walking through the now parted sea of people, feeling as if I was a dog being led to be put down publicly, lugging my big suitcase and backpack that was stuffed full, staring at my feet, not wanting to make eye contact, tail between my legs.
“Alright Lessy, here’s your Grandpa! I’ll talk with him some more and you’ll be off to your new home!” She said, annoyingly cheerful. She spoke like a school counselor, they always had that aggravating hopefulness for an unrealized idyllic future. A future that I couldn’t have.
“…What.. Do you mean my new home?’ I stammered, taken aback by her statement. I was under the impression that this was temporary…was I wrong?
“Oh honey, bless your heart.” She said with pity dripping from her voice as she locked the dolly in place and placed a hand on my shoulder.
“This placement is permanent until further notice, did you not hear me when I was telling you this on the flight over? Oh right, you must’ve been dozing off… Well you know now, and that’s all that matters!” She said all bubbly-like.
I stared at her, my mouth slightly open from the shock, my backpack sliding down slightly off of my shoulder from me dropping it at the shock of this new information. The hell? Before I could say anything, she continued to talk as she hurriedly pushed a stray, frizzy coiled lock of hair behind her ear and into her tye-dyed, cotton bandana.
“Now I’m going to run over your file with your grandpa which has the details of your transfer of guardianship and the contacts to the other relatives who have your other siblings, so sit tight for a second alright Lessy?” She said, pulling out of her patchwork bag that was slung across her chest and waving a thick manilla folder slightly towards me, the feeling of her hand on my shoulder becoming very, very heavy. She lifted it up before I could buckle under the weight of it and all of the stuff in my backpack, and walked around the cab, leaving me with the dolly. Through the tinted passenger window I could see the driver's window lower which produced the silhouette of the man that was now my new permanent guardian through the now lighter tint of the window, and the one who was just giving me away to someone I’ve never met and never known. What have I done?
Jacob
I’m exhausted. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep, or the lack of eating, or maybe even the lack of speaking to others. Who am I kidding, it’s obvious why. Bella chose that blood sucker over me. Why does she do this to herself? To me? Why do I always have to be the second choice for everyone in my life? The Beta of the pack, the little brother, the idiot kid. The one who’s stuck in June while everyone else has moved on into September.
I’m numb. I guess my brain just decided to take away feelings from the anger and humiliation of the rejection. I can’t believe I ever thought she’d choose me. Who am I? Jackshit to her, that's apparent now. But what about that time on La Push? She was batting her eyes at me and everything, she even promised to let me visit her once I got my drivers permit… was it all a lie? But why? Why would she do that? Why would she pretend to be interested in me and the tribe? Shit, I’m so stupid. I was so messed up over her I just handed over secret stories to her as if they were just stories, I should've listened to Billy and the Elders. Why would she spend all that time with me when the Cullens were gone only to drop me like leftovers under the tables for the dog? Why did she call me beautiful? Why did she call me her personal sun? Didn’t she realize that’s all I wanted to be? Was it because I had to stay away from her after I turned? I even showed her my wolf form as if it would guarantee her staying with me. Did none of that time spent mean anything to her? If only I knew then what I know now. God, all of that begging for her to stay only for her to leave the moment Edward was in danger. But what about me?
My cellphone vibrates next to me. I barely move my head to look to see who it is, fully knowing who it is.
<Bells>
Hey, can we talk? I haven’t seen you in a while. I want to talk about what happened in the forest.
My brain’s numbing juices stop working the second I see her message, I jolt up in my bed, my body vibrating with anger as I pick up the phone and raise my arm to throw it into the wall. I feel the supernatural heat rising. Remembering what she said to me in the forest.
“I’m going to choose him every time.”
“How can she just-” I start to yell, but I stop myself. I can barely afford to replace the clothes and shoes I keep ripping through, and I can’t break something that’s so hard to replace. Plus Dad’ll kill me.
I fall back into bed, hard. I close my eyes, my brow knitting. The hate I try to muster up for her rises, and then crashes and burns. How could I ever hate the girl I love so much? I love her so much that it hurts. Maybe I will always be the sun to her, only watching her from a distance, but always there to comfort her. Maybe I’d be happier if I’d never met her, never loved her, if Billy never sold that fucking truck to Charlie, if he never had me drive us up, if Charlie had just come and picked up that damned peice of shit. But how could I ever resent her? I know she never truly lied, I just misunderstood, chose to misunderstand. All for my selfish desires. But…maybe she’ll come around, she’ll realize that she made the wrong choice, that she was happier when we were building the bikes.
No, she won’t. I know this deep down, but I can’t help but hope, I just want her to be happy, to be safe. If she decided to still go back to.. him even after she was abandoned by that peice of shit out of the blue after all of that work that I put into making her feel better. Maybe…maybe that’s her happiness. And if that’s her happiness then maybe I should support it. But how could I support her being with that psycho? He’s the one who hurt her, not me. Damnit. If that thing is her happiness, where is mine? If he had just stayed away from her for six more months, I would’ve made her happy, but he didn’t, and she didn’t want him to. Was I always destined to be the miserable, second choice peice of shit? How can I be happy when my happiness is happy with someone else? Do I even deserve happiness? Do I even deserve Bella? No, maybe not. She certainly didn't think I was good enough to deserve it.
As I turn over, to try and escape the mental exhaustion and try to find sleep that seems to be more out of my grasp than ever. I feel the tug of Sam’s Alpha voice, I groan. I haven’t been focusing on patrols and everyone knows it. It’s fucking embarrassing as hell that they can hear it all. I know Sam and the Pack are tired of my shit and my mood swings, but so am I, do they think I want to be this way? I’ve become reckless and Sam has noticed, I got an earful of it last time for being ‘too aggressive’. For challenging his authority more often than I had before, with Leah now being a wolf, and Paul’s aggressiveness doesn’t help Sam at all. But how can I help it? I’m an Alpha too, not that I want to be anyway. I worry sometimes that my heartbreak, my anger, and my frustration are making me weak as a wolf. Embry and Quil have pointed it out, they're good friends, but instead of admitting it, my dumbass pulled away, and now I’m too ashamed to admit they were right. I’m failing as a protector of the tribe and as a son to my Dad, I keep snapping at him every time he does have a chance to talk to me about it. Billy’s been worried about me, but when he tries, I escape it by avoiding the house and only sneak into my room through my window when the rare occurrence of sleep hits me. God, I feel guilty for it but I can’t help it, everytime he looks at me I can see him pleading for the old happy Jacob to come back, the one that was so reminiscent of his late wife. Maybe Mom would've been better at talking me through it, but maybe she’d agree with Dad and Bella’s choice. Or maybe I could talk to Nikolai? He’s a family friend who I’ve known my whole life, and is my grandfather who never was. He’s too far away though, I’d have to shift to go talk to him, which wouldn’t be a problem normally, but I’ve started to hate doing so. It only reminds me of the immortality that the phasing causes, and I don’t want to be anything like those blood suckers.
God, I hate it so much, I don’t want to be a wolf, I don’t want to be an Alpha, I don’t want to imprint and be tied to someone I don’t love, someone that doesn’t love me, someone that’s not Bella. But how could I do that to Bella if it had happened? It’d be an obligation to love me rather than a choice, and I’d always have guilt and doubt. Sam says otherwise but I think he’s spewing shit, after all he’s probably saying all that to try and make himself feel better after what he and Emily did to Leah. Damn this recessive gene. Did my being a wolf steal my future? I’ve been slipping on my grades and skipping classes after sleepless nights of patrol since I haven’t been able to focus. I used to dream. But now it’s become so obvious my teachers at the res school have started calling Billy about my new-found temper and exhaustion. Even my classmates are avoiding me because of how much I’ve changed from last year, not including my showing up in a 25 year old body for Junior year, trying to pass it off as late puberty. I haven’t felt the same even before being rejected, after phasing for the first time, I wasn’t the same as the other kids from the tribe, the ones without the gene, lucky bastards. They don't know how good they have it. Since the rejection in June, seeing couples have made me bitter and more volatile, even Sam and Emily, as lovey-dovey as they are. God I just want this all to stop. Please just-
“Son!” Billy shouted from the other room, snapping me out of my wallowing.
I could tell by his tone that it wasn’t another attempt at a talk about June, so I replied right away, rather than staying silent and slinking out the window if I heard his wheels roll up the hall. I get up out of my bed and walk out to the kitchen, seeing him putting on his hat, my heart skips, we’re going out. Hopefully to Nikolai’s but probably Charlie’s. I really don't want to go to Charlie's.
“Yeah Dad?” I ask, slightly excited and nervous at the same time, my hands fidgeting.
“Nikolai is taking in his granddaughter that’s from Appalachia permanently, so I thought it’d be nice if she got to get to know some kind faces before she starts to settle in. Grab some frybread and fish fry on your way out.” Billy smiles gently, the first time in a while that I’ve seen it, guilt stabs me knowing I’m the cause of that. He continues. “You know how he lost his wife and son eight years back, he’s been lonely, so him getting a chance to take in his first grandchild who’s only two years older than Nicky was, I think it'll help his heart.”
Fuck, how could I forget about Nicky? He was always following me around when we were younger, every time Billy and I went over there. Nikolai is a carpenter, he's furnished a lot of meeting halls, community centers, and homes for the tribes around here. He does work for the pale faces too, but the tribes are his biggest commissioners. Nicky and Mariya had died in a horrible car crash, shortly after Nicky’s seventh birthday, when I was about to turn eleven. They had swerved off of the road after an eighteen-wheeler had started driving down the wrong side of the road one foggy night, Nikolai was driving. Ever since then, Nikolai has never been the same. I doubt some girl he’s never even met will change things, sure she's his grandchild. But we’re all he’s got now after his family cut contact with him before he came here, we’re his family.
After changing into something clean and slightly better than what I’ve been rotting in, and brushing my teeth for the first time in two days, and washing my hair in the sink quickly, I helped Billy into my Volkswagen Rabbit and started on the four and half hour drive to Astoria to greet this so-called family of Nikolai.