Blood Bank // Jacob X Edward

Chapter 1

He breathes deeply, straightens himself out and glances at the full-length mirror in the corner of his bedroom.

He looks horrifying. But he's seen it all before. Far too often.

His hair - length that reaches his shoulders - is matted in sticky blood. His weary body painted in dried blood, starting from places where cuts used to be. The blood has rolled down over the form of his muscles and pooled and smeared in the dips and crevices of his body. Black and blue bruises far too large to fade within an hour are visible behind the streaks of blood. He wears blood like a second skin more often than not now.

The bites are something he doesn't think he'll ever get used to, though.

They're littered all over him. His neck, his arms, his wrists, his waist, his thighs... Places he can't bare to see them in.

The venom slows the healing process considerably, so they're almost constantly scarring his flesh. Thankfully, his Quileute wolf genetics make him immune to a vampire's venom.

That doesn't deter the vampire, though. In fact, it spurs them on.

Jacob just stares at himself in silence until the pain of simply standing gets him to move.

He turns around to make his way over to his bedroom door and unlocks it. The old door, dents and splintered cracks smashed into it, creaks quietly as Jacob opens it. He peers out into the hallway and see's it's dark.

He can hear his father's calm, even breaths and steady heartbeat. He's asleep.

Jacob creeps down the hallway and stops behind the door of his father's bedroom where he lies. He pushes against the handle and peeks into the dark room, with only soft snores filling the gaps of white noise. Jacob stands behind the ajar door to examine the sleeping form of his father. No stutters or upticks of his heartbeat. Perfectly normal. Peaceful. And the only time he'll ever see his father at peace.

But even then, the crease between Billy's now permanent furrowed brows never ceases. The constant frown etching his mouth never lets up. Billy's grey hairs grow more each day. Each wrinkle more visible than the week before.

He's withering away. And Jacob can't do anything to stop it. Turn back time or slow it down. Take away the past few years. He doesn't do anything to make it better, either.

Jacob just wants his dad to be ok.

With a sigh, Jacob quietly closes the door and stays behind it for a moment, resting his forehead on the wood with closed eyes to hear if he's disturbed Billy's much-needed sleep. When he knows it's ok, he staggers back towards the bathroom and flicks the light on.

He ignores the shattered bathroom mirror still hanging on the wall above the sink and goes straight to the shower. He turns it on and twists the tap to change the temperature to a piercing cold. Maybe being wrapped in coldness right now isn't the best idea - seeing as he'll feel nothing but cold later - but right now, everything feels too hot. The burning under his skin. His searing hot blood sprayed over his body and the sheen of sweat prickles and itches at his skin. He can feel the tingle of burning venom in his veins, and he can feel it being rejected. The sharp pains and the dull aches in his muscles and bones all feel too hot, and he wants to claw his skin off.

He settles for the cold water with decent pressure.

It'll never be enough. It won't wash away his insides, the thoughts, the memories, the hurt that can't be relieved and everything in between. It won't ever compare to that one thing that settles it all and somehow manages to set everything alight at the same time. But it can ease him. It can clean the surface-level grime. Get rid of the pin-prick itching of sweat and dried blood. Soothe the wounds beneath the skin.

He embraces it. Relishes - as much as he can - in the bitter cold of the water. Because it's the closest he'll ever get to being the furtherst away from it all. Gives him that moment. That time to collect himself. As he lathers himself in body soap and scrubs the mess away, he cools down.

And, just for a moment, he can pretend. Pretend he was sixteen again, and he'd come back from patrol. When everything was more simple. Before everything went tits up. Dig the dirt out from under his nails. Drain the blood from his matted hair and spit it out his mouth like none of it was ever there. Free himself of his second skin.

But the shower looks like a murder scene when he opens his eyes. Bright red and murky brown paint the walls and shower floor like watercolour. And it's just another cruel reminder, like the teeth marks baring his throat, for what's to come, about what's really happening.

He takes his time to clean himself up, detangling his hair with shaky fingers and cleansing it with shampoo until the red water runs clear. Scrubs his face under the spray of icy water, gathering a pool of it in his open mouth and sloshes it around before spitting it out again. He's grateful he hasn't spat a tooth out yet.

When he's done, he rinses the walls and floor off, rubbing the palm of his hand and the ball of his foot against the stubborn stains that cling to a certain spot.

Satisfied, he stands under the shower head a little longer.

He's stalling now. He has no time left, but he doesn't want to move.

It's the fact that he'd rather keep what's about to happen in the bedroom that gets him to turn the shower off and twist the excess water out of his hair.

Jacob gets out of the shower and grabs a towel from the cupboard to dry himself off. He can feel the needles of itchy sweat pricking at him again already.

He flicks the light off and leaves the bathroom, scrubbing his wet hair with the towel to dry it some. When he gets back into his bedroom, he locks the door behind him again and brushes off the debris of soil and forest from the bedsheet where his feet landed. The full-length mirror catches his eye as he does so, and he can't help himself when he scrutinizes his reflection. Those bites. He drops the towel by his feet as his body goes lax.

How long is he going to keep doing this? How long will it be before his body physically gives out?

Until the imprint forces him to stop? Until he just accepts it?

The faintest breeze from the open window blows the damp strands of his hair in front of his face in the still room.

Jacob keeps eye contact with his own reflection as a pale, cold hand gently grips his chin and tilts his head slightly.

See's Edward's reflection leaning in to kiss Jacob's cheek with the softest touch. Takes note that the crack at the corner of Edward's mouth is now gone.

"I'm sorry, my love," the vampire says, hardly above a whisper.

"I hate you," Jacob states just as softly.

"No, you don't."

Jacob turns his head to look at the vampire before him. Hands cold as they graze against Jacob's cheek tenderly as if with all the love in the world. Watches as Edward's crimson eyes glance from Jacob's plump lips to his deep brown eyes. Jacob feels the cold fingers cure the pain in his chest from just one touch alone, and it's like a weight lifted off his shoulders.

"I do. I hate you more than anything in the world."

It doesn't matter if Edward believes him or not because he will never acknowledge it. Never has.

"But you love me," Edward replies simply. As if that trumps all else.

Jacob will never accept it. Any of it. He'll die before he gives in.

Jacob doesn't say anything. He just lets Edward play with him. But maybe that's enough of an answer.