My Own Personal Sun [A Jacob Black Story]

My Own Personal Sun [A Jacob Black Story] {Part 17}

JACOB’S POINT OF VIEW:

            “She’s been dying to see you, man.” Quil paused, looking down at the ground. “Edward said she was pretty messed up about seeing you all hurt.”

            I grunted, the pain stabbing me in the arms, chest, legs—anywhere with flesh. “Bring her to me.” I spat, my breath coming out in heavy gasps.

            Quil said nothing, as if he wanted to say no but didn’t have the guts.

            I could feel the sweat dripping down my neck—I was overheating, Carlisle had said, as an effort to heal my body faster. “Bring her to me!” I hissed, wanting nothing more than to see Summer.

           

            Quil nodded silently, then slid out of my bedroom; the door closed, and only the small crack between the door and the floorboards shedding some light into the room, casting shadows onto the small walls.

            I’d never been hurt this badly in my life—I hurt all over, so intensely that I couldn’t begin to explain. All I wanted to do was cry.

            I shut my eyes, trying to keep a grasp on reality as I was tortured by the pain radiating and shocking my entire body; tears streamed down my cheeks every so often, jerking me back into real life.

            My bedroom door swung open; I jumped, then let out a little whine as the stabbing pain jabbed at my limbs. I realized it was Carlisle—he had a grim expression on his face.

            I licked my lips, barely managing to speak. “This is becoming fun for you, isn’t it, doc?”

            Carlisle shook his head, sitting on the stool placed lightly beside my bed; his expression lowered, and for some reason, I felt bad for the vampire in front of me.

            He just…he seemed so much more human than the rest of them. He was so respectable. I mean, this guy wasn’t your average vamp—he spent his entire vampire life dedicated to fight his instinct, and now he was saving my life. I had to love him. It was impossible to want to kill this guy.

            “Jacob,” his voice was always so formal, so polite, despite what I was to him. “I will never enjoy having to do this to you.” Carlisle’s voice was awfully sincere—I was actually beginning to feel bad for him.

            I closed my eyes, my hands gripping the wood frame beneath me. “I’m ready, doc—do what you gotta do.”

            Carlisle let out a sigh. “I’ll make this one quick.”

            His cold hands wrapped themselves around my ankle; the chill of his touch felt good, cooling me down a bit more. It numbed the pain for a mere second—and then, I heard the loud snaps and cracks; it reminded me of a tree falling down, all the pops and crackles as it tumbled over.