Black Fire

After I'd gotten past my hysterical chuckle-fit, I turned off the music and tried again to sleep without it.
In the end, I drifted off around 12:30. At about 5:30 the next morning I began to stir, and I was content with what I saw as I checked the time with a yawn. Five hours of sleep wasn't half-bad.
I got up out of bed and went over to grab clean clothes, and when I was halfway there, I glanced down at myself. I stopped where I was and threw my head back with an exasperated sigh. "You have got to be kidding me."
I just grabbed a pair of boxers, a pair of loose torn up jeans, and a dark green muscle shirt, and continued to the shower.
Twenty or so nearly agonizing minutes later, I had gotten through my shower, ignoring my morning problem completely aside from a death-glare or two. Considering my last few accusations of myself the previous night, I desperately did not feel like dealing with that. With the thought of that two-sided one-person discussion in mind and the slightly colder-than-usual water pounding against my skin, the problem resolved itself.
I breathed a sigh of relief as I towel-dried my hair a bit and pulled on the clean boxers. I didn't have to deal with that minor annoyance myself, and that was enough to make me consider asking Shane to remind me how to pray so I could properly thank the guy upstairs.
My 'problem' was back with a vengeance at the involuntary thought of Shane down on her knees praying for salvation - I wasn't taking care of myself in that little thought, either, and her prayers were silent.
"God damn it," I growled, bashing first my forehead then my fist on the wall nearest me. I stopped and sighed.
I was one sick son-of-a-bitch, wasn't I?

A few minutes later I was descending the stairs when my dad wheeled over to the bottom. "Jake, would you mind waking your sister up," he asked, and that really gnawed at me because he hadn’t called her my sister in years - probably since her last visit - yet now, of all times, he decides to start again. "Tell her we'll be waiting out back," he added.
"Sure." I climbed back up the stairs and went to her room. I walked quietly, opened the door quietly, did everything quietly.
Once I was in the room, I stared quietly.
Don't judge me. I know it was weird.
She was just lying there, sleeping so peacefully, in her black and pink butterfly pajamas - the matching pants and tank top. I actually remembered those - she got them for her sixteenth birthday, last time she was here.

What was it about her? What caused my mile-a-minute heartbeat to skip?
She was pretty, sure. And, yeah, I noticed. I had taunted myself about that last night.
She was sweet - never really had any problems with people.
She loved La Push and it loved her - all the other Quileutes welcomed her into the extended family with open arms.
She loved animals - definite plus, considering I turn fuzzy on a regular basis.
Maybe it was because she'd been there for me so much, flying into my life right after my mom died and being there for me through whatever I went through from then on.
She was sort of an on-and-off family member, only visiting two or three times a year and acting as more of a long-distance friend the rest of the time. Maybe that was what made it so easy to start feeling like I do.

Her eyes were just barely open - she wouldn't be able to tell I was looking at her. I quickly shifted my stare to her Dir en Grey poster - the cover of the single 'Jessica' - before she could open her eyes the rest of the way.
"Dad told me to wake you up," I said, trying to keep my eyes locked on the poster, but I couldn't help glancing at her for one brief second. I turned around and started back toward the door. "We'll be waiting out back," I added without turning back, and with that I left, grabbed cold chunk of pre-cooked kielbasa out of the fridge for breakfast, and walked out back to wait with dad.

Shane finally showed up around 6:45 in dark blue jeans and a plain white tank top.
"Morning, daddy," she said, giving him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Were they intentionally laying it on thick this morning?
"Jake," she said with a greeting nod, and I replied with her name and an identical nod.
"Ooh, a forest green '94 Ranger? The sexy bitch of '90s pickups," she commented, noticing the centerpiece of the back yard. "Whose is she?"
"Yours," Dad said and held out a keyring which held a single key and a keychain with a picture of the three of us from her last visit on one side and 'Shane Azraea Dawson-Black' inscribed on the other.
"No Defel-frakking way," she exclaimed, ever the Star Wars nerd. "But, dad, you already said the house was my graduation gift. I can't possibly take this, too." I didn't know about any house.
"Consider it a late birthday present. Anyway, Jake came up with the idea and did all the work - I just had the keychain made." I had really hoped he wouldn't mention that bit of info.
Shane sort of reflexively jumped on me in a hug, wrapping her arms around my neck and putting her chin on my shoulder - I just barely rested my hands on her hips, also reflexively. Tight as she was holding herself to my neck and shoulders, her feet would be hovering an inch or two above the ground if she didn't have them bent slightly, bringing them even further from stable ground. To keep her up much longer either her legs would have to go around my waist, or my arm under her knee-thigh-butt area. I reminded myself that would be weird.
Fortunately it wasn't an issue, because she seemed to find our position awkward after about 5 seconds and hopped down, letting me go. She immediately turned away to look at the car, successfully avoiding ever looking at me.
"Thank you so much, Jacob," she said, and I could tell that her enthusiasm was a little big exaggerated to cover up embarrassed uneasiness - I guess she doesn't jump on people all that often. "I love it!"
'Oh, really? Couldn't tell,' I thought sarcastically.
"Yeah," I said, only then noticing that my hands were still on her waist and quickly snatching them away to hang limply at my sides. "Well, I'm the local grease-monkey and I figured you'd get more use out of 'er than me. She was pretty trashed, wasn't running like she used to, and she had her share of battle scars, but I managed to salvage the original frame and most of the body, with a new paintjob of course. On the outside she's a genuine '94 - cab-interior work wasn't my priority so I'll tell you it isn't glamorous - but she's got all shiny new innards," I explained, and for a split second I couldn't believe I'd actually used the term 'innards' to describe the diverse and complex mechanical systems of a vehicle.
She walked up and opened the driver's side door. "Torn up stained upholstery, scratched up dashboard, floor sloppily stripped of carpet," she appraised, everything below the waist hanging out the door as she looked around. "It's perfect," she exclaimed, popping back out. "We may have to see about setting the local guys loose on it with spray cans so as to provide an outlet for their teenage frustrations whilst also allowing my baby's cab the appearance of utter greyscale-colored-rainbow chaos," she suggested. "It's a little too perfect, welcoming, and homey."
"Seth's got more shades between black and white than I care to even think about," I supplied as an agreement.
"Sounds good to me," she said with a smirk. "I like the green - that'll stay," she commented thoughtfully as she came around to the front and popped the hood.
"Sweet mother of a son of a misbegotten whore," she exclaimed. "Jacob, this is the absolute sickest setup I've ever seen in my life."
"I told you she was shiny and new," I replied with a shrug.
"Look like a wagon, run like a Porsche," she mumbled. "Is that a V10? Explorers usually had V6, right," she asked, motioning for me to come over to her. We both knew that wouldn't be the last question she had - she has a passion for diesel mechanics, but not quite the knowledge I possess - especially since I built the truck from nearly nothing.