"I'm great!" I enthused. I flexed my arms and legs. Everything seemed to be working correctly. "Let's do itagain."
"I don't think so." Jacob still sounded worried. "I think I'd better drive you to the hospital first."
"I'mfine."
"Um, Bella? You've got a huge cut on your forehead, and it's gushing blood," he informed me.
I clapped my hand over my head. Sure enough, it was wet and sticky. I could smell nothing but the damp moss on my face, and that held off the nausea.
"Oh, I'm so sorry, Jacob." I pushed hard against the gash, as if I could force the blood back inside my head.
"Why are you apologizing for bleeding?" he wondered as he wrapped a long arm around my waist and pulled me to my feet. "Let's go. I'll drive." He held out his hand for the keys.
"What about the bikes?" I asked, handing them over.
He thought for a second. "Wait here. And take this." He pulled off his T-shirt, already spotted with blood, and threw it to me. I wadded it up and held it tightly to my forehead. I was starting to smell the blood; I breathed deeply through my mouth and tried to concentrate on something else.
Jacob jumped on the black motorcycle, kicked it to a start in one try, and raced back down the road, spraying sand and pebbles behind him. He looked athletic and professional as he leaned over the handlebars, head low, face forward, his shiny hair whipping against the russet skin of his back. My eyes narrowed enviously. I was sure I hadn't looked like that on my motorcycle.
I was surprised at how far I'd gone. I could barely see Jacob in the distance when he finally got to the truck. He threw the bike into the bed and sprinted to the driver's side.
I really didn't feel bad at all as he coaxed my truck to a deafening roar in his hurry to get back to me. My head stung a little, and my stomach was uneasy, but the cut wasn't serious. Head wounds just bled more than most. His urgency wasn't necessary.
Jacob left the truck running as he raced back to me, wrapping his arm around my waist again.
"Okay, let's get you in the truck."
"I'm honestly fine," I assured him as he helped me in. "Don't get worked up. It's just a little blood."
"Just a lot of blood," I heard him mutter as he went back for my bike.
"Now, let's think about this for a second," I began when he got back in. "If you take me to the ER like this, Charlie is sure to hear about it." I glanced down at the sand and dirt caked into my jeans.
"Bella, I think you need stitches. I'm not going to let you bleed to death."
"I won't," I promised. "Let's just take the bikes back first, and then we'll make a stop at my house so I can dispose of the evidence before we go to the hospital."
"What about Charlie?"
"He said he had to work today."
"Are you really sure?"
"Trust me. I'm an easy bleeder. It's not nearly as dire as it looks."
Jacob wasn't happy - his full mouth turned down in an uncharacteristic frown - but he didn't want to get me in trouble. I stared out the window, holding his ruined shirt to my head, while he drove me to Forks.
The motorcycle was better than I'd dreamed. It had served its original purpose. I'd cheated - broken my promise. I'd been needlessly reckless. I felt a little less pathetic now that the promises had been broken on both sides.
And then to discover the key to the hallucinations! At least, I hoped I had. I was going to test the theory as soon as possible. Maybe they'd get through with me quickly in the ER, and I could try again tonight.
Racing down the road like that had been amazing. The feel of the wind in my face, the speed and the freedom... it reminded me of a past life, flying through the thick forest without a road, piggyback while he ran - I stopped thinking right there, letting the memory break off in the sudden agony. I flinched.
"You still okay?" Jacob checked.
"Yeah." I tried to sound as convincing as before.
"By the way," he added. "I'm going to disconnect your foot brake tonight."
At home, I went to look at myself in the mirror first thing; it was pretty gruesome. Blood was drying in thick streaks across my cheek and neck, matting in my muddy hair. I examined myself clinically, pretending the blood was paint so it wouldn't upset my stomach. I breathed through my mouth, and was fine.
I washed up as well as I could. Then I hid my dirty, bloody clothes in the bottom of my laundry basket, putting on new jeans and a button-up shirt (that I didn't have to pull over my head) as carefully as I could. I managed to do this one-handed and keep both garments blood-free.
"Hurry up," Jacob called.
"Okay, okay," I shouted back. After making sure I left nothing incriminating behind me, I headed downstairs.
"How do I look?" I asked him.
"Better," he admitted.
"But do I look like I tripped in your garage and hit my head on a hammer?"
"Sure, I guess so."
"Let's go then."
Jacob hurried me out the door, and insisted on driving again. We were halfway to the hospital when I realized he was still shirtless.
I frowned guiltily. "We should have grabbed you a jacket."
"That would have given us away," he teased. "Besides, it's not cold."
"Are you kidding?" I shivered and reached out to turn the heat on.
I watched Jacob to see if he was just playing tough so I wouldn't worry, but he looked comfortable enough. He had one arm over the back of my seat, though I was huddled up to keep warm.
Jacob really did look older than sixteen - not quite forty, but maybe older than me. Quil didn't have too much on him in the muscle department, for all that Jacob claimed to be a skeleton. The muscles were the long wiry kind, but they were definitely there under the smooth skin. His skin was such a pretty color, it made me jealous.