Trippin, Slippin, Stumbletumblin By YellowGlue.pdf

Trippin, Slippin, Stumbletumblin By YellowGlue

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/6354427/1/

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Author of 15 Stories 1. Chapter 12. Chapter 23. Chapter 34. Chapter 45. Chapter

56. Chapter 67. Chapter 78. Chapter 89. Chapter 910. Chapter 1011. Chapter

1112. Chapter 1213. Chapter 1314. Chapter 1415. Chapter 1516. Chapter 1617.

Chapter 1718. Chapter 1819. Chapter 1920. Chapter 2021. Chapter 2122.

Chapter 2223. Chapter 2324. Chapter 2425. Chapter 2526. Chapter 2627.

Chapter 2728. Chapter 2829. Chapter 2930. Chapter 30

Rated: M - English - Angst/Romance - Bella & Edward - Reviews: 2,591 -

Updated: 08-08-11 - Published: 09-26-10 - Complete - id:6354427

(All rights and respects to Stephenie Meyer who owns all things Twilight. Also to

George Eliot, A.A. Milne, and the musicians listed below.)

(sweetlove to my sweetpetal, sweetjerkface, sweetbetalady Gabes and my

sweetclydette, sweetcarebear, sweetprereaderbestie Amelie. i love you guys.)

Trippin, Slippin, Stumbletumblin

a tale of piroettes and prayers. Marseilles and a mosaic-heart. whispers and white

dahlias. leg warmers and LSD. Turtle and tutus. Sixtyfour and 'Since I've been

Loving You'. lies and lilacs. truth and the trouble with it. blood... and bearing a

grudge. AU darkward and his ballerina.

rated M for sex, drugs, and violence.

that's your one and only warning. heed that shit.

Chapter One: Isabella's POV

Iron and Wine - Arms of a Thief

Tegan and Sara - Red Belt

Smashing Pumpkins - Daphne Descends

I was supposed to be sleeping.

I'd finished my homework hours ago, even though it was Friday. I'd done my

exercises (relevés: eight on each foot individually, then sixteen on both). I'd said

goodnight to Mom about fifteen minutes ago or so, and come upstairs.

I'd changed out of my clothes and into the white tee-shirt and blue pajama

shorts. I'd brushed my teeth and washed my face and toweled it dry. And once I

was in my room for the night, I'd closed my door until it clicked.

I pulled my hair up with my fingers, twisting it into an unbound ponytail in one

hand, then the other. I rocked my balance from my left foot to my right, and then

back again, feeling the sting in my left leg from where I'd pulled the muscles

earlier. I blinked slowly, hoping again it wasn't a sprain. I didn't want to have to

tell Mom.

I willed the thought away and opened my eyes, waiting, listening for any sounds

outside.

Letting my hair fall back down after a few silent save-for-the-crickets moments, I

flipped the light switch by the door and switched on the lamp by my bed.

I turned the blankets down and looked from the far corner of my room to my

closet.

I opened my mouth, to speak.

But I hesitated, still waiting, still unsure.

I never knew which moment was the exact, right moment.

The one where I could say "Okay, I'm ready. Come out now..."

I took my left pinkie nail between my teeth and chewed, just for a second.

I felt like he was waiting. I really, always felt like he was waiting. I didn't know

that he was, but it always seemed like the second I said his name, he was there.

At my window. Like he'd been waiting and ready all along.

Snuggling deep into the covers, pulling them up around my ears, I closed my

eyes and counted to five.

At one, I took a heavy breath.

Filled my chest up.

At two, I adjusted around the breath in my chest, and felt my lips start to smile.

By three, my smile stretched up and into my cheeks.

For four, my stomach leapt grand jetés.

And just before five, I held all of myself completely still. I didn't even breathe.

Just for that one second...

I opened my mouth only then, just barely so that I could shape my lips around

two syllables. So that I could whisper out, so quietly, almost all air:

"Edward..."

His answer was immediate and soft, just like the sudden breeze of night air on

my cheeks and nose.

"Shhh, I'm here."

I opened my eyes when I heard his voice. He was stepping away from my

window, closing it silently behind himself. And I felt my smile digging, deeper into

my cheeks.

"Hi," I whispered, trying to keep my voice low.

As he stepped closer I saw that he was smiling too. "Hi," he mouthed back,

holding his index finger to his lips.

I leaned up a little, pulling my arms from the covers as he shrugged out of his

coat and hung it next to where a few of my own were on the back of my closet

door. He held up the hardcopy of George Eliot that he'd brought, and I nodded.

He rolled up the cuffs of his black long sleeves as he made his way over, and sat

down next to me.

I could smell the nighttime coming off him, springtime air lingering in his clothes

and his hair.

"So, where did we leave off?" he asked, keeping his voice gently hushed.

He sat up straight; his back against the headboard of my bed and his legs out in

front of him, crossed at his ankles. I leaned up further, resting my head in my

hand and my weight on my elbow.

I waited a second before answering, listening for any sounds of movement from

downstairs. Hearing nothing but the faint drone of television commercials, I

relaxed.

"Maggie's just chopped off all her hair. And Tom was laughing at her, even

though he helped."

"Very good," he nodded, opening the book. He turned a few pages and settled on

one, tracing his finger down to find the spot.

"He hurried downstairs and left poor Maggie to that bitter sense of the irrevocable

which was almost an everyday experience of her small soul. She could see clearly

enough, now the thing was done, that it was very foolish, and that she should

have to hear and think more about her hair than ever; for Maggie rushed to her

deeds with passionate impulse, and then saw not only their consequences, but

what would have happened if they had not been done, with all the detail and

exaggerated circumstance of an active imagination..."

For a few pages, ten or so, I was still very awake. But somewhere around chapter

VIII, I unbent my arm and tucked it under my pillow, resting my head atop them

both. He continued to read, his voice sounding softer and farther away as he did

so. I listened, but my attention to the story wavered. I looked up at him between

sleepy blinks, watching his black eyes as they moved over the words, and the

way he rested his finger in the corner of the book; between the page he was on

and the next one, waiting to turn it.

I shifted, more onto my back than my side, and stretched my legs out. The

movement pulled at the sore muscles in my thigh, startling me and I sucked in a

deep breath, stilling myself immediately to try to stop the pain.

"Isabella?" Both of his eyebrows were pulled and creased, his dark eyes wide with

concern.

I closed my own eyes, hating the words as I spoke them. Mom's going to be so

upset with me if this messes up the recital...

"I think I pulled a muscle today."

I pointed my toes down and then back up, testing the resistance inside my leg.

The stretch made my muscles throb and I pressed my lips together hard, hurting

and angry at myself.

Feeling the bed lift, I opened my eyes again. Edward stood for a moment, and

then knelt down near where I leaned onto my elbow once more.

He was looking down, at his hands or his feet, and was silent. His smile was

gone, his entire demeanor had changed.

"I think I might actually have sprained it," I continued, confused by his reaction

and trying to make it sound not so bad as it felt.

He lifted his head again, and one of his hands as well, resting it on the edge of

my blankets. He swallowed hard, his jaw ticking a little as he did.

"What?" I asked.

He looked down and then back up at me, his eyes softening when they met mine.

"May I see it?"

"My leg?"

"Where you think you've sprained it, yes."

I nodded, of course. "Sure." I reached to nudge my blankets down as he did the

same, the side of my hand brushing the side of his as we pushed my sheet and

comforter down to the end of my bed.

He stood once more and walked from the side of my bed to the foot of it, then

back to the side again. I watched, still on my back, leaning on both of my elbows,

curious as to his indecision. I'd never seen him look so out of place before.

"Where does it hurt?" he asked, returning to the foot of the bed.

I sat up, and touched my hand to the inside and the back of my leg, just above

the bend of my knee. "Here. All through here."

He moved forward, resting his own knees between my ankles. I bent my fingers

into my palms, tensing up. I closed my eyes tightly, nervously. My leg just hurt

so much and I didn't know if he was going to bend it, because if he did it was

going to hurt more and -

"It's okay," he whispered, moving closer. The sound of his voice was so calming

and familiar, and I loosed my fingers, trusting him.

Our position was awkward, and I tried hard not to look down. I trusted him. I

didn't need to look. I tried to tell myself that if I looked, I'd just get nervous

again.

But I did look, just a quick glance. I wanted to. Just long enough to catch a

glimpse of his sharp shoulders under the black cotton of his shirt, and his hair

sticking out, going every which way it always went.

I returned my eyes to my ceiling then, concentrating on glow-in-the-dark stars

and my breathing as I heard his voice, low and soothing.

"I'd never hurt you," he whispered.

I felt his hand then, cool and familiar like his voice, as it curled around almost my

entire knee.

Deliberately steady, I blew my exhale out, and let my eyes fall shut. Slowly, he

moved my leg, carefully turning it a little to the side, bending it open just slightly.

There was that anxious fluttering of nerves inside me again. It wasn't fear

though, it was something different, something like the tummy-tickle feeling on

the come-down part of a roller-coaster.

"What happened?" he asked.

"I don't know. We were doing split stretches and I was leaning over my left leg

and I just felt this... pull."

He parted my leg a little farther, but still hadn't moved his hand from my knee.

"You need to let it rest. You don't practice tomorrow?"

"No," I shook my head.

"And ice. And compression to reduce swelling, and help it heal." He pressed his

other hand against where my leg was most sore then, flattening his palm and

fingers around the side of my thigh and squeezing gently.

The cool pressure was far from the agony I'd inflicted on myself when I'd tried to

stretch and test the ligaments on my own. I felt my whole body ease into

wonderful relief as he contracted and relaxed his hand in a slow pattern,

massaging the muscles just above and behind my knee.

The melody of his touch lulled me, and eventually the pain was almost completely

gone. I breathed a yawn and hummed gratefully as I exhaled.

He slid the hand that had loved my muscles away and brushed his nose over my

skin. The barely-there softness of it tickled and I flinched instinctively.

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