My first attempt at a story here – please give me feedback - I'll appreciate any and all - either negative or positive! I'm trying to learn and grow! I've proofed myself - no pre-readers or BETA's yet. Anyone wanna volunteer? If so - send me a message!
Disclaimer – I own nothing relating to the works of the "Queen" of Twilight, Stephenie Meyer. I'm just putting her characters in this story, because I LOVE them! I give all credit to her for her brilliance in creating these characters. I give credit to the creators of any other song, movie, or book I may reference. But the story is mine - any similarity to any other story that may be out there somewhere is not intended!
There will be mature language, ADULT situations and LEMONS. So, mature readers only please!
My name is Isabella and this is my story of lessons. Lessons learned, lessons failed, lessons in love, lessons in friendship, lessons in betrayal in short a whole bunch of lessons of life. It's not an easy story, this story of mine, but whose story ever is? My story is probably like yours or my neighbor or best friend, I mean, everyone has one, right? Whether it is happy or sad, laughter inducing or reducing one to tears, a story is a story. I just had to tell someone my story, before I end it.
THE LESSONS
Chapter 1
The First Lesson = Sounds
There are plenty of things I can't remember about my young childhood days but there is plenty that I do. My first bike riding lesson, my first piano lesson, and my first lesson on how to work the new microwave – I remember all those lessons vaguely. The lessons I recall vividly aren't all that pretty. I remember good times, but mostly just the sounds of all the ugliness surrounding me.
One sound that rings clear in my memory were of raised voices in heated arguments. Screaming and hollering so loud that even being a whole floor away surrounded by insulation filled sheet rock and closed doors couldn't muffle the sound. Oh my, the horrid screaming matches that took place in our "perfect" home were cringe-worthy. Crazy thing, they were usually over nothing – even my young five year old mind could figure that out. Something as simple as the ashtray not being wiped clean to his liking after it was emptied out or the dress he bought her to wear to one of his work functions didn't look as good on her as it did on the mannequin would start an all-out free for all of epic proportions.
It was the silence I hated the most at the time though. The silence after those arguments was actually extremely loud and deafening. To this day, being given the silent treatment gives me cold sweats and a sick feeling in my stomach. I'd rather have someone scream at me than have the silence.
Why would I hate the silence? The silence always led to something bad – really, really bad, that's why. Muted thumps of something hitting the wall, the whisper of fabric being torn, muffled cries for help and the sound of flesh hitting flesh in anger is what silence led to.
The sound of slamming doors and the car starting in the garage would signal the end of the storm. The sound of my bedroom door opening and gentle hands picking me up and cradling me to her would be the sound of the comfort she needed. The sound of a birds chirping, squeaky chains of a rusty swing set, dry skin screeching against a metal slide and the crinkling sound of a sleeve of crackers being opened to feed the ducks in the pond was the escape, for just a short time, that she required.
LESSON LEARNED: I FUCKING HATE DUCKS.
So...whatcha think? I know it's a little heavy - it won't always be that way - we meet someone warm in our next chapter. I plan to update once a week (I have a RL job and family and little league baseball season is getting geared up) if time permits perhaps twice. Leave me some love or some hate - just leave me something!