So, here it is. The last chapter of Grand Jete. I'm really weepy and emotional right now.

Thanks to everyone who has been there with me along the way. You know who you are, and I love you more than I can express.

xXxXx

You Fell Towards Me

A tiny dancer spins in its box. The springs twist in constant motion, rotating the ballerina on the spot. It plays a haunting tune; sad, almost – like a love gone too soon, a heart left to rot after ripening without being plucked. She watches it spin, her tiny brown eyes taking in each rotation.

"Ma puce, we are almost late for class. Are you listening to this again?"

Bella nods, her little fingers clinging to the edge of the dresser. The box closes softly, and Esme's hands cradle Bella's face.

"I know you are sad and that you miss your mother. But she is not so far, and I am here. I know everything there is to know about her, and you will know everything there is to know about me."

Bella nods, too young to really understand. But Miss Esme smells so sweet, like a swizzle of sugar and light pink petals on bathwater. She wants to dance just like her, wants to move underneath the notes of the music, lift her arms to the sky and let the clouds carry her through her jumps.

Esme promises her that one day, she will. One day, she will have all the eyes in the room on her, but will only care about one pair. And she says, when that day comes, she will be a dancer.

Bella doesn't know why this particular memory clings to her skin as she washes her face in the bathroom behind the stage, but it does. It swallows her heart and she feels each contraction as it moves down the windpipe. She breathes deeply, trying to right herself, but each move she makes is heavy and ungraceful.

Every eye in the room will be on her in less than an hour, but the only pair she cares about will not be.

She has already resigned herself to the fact that he is sick again. Why else would a doctor call in a patient? If things are okay, it's barely a phone call. But when it's bad news, the doctor feels an obligation to give a face-to-face explanation, and then move the person into the treatment options.

But she has to do this. She has so many people counting on her, even though she's put on her coat and taken it off three times so far.

She emerges from the bathroom, and Esme is there, smiling at her in that way she has. Bella takes a deep breath and wipes her face.

"You are going to be beautiful out there," she whispers, pulling Bella's hair back from her face. "Come, let's do your makeup. You washed it all off."

"It all came off," Bella corrects, but allows herself to be led down the hallways into the dressing rooms.

"Sit," Esme demands, pointing to a stool in front of a vanity mirror.

"I was thinking about when I was staying at your house when I was little," Bella tells her.

Esme sits on the vanity in front of her. She pulls over a big box of glittery stage makeup and begins applying foundation. "What about it?"

"How sad I was because I didn't understand why Renee had gone. How happy I was to have you. And that music box with the dancing ballerina, how I played it constantly before every dance class. Do you remember that?"

Esme smiles at her, rubbing the foundation over her nose. "Of course I remember. I'm surprised you do. You were such a little thing."

"I don't remember very much, but… what you said to me, I can still remember it. How I wasn't a dancer until I only cared about one person's eyes, not the whole world's. Did you mean that, or were you just trying to babble at a little girl?"

Esme looks at Bella softly, her eyes crinkling as she considers her goddaughter. "I didn't feel like a dancer until my father finally came and saw one of my recitals. He had never come, and I begged him to for years. When he finally did, my body was so aware of him out there that I danced better than I had my whole life. It's like I was dancing to make him proud, and maybe to make him see that getting off the sofa to come see me was worth it."

Bella nods, causing powder to go flying. She laughs as it tickles her nose, and Esme waves it away with a giggle.

"You are thinking of your Edward," Esme continues, brushing the now still powder over Bella's eyelids.

"Always," Bella answers quietly.

"You do not think he will come?"

"I know he will if he can. But no, I don't think he'll come."

Esme cups Bella's face in a way she hasn't done in years. "Ma cherie, I have seen you come alive in these past months. Before, you were a beautiful shell. Now, you are a woman with passion and faith. Don't betray yourself before your big moment."

"My big moment?"

"What is faith if it hasn't been tested? What have you been telling Edward for the past seven, eight months – to never fear, never give up, to always fight. If you can't muster up enough spitfire to trust your feet to move you, you might as well lie in bed and let life cover you."

Bella dabs at her eyes, resolute to not let the tears spill. Esme is working so hard to make her beautiful, and she doesn't want her sadness to muddy it up. "What if he doesn't – "

"Non, mademoiselle. What if he does?"

xXxXx

She regards herself in the mirror after Esme leaves. Her eyelashes fan out to her eyebrows, and her eye shadow is a thick layer of silver paint and rhinestones. Her lips are a pale pink, and her hair is tight on her head, tied off like a sailor's knot. Feathers extend out of the bun, almost falling over her eyes. She looks beautiful, like a swan – which was Esme's goal, she's sure.

Underneath the makeup, she can see the little girl she used to be. She remembers her first pointe shoes, and the patient way Esme showed her how to lace them up. She still has them hanging by her bedside. Edward always complains they smell like 'baby funk', but she knows that's just his way of compensating for having something so girly in his domicile.

Edward.

His name is a whisper in her ears. It travels down her veins into the tiny capillaries, stuffing itself into the tight crooks of her. She rubs her arms, missing him already. Was it really just this morning that she kissed him goodbye with half a breakfast bar hanging out of her mouth? He had complained about her nose being cold, and she had stomped on his foot in retaliation. He had wished her good luck, and she had said 'see you this evening.' And he had said, 'yes, you will.'

And then life changes that quickly, which is something he's taught her, something she hasn't really thought about until now. All it took was a quiet man in a leather jacket and baseball cap to scowl at her, make fun of her smoking technique, and then seven months later, he was everything that alighted her passion.

She walks towards the stage, her little girls about to go on. They throw themselves at her, and she laughs and whispers encouragements.

"I'll be right here," she promises them, feeling their anxious energy. "If you need me, just look over your shoulder, and I'll guide you."

Then the group on stage exits, and she pushes her girls on. This is only their first number – they have tap and jazz to go. But this, ballet, is what she is most anxious to see.

They flounder and look for her help a lot, their sweet little brains on overdrive from all the people and bright lights. But they look adorable, and they do their steps with tiny feet and big hearts. They get a loud round of applause, and no one is clapping louder than Bella.

She high fives and hugs all of them as they shimmy off the stage, the lights still bright in their eyes. She leads them back into the dressing room, assisting them in the costume change. She checks her phone in a moment of peace, and she has a text waiting for her.

Still in the waiting room. Haven't heard anything. Send me a picture and make me smile.

She grabs one of the girls and takes a "MySpace" style picture with her, the camera above their heads, the angle off. But she has a cute little girl with missing teeth in the picture next to her opulent makeup, and if anything will make him smile, that will.

She sends it quickly, and then taps her toes in anticipation of his response.

"Miss Bella?" asks Shayla, the little girl in the picture with her.

"Yes?"

"You look like a princess," she whispers. The girls behind her nod and agree, and she smiles at all of them.

"So do you," Bella promises.

Her phone goes off, so she checks it as the girls make last minute preparations to their costumes.

Exactly what I had in mind. You are beautiful. They just called my name – I'll see you soon, either way.

Bella's heart leaps into her throat, but she puts down her phone before she calls him and sobs. She has a job to do, and she's not going to let these girls down.

"Come on, let's go!" she cries, clapping her hands and raising excitement among them.

xXxXx

The lights are bright, brighter than she remembers. She closes her eyes as much as she can without shutting them completely. Her ribbons are tight, strung around her calves. She can feel sweat clinging to her back, dripping between her shoulder blades.

When she gets to center stage, she looks up. She can barely see to the right or left, but she can see the middle row leading to the double door exit perfectly. There is no one there watching her, so she drops her head as she tries to forget her heart and recall it into her dance at the same moment.

The music starts up: a heavy, sad piano. She rises onto her toes, and then the world falls away.

"Oh, please don't go… I want you so… I can't let go… For I lose control…"

It's like the lights of the stage invoked 'life flashing before your eyes' sequence that occurs after death. Edward is not here, which means her whole life is about to be reborn into something new, something scary, something – despite all of her bravado – she doesn't know if she's strong enough to handle.

She sees him in her mind, sleeping against her arm, laughing at her millionth stupid joke, closing his eyes before he comes. Tears spring to her eyes, and she can't push them back down. She's on stage, and she's crying, and she's heartbroken, and every bit of movement she puts forth shows that.

She crumples onto the stage, like a swan falling from the sky, her wings too new to fly. She picks herself back up slowly, wiping her eyes on her fingers. She can't bend to the wind now, now that it's blowing harder than ever. If she can't fly, she'll dance.

And so she does. Even though he can't see her, it's for him. It's all been for him, she realizes. Every moment of passion she's reborn inside herself, it's to show him how living again is easy when you have someone every step of the way. There's no reason to be scared, because if you fall, someone will always be there to catch you.

And the last thing she wants to be is a liar. She doesn't want to be that person to preach and preach and not practice, so she's determined to step off this stage the second the music stops and go to him. She's going to show him that she has the strength he's shown her every step of the way.

She was going through life without much passion, without much conviction. She met a man who taught her the meaning of treating transient life with respect, with love, so she's going to take the biggest leap of faith she's ever faced.

The music slowly comes to a close, and she drops her arms, breath heaving. The applause rises around her, and she smiles, thanking them with a curtsy.

When she raises her head to take her leave, she sees.

She sees her whole life before her, and he's standing against the double doors, a beautiful smile on his face, clapping loudest of them all.

She's a trained dancer, and she knows how to keep her poise. But she doesn't give a damn. She leaps off the stage and bounds down the middle row, tears streaming past her smile.

She jumps up into his arms, and he falls back against the door.

"You were amazing," he tells her. "I wanted to cry and beat off at the same time."

She laughs through her tears, because this is such a poignant moment, and he always ruins those with his stupid boy comments. But she couldn't be happier. She loves him, and his stupid boy comments, and his hair, and his health, and his heart, which he showed to her all those months ago. His heart, which he gave her, and she took, and she mended him, and maybe she taught him a thing or two about how to live, too.

Or maybe they mended each other. Or maybe it doesn't matter. Maybe all that matters is that he's kissing her, and she's kissing him, and the bemused people in the audience are still clapping. Maybe all that matters is the reason they called him down to the doctor's office was so his dad could surprise him with the results himself, and the news that he was moving back, and that they were going to be a family again.

Or maybe all that matters is that she loves him, every inch, and she knows she can take that leap and he will be there at the other side to bring her back to the ground.

Or maybe he'll be there, right beside her, taking that grand jeté with her.

xXxXx

The epilogue will be posted within the next couple days.

The chapter title comes from "Please Don't Go" by Barcelona. If you like that sort of thing, read it with this chapter. Especially her dance, since it was what I listened to while writing it.

I love you all so much.

xoxo