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But somehow I’m still both. I’m a dichotomy.
Which is just a fancy word forfucked-up. I’m fucked-up.
But when Kid looks at me the way she does, as though she’s rubbed off the tattoos, pulled away the layers of skin, muscle and bone, and sees right into the very atoms of me, I begin to believe I’mmore. I begin to believe that I’m capable of being more than a victim, more than an assailant, a criminal, a bully, a fucking monster.
I can be Dax.
I can be her Dark Angel.
I can be the boy she loved.
Sweeping out my left leg into a standing kick, I twist on the ball of my right foot then centre my weight on both feet and raise both arms up in the air, tipping my head back as NF begins to sing. For three years I’ve been numb, just like the song suggests. Now, I’m beginning to feel, and fuck, it hurts. It’s painful, but still I dig deep, trying to hunt how I feel from deep inside. It’s a mammoth fucking task because I’m used to burying my emotions. This time, however, I accept Pen’s challenge and I burrow down, searching for the mess of feeling that clogs me up like cancer.
I find it.
My arms drop, I lift my head to look at Pen as my fist grips my t-shirt. Staggering towards her, I pull at the material gripped in my fist as though I’m being tugged in her direction by my heart.
And I am. I fucking am. My heart wants her so fucking bad.
But my head is waging a war against my heart.
I’m torn, and it’s killing me.
Pen’s mouth opens as she sucks in a shocked breath at the rawness of this moment. Her tiny hand lifts up to cover the choked sob I hear. Her pain pulls me up sharp and I stop a few feet from her, focusing on her and only her.
Do I listen to my heart or my head?
I don’t know what the fuck to do.
Right now all I can do is dance.
My body takes over as I spin on my feet. Around and around I turn. I feel the emotion swirling within, the battle between my head and my heart is like a fucking tornado ready to rip me up.
I spin until I can’t anymore
I drop to my knees, my clenched fist bashing against the floor, my chest heaving.
“Dax…” I hear her whisper, but it’s like she’s screaming my name. It’s so fucking loud.
What the fuck does she want from me? Isn’t this enough, doing this, bleeding out for her?
Then I catch her gaze and I see. This isn’t enough. She wants more. She wants to dance with me.She wants me.
But fuck that.
No.
My head wins out.
The beat of the music changes and the rapping starts. That’s when the anger comes.
That’s when I really let it go.
Because fuck, I’m mad at her. I’m fuckinglivid.
My movements change from free-flowing to sharp, jerky movements. I fall into my old hip-hop moves, focusing on the anger and the pain I feel. Sheleftand I fucking turned into a monster. I turned into my father.
Those feelings of disgust and regret pour out of me now with every flip and every spin.
