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She presses another soft kiss against my lips, then nods. “I’ll watch you dance forever.”
“And always?” I question.
“And always,” she replies as I draw my phone out of my pocket and find the song I’m looking for. Turning it up to full volume, I hand it to her.
“Halo?” she whispers, the tears in her voice matching the ones that fall from the sky in a deluge.
“This dance was a breaking point for me,” I explain.
“It was?”
“I’d brought you back to the flat after Xeno acted like a dick towards you at Chastity’s,” he continues, reminding us both of that fateful evening. “It made me so fucking mad how he treated you that night, and it reminded me howI’dalways been your protector. That was when I told myself that I was done pushing you away. I was done being ruled by my past, by the brutality of my father’s fist. It was the moment I admitted I never stopped loving you. That I was strong enough to love you. That I’d do anything to keep you by my side.”
“And now what does this mean to you?”
“All of that and so much more,” I reply, before holding my arms out horizontally to my side and pirouetting in the rain.
The rush of cold air and the needling rain as it hits my face is nothing in comparison to the swirl of emotion in my chest, or the tornado of feeling as I dance. Each step comes back to me as I move, as though embedded in my very psyche. I dance with this need to just let go, to prove that I’m still capable, that I’m worthy of Pen’s love.
I feel her watching me, just like I did the night I decided I no longer wanted to hold hate in my heart for the only woman I’d ever loved. She’d watched me with a fierce gaze back then, her eyes following my every movement, greedily drinking me in, just like she’s doing now.
That kind of focus I feel from her now is the kind that makes you feel like you’re the only person in the room. It’s what keeps me dancing despite stumbling on the slippery ground as I lose my balance. I ignore the slink of defeat that tells me I can’t dance like I used to. I ignore the pain that rushes up my arm, telling me that this is pointless.
I simply dance.
With a bruised heart, beating so damn hard I feel it’s going to break free from my chest, I dance.
Flying across the concrete roof, I spin on my feet, my arms flaring wide as I feel that familiar magic unravelling. The kind of magic that takes over your body when your soul is doing what it was always supposed to do.
Over the past five years I stepped back from dancing, pretending that like the others I was too busy working to have time. The truth is, I avoided it. I avoided it because I was scared that I’d be less of a dancer. It didn’t matter that I performed at Stardom Academy just a few months after I was shot. I’d convinced myself that was a fluke. A last hurrah. That with time my ability would deteriorate, that I would forget how to move, forget how to dance with my best friends, with Kid.
Then I’d convinced myself I didn’tneedto dance. That it didn’t fuel my soul and give me joy.
I’d turned my back on it.
But I’m done lying to myself.
It’s going to be hard.
It’s already hard.
But I’m going to do this. For Kid. For my brothers. For me.
Just like before, every beat of the song, and all the words Beyoncé sings are expressed through my movements. I leap into the air, performing a grand jeté, my powerful legs splitting wide, and as I do I throw my head back and roar into the night’s sky.
My anger at what I’ve had to endure comes ripping out of me. It feeds my steps as I move with a lightness and grace that I haven’t felt in years. I’m expressing myself the best way I know how, the only way I can, and Ifeelall these emotions swelling inside of me.
Grief, pain, hate.
Love, kindness, acceptance.
I dance with an open heart, accepting all these emotions as I flip backwards, one handed, tumbling like a gymnast. I dance with brutal honesty, as I share my story once again with Kid.
Twisting and turning, I move my body with as much fluidity as I can muster, revealing the depths of my love for Kid, sharing the bottomless pieces of my soul.
Right here on the roof as a thunderstorm sounds overhead, and rain pelts me with ice-cold needles, I show Kid all the debilitating feelings I’ve held inside. I spin and kick, letting out a strangled cry as I fall to my knees, mimicking the steps from all those years ago. Except now they represent the internal battle I have with myself daily. When I curl over, clasping the back of my head, I’m not protecting myself from a brutal, cruel father, I’m protecting myself from the self-doubt, the self-hatred, the words I’ve told myself over and over and over again.
You’re not worthy.
