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And I’ll never forget the way my heart broke beyond repair as I watched him walk away.
I’ve lost my innocence, I’ve lost my hope, and now I’ve lost him.
I have nothing else to lose.
I caress the page. My handwriting is shaky, and there are some marks where the words become blurry. I remember that day like yesterday, and I remember how I was crying when I wrote those words.
I still remember how alone I felt in that cold cell where I found a friend with this notebook and a crayon.
I consider the idea of reading the rest of my journal entries, but I know this one, the first entry, was the only sad memory I’ve noted. The rest of them aren’t sad memories, but they’re even more torturous to read than this one. They’re all the happy memories I have, and at the end, those are the ones that don’t let your scars heal.
So, taking a deep breath, I put the diary back in the drawer. Even though I’ve won the battle against the temptation this time, I know I will come back to read the rest and give myself the hit of sweet pain.
With a sigh, I pet Night and head to the kitchen. The perk of working in lots of jobs is that I’ve learned many things. One of them is baking, and I realize baking has a power of healing, just like dancing. So, I start to make every kind of recipe I’ve learned. Seems like people in the club and in the dance studio will gain a few ounces today.
Chapter 9
Present
Closing my eyes, I let the music bring out the pain inside me; the pain of loss and suffering.
I slowly sway when a thousand needles start to prickle my skin. It’s almost like getting a tattoo, but not one, thousands of them on every inch of your skin. It starts as a soft itch, but as needles keep digging their sharp claws into the same place over and over again, the itch turns to burning. I push the robe off my shoulders when my whole body feels like fire. Flames lick my skin and reach deeper inside my ribcage to surround my lungs. I swirl around myself, letting my skirt move up in the hope that it can reward me with some air as my lungs clench inside my chest with the need to breathe, but I can’t breathe. The pain, the loss, and the memories are too suffocating to let air in.
People think I love dancing. They’re right, I do, but not for the reasons they think. People think I dance to get attention from the audience.
No.
I dance to grieve. Because moving to the rhythm of the music is the only time I let myself remember what has happened.
I dance to show respect to my loss. Because the time I peel pieces of clothes off my body is the only time I reveal the old me.
I dance for everything I’ve lost and every scar I’ve earned in the battle of life.
And I dance to remember my naivetes, my anger, my regret. I dance to remember my pain.
I know most people would choose to forget the pain and every memory that hurts them. I don’t.
I don’t want to forget any of the things I’ve been through. I hug all the terrible things that have happened close to my heart and let it hurt me each second. I don’t let my scars heal, I want them to stay as reminders.
I scratch the surface of my scars every day, every night so I can stay in control, so I would never forget the experience, what I’ve been through.
I don’t know if what doesn’t kill you can make you stronger, but I know it makes you more cautious, bitter, and wiser.
I open my eyes when I feel the teardrops fall to my cheeks. The tears of detoxification from my nightmares. I continue to dance in front of the crowd. They’re watching my every move like they’re hypnotized. I smile through the tears. My grief seduces them.
Then, I see him.
The only good thing from my past.
The only light in my dark memories.
My moves halt and my breath quickens as I stare at him. He’s changed so much, but I know it’s him. I can feel it in every fiber of my being.
I shake my head like it’s just a vision. Turning myself around to cover my slip in the rhythm, I search for him again; but he’s nowhere to be seen.
He’s disappeared just like he did when I told him everything years ago.
***
