Charley
Things are getting better. I’ve had my advance payment so have been able to buy some new shoes and other items of clothes I found in a goodwill store. I’ve got the window fixed on my car, and I’ve spent the last two weeks using the room Ellie gave me access to, practicing as much as possible.
For the first time in months, the band around my chest loosens a little.
There have been no more mishaps at work, nothing broken and Beast has not been so tense when he sees me walking by anymore.
They replaced Stella which bummed me out but they did need a dancer to take over. I couldn’t expect they’d wait around for me to be able to do it.
The only outstanding problem is where I live. I’m still not in a position to be able to change that so I’m not going to dwell on it. It’s better than sleeping in the car.
As if to prove me wrong someone starts yelling outside my room, making me jump and almost burn my hand on the curling iron I’m using.
Another voice joins in, then some thumping and a crash. I get up and double check the dresser I’ve dragged in front of the door. It’s heavy ashell, no one is moving that from the outside unless they’re Hercules. It takes me enough time to drag it back and forth as it is.
I stand still watching the door with my fists clenched, and jump when something crashes against it. There is more yelling, then the sound of feet running down the stairs. Everything fades back to silence.
Maybe I shouldn’t have bought new shoes and a window. I should have got a hotel room. But that requires a lot more money to keep up. At least here I just hand over a weekly cash payment. Chewing my lip I decide the risk isn’t worth it. I’ll find a motel somewhere when I get my next paycheck.
At least that way I have my own space and there is some element of security, even if there are shady types frequenting a motel.
It’s not the same as living with a bunch of drug addicts, pimps and their girls and all the other dregs of society that have found themselves here.
It takes me another five minutes to finish my hair, grab my bag and put all my valuables in the lock box I carry around with me. I’ve made the mistake of hiding things under my mattress before.
The drive over to Elegance is busier than usual because of rush hour traffic, the less time I spend in that house the better, even if I just get a coffee and bagel and sit in the room Ellie said I could use.
Leo is there when I arrive today, Walker works the late shift. He’s notas friendly as Walker and grunts more than talks, not that I want to hang around and make conversation. I grab a coffee from the break room by the offices, then head through to the private room.
Everything is so opulent here, the change in environments can be jarring. After breakfast I take a quick shower, careful not to mess up my hair and head back to practice.
I lose all track of time as I dance. It’s been a dream of mine since I was a little girl to be up on stage dancing. My dance teacher when I was younger told me I had talent, she nurtured me, spent more time with me than her other students because she was sure I was going to make it.
Then mom died, dad re-married less than six months later to a woman with two daughters a little older than me and a son the same age. It felt like I became an unwanted visitor in my own house. Dad never stood up for me. He was the only thing I had left and he let me down.
I’m not sure professional dancing will ever happen for me. Being here at Elegance, fighting to be able to get up on the stage and dance isn’t going to help. But I get to dance. It’s the only thing that I have anymore. After my step-mother put an end to all of my dreams.
Then when the accident happened, everything changed.
Fighting those memories becomes impossible. The mangled metal, screams, the scent of gas and fire, melting flesh. I crumble to the floor clutching my chest as panic takes over. This is supposed to be getting easier, and it has been, but now and then the memory takes root and it's impossible to push it back into the recesses of my mind where it belongs.
I’m fucking horrified that tears are filling my eyes, and I lay down on the floor to catch my breath. If I thought I could, I’d go and make sure the door is locked but my legs have buckled, my heart feels like it is going to explode and my fingers have gone numb.
The medication I got when it first happened ran out months ago, I’ve had to deal with it the only way I can, letting it wash over me, until my body remembers that it’s safe now. Until my mind quietens and the memories fade.
My skin is clammy when I eventually come back to myself. I’ve learned ways to control my mind, if not my body, when these attacks happen. If it happened when I’m at that house I know everything could fall apart. There is no way the people there wouldn’t take advantage while I’m incapacitated.
It’s not easy but I drag myself up and go over to the corner to get a drink of water. I need another shower but no one can see me yet. My eyes are still a little wild, my hair a mess and it will be impossible to hide there is something wrong.
Something wrong withme.
That’s all I heard for years. So much so, I started to believe it.
“You’re not there anymore,” I whisper, closing my eyes. “No one can hurt you.”
After a few deep breaths I turn back to the small stage with two poles. It’s a private room but there is space for a small group to watch. Lily says it’s usually bachelor parties or businessmen who use these rooms, two dancers work in tandem, routines have to be practiced.
That sounds like something I’d be happy to do.
