Page 32 of Teddy Bear

That tightening, tugging feeling in the pit of my stomach sincerely hoped that trouble wouldn't happen, but I was infinitely happy that Danny was somehow there to watch over everything.

Just like that day by my hospital bedside - he was like a silent and invisible guardian angel - and somewhere in the depths of my soul I knew that what he was guarding so carefully was his Lizzie.

His Lizzie in the shadow of the melancholy dance, in the play of endless nights and old notes, his in every kiss invisibly imprinted on the pale skin, his in the ice of his caring eyes, his in every vein of his body - his forever.

The love for Danny never stopped burning in me, but, given the new circumstances, both he and I retreated to the silence and comfort of our old roles, where he was only a good and faithful, reliable friend of my father, and I was an obedient and decent daughter.

There was no more room for our dark and forbidden passion, and we both silently accepted it, making a silent vow that we would always belong to each other.

Or at least that's what I thought.

I didn't want to choose between my father and Danny, and that's why I pretended that there was no choice at all, I just continued, from the place where I stopped ten years ago, in the role of a good daughter who will make her father proud, and I kept my love for the insightful and passionate psychiatrist like the most beautiful pearl deep in the black shell of my heart.

Unfortunately, all the same, my father's pride and respect evaporated quickly, along with the summer rain that rose in the form of fine steam from the calm, green surface of the lake, from the sad, black earth and misty forest around us.

Autumn has come.

Dad had been home for about a month, and it seemed that his recovery was quite successful; he was the same man again, the man from the dream, from the pink fair of the most beautiful childhood that I will always remember.

But autumn came, and my mother was extremely opposed to us spending another winter at Danny's lake house.

Staying there was unacceptable for her, and she was desperate to create a semblance of her normal and functional, happy family again as soon as possible.

Although he most likely wasn't ready for it, so that we could afford our own apartment, after our beautiful villa burned to the ground, my father returned to the jaws of his stressful and overwhelming, old job.

He burned out quickly.

We rented a comfortable and spacious, beautiful apartment with a view of the promenade in the city center. It was quite expensive, but with two salaries it was possible to cover all expenses. Plus, now there was the cost of my studies, so there was no room for too much slack.

Unlike my mother, my father didn't handle stress and pressure all that well; considering his overall mental state, that was to some extent expected.

Relaxed conversations quickly turned into superficial banter, minor disagreements into major disagreements, and very soon the smallest word was enough to provoke an outburst of anger, resignation, contempt, or pure cold and distant indifference.

When he was in a bad mood, he was an interlocutor impossible to please, and very quickly I retreated into a quiet surrender, only hoping that my silence would be loud enough to make him at least a little more sober and aware that I am still here, waiting for the sun to shine again.

Academic duties were exhausting, especially with constant pressure and walking on eggshells at home, but I successfully resisted, showing the best performance.

I was gifted, and even more than that - I was unique in my freedom of expression and way of moving on the stage, in my total submission to the music and enormous endurance - probably as a result of my old and well-rooted mechanisms, I was able to translate my body beyond any limit.

The professors were beyond thrilled, and I was fucking proud of myself.

I hoped that, when the storm at work passed, my father would be too.

But the storm only grew fiercer.

The apartment where we lived, instead of a home and a place of supreme security, turned into a desolate, stormy landscape, full of thunder, rain, and strong winds that threatened to forever blow away and burn the last glimmer of hope that was left in me.

Hope that even after everything that happened, I can be worthy and good enough.

Dad noticed me less and less, and little by little, I was sinking into the endless well of his distance that was colder than the north itself, now, I was living in an endless winter, again collecting crumbs and begging for just a bit of attention, sinking more and more day by day, into the pale irretrievability and vortex of madness into which he was dragging me along with him.

One evening, quite expectedly, the atmosphere became so apocalyptically desolate and ravaged that the terrible icy wind, once again, turned into fireballs, into a screaming horror that burned everything in front of it.

Mum was preparing dinner in the kitchen.

I listened to the music for which I practiced my new choreography.

It was a type of acrobatic dance that emphasized the contour and expression of the human body itself - the point was in raw expressiveness and emotional and physical nakedness evoked through movement.