The Ballerina

The dinner table was deathly silent. Lamb chops, green beans, and mashed potatoes sat in front of Acelynn and her parents. All three relatives slowly picked at the meal without any enthusiasm. The lamb chops – burnt. The green beans – over salted. The mashed potatoes – old.

If Dana Adams had not been present, Tom and Acelynn would be calmly conversing over trivial matters. However, Dana darkened the room to a point where any words spoken were almost like a stab in the chest for anyone.

The only noises in the whole house were those of dull clinks of glass and forks on plates. Other than that, it was as silent as a grave.

Acelynn couldn’t get away soon enough – she quietly set her plate in the sink and scattered off to her room. Her safety zone. Her parents rarely ever entered the base – the shrink had advised them not to invade the ballerina’s privacy too much so she wouldn’t feel too overwhelmed. In all honesty, Acelynn didn’t care less whether or not they came into the room. There was nothing she was hiding in there. Her life was Luke. And Luke wasn’t to even come near the house.

With the grace of a ballerina, Acelynn slowly lay on the pink comforter. Her bed was soft and welcoming, and she slowly drifted to sleep.

However, the moment her mind seemed to drift from the world, the Adams decided to have an all out brawl.

Dana’s high pitched voice shrieked and screamed at every syllable Tom seemed to get out. Acelynn didn’t know exactly what they were fighting about this time, but she had a good idea of what the base of the topic was. What it always was.

“She’s not becoming a vegetable like that ridiculous Luke.” That confirmed Acelynn’s suspicions. “I hate that boy – you should forbid her from seeing that miscreant!”

“He’s what’s keeping her alive. He’s the only person she’ll talk to.” Mr. Adams replied in a quieter tone.

“That’s what she said ballet was doing. And she should be concentrating on her next recital, not some teenage boy.” Dana spat.

“You were a teenage girl once too, I remember. Boys are important in a girl’s life.” Tom reasoned.

“Yes, but I never chose the kind of trash that Acelynn has picked. I swear to you, she’s getting a pregnancy test.” There was a silence after that. “I would have given anything to be as talented as her in ballet. And now she’s just throwing it all away.”

“Dana—“

“I’ll cut her classes if she won’t commit to it.” Mrs. Adams threatened.

“I think you’re being a little unreasonable.”

“She thinks she’s so powerful right now. Well, she’s wrong. Acelynn may get away with murder when you’re around, but not on my watch. She thinks that she’s in charge of her life – oh please! The only reason why she’s still in ballet is because I’m letting her. Acelynn can go jump off a cliff for all I care now – she’s useless to me!” Dana Adams sneered.

Acelynn’s throat closed up. These fights were becoming routine and easy to ignore lately, but never – never had Dana Adams ever said anything like that. She never taunted or joked about the ballerina’s mental health. It was like she was trying to forget everything, and tried to pretend Acelynn was the same old girl, only with an attitude.

Silent sobs escaped the girl’s mouth. She covered it with her hand to try and muffle it further. Her mother, the one who gave her life – who nursed her and raised her for seventeen years – just said she could jump off a cliff.

Why? Why couldn’t Dana just understand that Acelynn wasn’t some perfect ballerina she could dress up, anymore? She was an actual human being now – she had feelings. She was alive. But Mrs. Adams didn’t seem to care about that. Apparently, Acelynn’s former zombie-phase was what Dana wanted. How could that be possible? Weren’t parents supposed to be supportive of whatever their children did? Jojo’s parents were.

With jerky movements and a snail’s pace, the ballerina got up from the bed and crawled to the door, and from there, the bathroom next to her own room. Dana and Tom were still fighting, only now, Acelynn wasn’t listening. Her mind was glitchy and all she could hear was static. Her breath was heavy and she was surprised that the Adams couldn’t hear her. It was like she was having an asthma attack.

Well, she was having some kind of attack, anyway.

Once she was in the bathroom, she collapsed in front of the porcelain toilet. Nausea overwhelmed her and she vomited into the bowl. The tears streamed down her now red cheeks and clicked into the bowl as well. Acelynn rested her forehead on her hand that leaned on the toilet as she waited for the next wave of sickness to overcome her. It didn’t take long until she was convulsing without anything regurgitating from her stomach – she had vomited all the contents of her stomach.

“Acelynn can go jump off a bridge for all I care!” She convulsed again.

All of the dress rehearsals. All of the recitals. All of the classes. All of the meals skipped so she could fit into a size two. All of the calluses in her feet. All of the social awkwardness. All of the hate-envy. All of the fake cheers. All of the pain. All of the loneliness. All of the tutus. All of the fights. All of everything that her god-damned mother put her through – and she didn’t even care about her daughter.

Acelynn broke into an unexplainable sweat, and once again, convulsed into the bowl. The tears still flowed heavily as she could make out shouts of her parents beyond the static in her head. She had an overwhelming feeling to do something – anything at all. She sat up against the side of the bathtub and shook her hands as if a spider was crawling up her shirt and she was trying to scare if off.

The microscopic amount of logic in Acelynn’s mind knew she was having a mental breakdown, and if she were to just stop and breathe for a second, she could make it through. But the 99.9% of other brain was on overload and beyond calming down. Her lungs were burning as she inhaled and exhaled raggedly, as was her throat.

By reflex, she bent over on the toilet bowl as her body tried to regurgitate, but nothing came out.

“God, oh God, please make it stop!” She begged. Never before had she prayed. She couldn’t even remember the last time she was in a church – not for holidays either. But her mind was at its last resort. “Make it all go away.”

Even in her mind, she wasn’t sure exactly what "it" was. It was a vague term for the negative feelings Acelynn was surrounded by and felt.

But her mother hated her – Dana couldn’t care less if her daughter died. Dana had cheated on Tom, a trusting and simple man. Acelynn hated Dana with her very core for that. But never had she wished death upon the woman. Her mother hated her. The giver of life wished to take it all back.

So did Acelynn deserve to live?

Realization dawned on Acelynn. That was it. She wasn’t worthy of life if even her own mother hated her with such a passion that she wanted her daughter dead.

With a muffled sniffle, Acelynn crawled up from the floor and steadied herself on her feet. It didn’t take long for her to balance – years and years of ballet had graced her with steadiness. The ballerina rubbed her dampened nose on her black sleeve and teetered to the sink.

Slowly, she lifted the nozzle of the faucet and let cool water taint her pale hands. Acelynn stared into the white/clear water as it hit her palms and reflect the skin so it looked peach. After distracting herself, she slowly brought her cupped hands to her face and let the water relieve her burning face.

After a few more handfuls, Acelynn shut of the faucet and dried her hands and face with a nearby towel. It was a slow, almost peaceful process as she patted her face. But when Acelynn looked in the mirror, she flinched.

Her eyes were red and puffy – which was anticipated, but not to such an extent to where she could barely see her irises. Her face was also swollen and pink. All together, she looked like she was bitten by a snake.

And her heart felt like it was filled with poison.

Another sniffle against her sleeve, and she opened the drawer of the counter to reveal many toiletries. Q-tips, extra tampons, floss, toothpaste, an unopened toothbrush for guests, anti-itch cream for bug bites, a few barrettes, and fingernail posh removal. Acelynn had to pull everything out of the drawer and throw it in the sink to dig in the back.

Acelynn’s parents had taken all of them away – well, what they thought was all of them. The ballerina liked the classic way of cleaning up and shoved an extra razor in the backing of the drawer.

She only used it to graze her legs with when they got a little too hairy – Veet always tended to burn her skin and make it dry. It also made everything that touched the foam smell awful.

However, that was before her mother said she could jump off a bridge.

Acelynn flipped the lid of the toilet seat down and sat on it. She held the pink disposable razor in her fingers as if it were the key to the world. As if with a sudden rage, she tore at the razor to release a thin metal sheet. It caught her delicate skin twice as she molested it, but not deep enough to draw blood.

The plastic finally cracked after much jerking, and released a razor blade in her palm. The metal was slightly bent with the mishandling. But that was okay – the edge was still it fair condition. Once again, the logic part of her mind was screaming that this was wrong. But the other part didn’t care, and was totally numb.

It was instinct, somehow, as she traced almost invisible skin patterns on her wrist with the razor blade. She wasn’t quiet pressing hard enough to draw blood, but she was breaking skin.

Slowly, as if testing the water in a pool, Acelynn pressed harder on the wrist. It didn’t hurt like she formally assumed – prior to this experience she believed that the emo kids liked the pain. But she was beyond pain. The only thing that the action gave her as an acute focus. Acelynn’s mind was thinking of nothing else but creating more cuts. Now she felt something besides the dulled blows of the world. The razor blade’s masterpiece was a fire in a dark forest – it commanded Acelynn.

In the end, the ballerina only made three small cuts on her wrist. Then she wrapped the bloody mess in toilet paper. She licked the three small cuts she made on her appendage and flipped her sleeve down. She didn’t bother wrapping it in anything – she wanted to see it whenever she wanted without such a barrier.

Acelynn took the razors and broken pieces of plastic and grabbed the bottom towel of the pile. It was folded neatly under the cupboard of the sink. She placed the towel filled with secrets back at the bottom of the pile and closed the cupboard door. Her mother would never find it – neither would her father. It was another secret Acelynn held. It was the first one she kept in her own home.

Her mind had been cleared – she had become Acelynn again. The static in her brain had vanished, and she no longer felt the need to vomit. Not bothering to check in the mirror to see if she looked fit, Acelynn slowly opened the bathroom door—

And she couldn’t believe what she was hearing; her parents were still fighting. They were still screaming at the top of their lungs at each other.

Acelynn had prayed to God, she had gone to hell and back, she had had an epiphany, she had become Acelynn again – and they were still fighting.

But this time, the ballerina was not going to cry. She was done crying. Acelynn only went into her room for a minute to retrieve her jacket from the desk chair. She also checked the time – 9:54 P.M. She then went into the entry way to put on her shoes. Now she was visible to her parents, and they were visible to her – but the two parties didn’t take note of each other.

Acelynn shoved her feet in the converse and twisted the brass knob of the front door. The giant sheet of wood made a loud groan, and the girl turned to face her parents one last time – they were still arguing. The ballerina sniffled, but continued out the house.
She decided she should have grabbed her winter coat as she entered the new atmosphere. The sky was now crying perfect, white, frozen tears gently to earth. It didn’t matter. She was still pleasantly numb.

No, she wouldn’t go to Luke’s house. It was too far to walk. She wasn’t stupid – she knew she would freeze to death before she could go the seven miles to his house. So she would settle for wondering in the quiet, winterish night. She had to get used to being alone, after all.

Because it was less than two hours until she was an adult. And the real world, as she had been told many a time, was a lonely place to be.

How long was it – since she had become the real Acelynn? A little over two months, she supposed. She had changed so much over the course of so little time. How was it even possible?

Because she remembered from such a long time ago…
“All I wanted to do was dance.” Acelynn said into the still night, as if it were a dear friend. “But that’s not what anyone else seemed to want. I guess after awhile – and I’m not sure when it happened, I started to become exactly what they thought I was.”