Does Your Lack of Conscience Tell You Everything's Alright?

Jeffery left earlier in the morning for work. He woke me up to tell me he was leaving and that he'll be out all day. Apparently he has a date with a coworker who just wouldn't take 'no' for an answer. He didn't force me to have sex with him this morning. He said he couldn't have my smell on him during the date. For that I am thankful.

I could have done without his kiss though.

But I'm not complaining.

I have practice again today. We might actually do work. Or throw around ideas for a new show.

I look forward to it. Dancing is the only thing that makes me happy.

Part of me is hoping August brings her brother again.

And part of me hopes she doesn't. I don't want to develop stronger feelings for Alex. I know if I see him again, that is what will happen. And stronger feelings will lead to a stronger want to leave, a stronger want to disobey Jeffery.

Maybe even a want not to die.

I worked hard to build up my acceptance of my death. I can't have that change. Not unless I have a guarantee of freedom.

Alex can't give me that.

He can give me butterflies, he can make me question my sanity, but he can not save me.

No one can.

I don't want false hopes.

I leave no note of my departure from the apartment. Jeffery knows I have practice and he won't be home till after. I don't need to worry about leaving a note.

The walk to the dance studio is quiet. There are no birds chirping, no cars rushing by. There is no noise besides my footsteps against the pavement. The wind doesn't even whistle in my ears.

It's odd.

Maybe nature is giving me a sign.

But a sign of what? My approaching death? A life changing experience? What could nature possibly be telling me?

I approach the academy, throwing thoughts of nature and its messages out of my mind. The academy is no place for such thoughts. No, it's for dance, for escape.

For safety.

The bell attached to the door chimes, like always, as I enter. The scent of peppermint with an underlying scent of gingerbread floats in the air. I take a breath.

I miss the taste of freshly baked gingerbread men. My mother would make them during Christmas time every year. I would help her sometimes, if she needed it.

I didn't appreciate food when I was younger. I didn't care if I wasted the food on my plate. I should have. I care now. I regret not eating that food. Now, I'm not allowed to eat most of the time.

I'm surprised I have yet to pass out from lack of food.

The only person in the room when I enter is Aaron. He sits on the floor, reaching for his toes, pushing his nose to his knees.

"Hey," I say.

He looks up, "Hey, Elizabeth."

"You think we're doing much of anything today?" I ask, placing my bag in front of the room.

"Probably not. We have to pick a new theme for our show and song. Then we have to pick the people who will compete in solo competitions and their songs."

"We all know August will take her age group."

"She's the only one in it."

I nod.

"I think you're going to be the soloist for the age nineteen females," he says.

An unladylike snort escapes.

"That's if my dad lets me," I reply.

He shrugs and returns to stretching.