Dancing in the Dark

Chapter 5: Stolen

       Hazel awoke in a motel. She opened her eyes to see the French man buttoning his shirt and his pants. Hazel looked under the sheets and felt her chin tremble on its own accord. She was bare. The French man left without another word, closing the door behind him. hazel rushed from bed and drew the lock on the door. She closed the curtains that let in a portion of sunlight. Hazel took shaky steps to the bathroom and mechanically drew the bucket over. The water was sudsy from the soap and Hazel tried to fit herself in. When she was younger, she could fit her whole body in. Now she had to practically fold herself in. She let her body sink down and her legs dropped over the buckets wooden rim. Do not cry, Hazel thought to herself. She splashed the water to keep herself from thinking too hard. If she focused hard enough on anything else, she could forget. Hazel squeezed her eyes, fighting back tears. A knock sounded on the door but she didn't respond. Hazel sank deeper inside so the water reached over head. She wondered if it would be more peaceful to die in the water that cleansed her then live in the earth that tainted her. She held her breath. One...two...three...

The door slammed open and sent Hazel into a fright. She sucked in an immense amount of water. She lifted her head, choking back, eyes flying pen at her intruder. The maid stared at her for a moment and Hazel hid her chest as an afterthought.

"Sorry Miss," the maid whispered, and backed away, closing the door behind her.

       Hazel stood up in the bucket and let the suds slide down her body, delving back to their home. A tall mirror decorated the right side of the wall and Hazel watched her reflection. She was skinny and tall, a characteristic she had inherited from her mother. Her red hair was slicked back, allowing her features to be more prominent. Dull freckles invaded her nose and splattered her cheeks. Hazel stepped from the bucket and let her eyes trail over the bruises on her arms that were shaped like fingers. A red mark had taken root under her ear. A scab was forming from Neal's cut. Hazel felt her head spinning, thinking of all the horrid stories her scars could tell. She couldn't look at herself any longer. There stood a hopeless, frail, whore staring back at her. How could she ever think of herself as any different? Her fist ripped forward and she punched the mirror, allowing the shards of glass to fall at her feet. Once something that bore her story, the mirror was now a bunch of dangerous tales littering the floor. Hazel escaped the bathroom and got dressed.

Neal and Henry were waiting at the entrance of the motel when

Hazel left. She let them drag her forward and into the carriage. She listened wearily as they spoke of a circus picnic. A newsboy came by, shouting about bread and Queen Victoria. Suddenly, Hazel remembered her clutch, and the librarian who had given it to her. She had left it in the carriage! Her eyes escaped to Henry's wondering if he had taken it. She sped up her pace and slid into the carriage before them, throwing herself into the seat. Her heart quickly fell as her hands fell over nothingness. Her clutch was gone! Neal climbed inside and Hazel looked around desperately. Her clutch lay there on the floor. Hazel quietly reached for it and placed it in her lap. They arrived at a park. When Hazel peered out the window, she saw the performers sprawled on the grass, talking. Without their make-up, they all looked like broken antiques. As Hazel got out of the carriage and approached them, no one stopped talking. No one looked up or invited Hazel over. They all thought she was too proud for them, worthy enough for a carriage but unable to ride the dingy train with them. The acrobats glared at her as she walked by. They especially hated her because they thought they were the true performers of grace. Hazel attempted a smile at the freaks, but no one spared her a seconds glance. Even the three-eyed man. Hazel surrendered and sat with Oliver and the animal trainers. In a circle sat Oliver, Jace and Beatrice. Jace took care of the flamingos and parrots while Beatrice took care of the elephant, and Oliver the cats.

"Where's Cleo?" Beatrice asked, spewing bits of apple onto Hazel's dress. Hazel turned her attention to Beatrice. The elephant tamer was pretty in her subtle ways. She had a man's haircut, close cropped to her face. Her eyes were dark brown but beautifully original. Hazel was always jealous of Beatrice's eyes. Beatrice was all muscle as well. She had never been thrown off Cierra the elephant, and they had been attached since they met.