Everything & Anything

1. Light

I look down the path, following the shadowy trails left to linger by the darkness. A shiver of dread skates down my spine and knots itself into a tight ball in the pit of my stomach. Looking back over my shoulder, into the haze of self-doubt and regrets that make up the fibres of my past, I know this is the right decision. Ahead of me lies an endless maze of uncertainties and trails that could lead to dispair, but turning back now would mean defeat, and I refuse to accept my fate as one of defeat and failure. 

The fear of leaving everything i know behind, is paralyzing me. Yet I know it is the best thing I can do for myself. I dig my nails into the palm of my hand as I look at my dull , lifeless hair in the mirror; and notice how they compliment the empty depths of my eyes. How had I allowed myself to  reach such a low point in my life? I allow my thoughts to wander and mindlessly my hands make their way to my thighs, letting my fingertips trace over the neat grid of scars. I look at how the rough, faded skin left to heal, entertwines with the bright red lines of recent pain. A morbid document of regrets and agony etched onto my body, written in braille. A single tear burns down my cheek. I brush it away, refusing to acknowledge the symbol of my torment. 

The soft, plush carpet brushing against my bare feet calls my feet back to reality and away from the dark crevices of my tortured memories. My eyes glide over the scattered arrangement of cardboard boxes around my room. The stark contrast between the bland brown and almost too perfect shades of lilac, remind me of my endgoal, of what I am doing. Each box mark a step closer, another part in my plan to escape. To escape the life defined by six figure salaries and measured by the weight of the diamonds encrusting your body. For too long the stylish confines of the sleek and soft, purple-coverd room have been my prison. 

I slowly make my way around the room again. And again. And again. Each time adding more items of interest into their respective boxes. Each box labled in neat black lettering, too foreign to call my own. Each lable meticilously spelling out the name of a different charity. The charities were his idea. A way for me to give someone a chance to get pleasure from what caused me so much pain. I slowly trace the black etching on the side of one box with a perfectly manicured nail, a soft smile tugging at the edges of my lips, caused by the thought of him. 

The echoing vibrations resonating through the polished ebony wood of my nightstand, quickly grabs my attention. Ellation washes over me, taking with it every thought that blocks out the light. Seeing the six letters of his name light up my phone screen always takes the pain away instantly. His reminder that he is proud of me and that he will see me soon, sparks a new flicker of hope in my soul. Just enough to finish putting my pain into boxes.

But then, just as I am taking the last tight-fitting, sequined gown down from the clotheshanger, my eyes land on the one thing I hoped I would never have to see again. With a shaking hand, I reach down to pick up the crumpled heap of maroon fabric left to be forgotten in the corner of my closet. I am instantly engulfed by the sweet odor of him still lingering on the sweatshirt that I stole from him all that time ago. The memories woven into the thick fabric is forced to combine with my pain as burning tears cascade down my face. Unbearable pain sears through my soul as every wound on my body is torn open at the thought of the monster who broke me, ripped my heart to shreds and left me lingering on the cusp of death. 

Two days later I step into the unyielding flourescent lights of the airport. I remain there frozen in overwhelming amazement, which is rivalled only by the paralyzing fear of what lies ahead. Hesitantly I step foward and instantly I am swallowed up by the jumble of men, women and children, all rushing this way and that. I am rudely yanked from my dazed and frightend state by the irrateted shouts and inconsiderate shoves of people trying to get past. 

With wavering confidence I make my way across the vast field of polished white tiles. The flickering lights and constant buzz of faceless voices through hidden over-head speakers send my heartrate up a further beat or two per minute. I wait, nervously digging my nails into my palm, in the line to collect my ticket. After what felt like an entire decade, the seemingly happy family of four in front of me has collected and gathered all their papers and carry-on luggage. Without truly looking up or acknowledging the middle-aged man glancing over my identification documents and checking me into the system, I recieve my boarding pass. I look down at the small scrap of paper clasped between my forefinger and thumb. Miss Roland, L. Seat 24B. Economy class. For the first time today, I allow a small smile to form on my lips. Economy class. A small reminder of the change I am actively making in my life. 

Before long I have made it up the ramp towards the metal cage that will take me straight to my new life. Straight to him. As i settle into my seat, my heart leaps with excitement, but my mind insists on only focussing on the swarm of butterflies desperately trying to escape the confines of my insides. Slowly my mind starts to go over what I am doing and the gravity of the situation sucks me down into the soft cushioning of the seat. I am abandoning everything I have ever known. The luxurious lifestyle and and comforting security that came with growing up in an extremely affluent family. The ice cold fear takes hold of my body once again as I realise how uncertain the path ahead of me is. Yet I know that following my dreams and escaping the abuse and the torment that has been a primary part of my life, is what I need to do. 

Of course I am also doing this for him. The only man who has ever shown me respect and treated me as more than just a symbol of wealth. The sudden feeling if weightlesness forces me to glance through the window. This is it. There is no going back anymore. Slowly and neatly my fingers tear up the boarding pass still in my hand, cementing the one way trip to Italy in my life.

I look down the path, following the shadowy trails left to linger by the darkness. A shiver of dread skates down my spine and knots itself into a tight ball in the pit of my stomach. Looking back over my shoulder, into the haze of self-doubt and regrets that make up the fibres of my past, I know this is the right decision. I step through the shadows and stop at the edge of the light. The scars on my thighs burn against the soft material of my tights, a constant, aching reminder of what I used to be. I lift my head up and decorate my face with an elegant smile as I step onto the stage. Then I look down into the front row and every light in the theatre seems to dim as my eyes fall onto him. He is my light at the end of the tunnel. 

A sudden calm washes over me and in that moment nothing else mattered anymore. Even the memories scorching my legs seemed to be too miniscule to be relevant in that moment. This is my moment. This is were I start living for myself. This is the beginning of my happiness.