To Capture a Clown

The Dancer

How the hell did you end up here?

You stared at yourself in the mirror of the bathroom at work, wet makeup smeared on your face. A tinted light loomed over your fragile body and you thanked God you were completely alone. You couldn't afford to have any of your fellow coworkers discover you in such a distraught state. They would immediately report it to your boss, with good intentions of course, who would then report it to higher officials. The media would quickly get word that you, the daughter of the current mayor of Gotham city, was having a mental breakdown at work.

Or worse Scarlett, your best friend here, would discover you in this state and confront whomever she thought was the culprit of your disparity. Her red hair matched perfectly with her fiery persona. She would go down the line, one by one, assaulting every man and woman in the dance studio that she deemed responsible. Not caring about losing her job. You didn't know which was worse; shame from the media, or the wrath of Scarlett, but you knew you didn't want to find out. You quickly began to clean off your running mascara and blush that streamed down your cheeks. But no matter how much you cleaned your face, sadness was still there. Tears threatened to stream down your face, once again, as you recalled the events that took place just moments ago.

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You arrived at work that morning with your usual lateness. It had became an unusual, but regular, pattern for your instructor to see you straggle into the dance studio after everyone else. At first it was innocent, just 5 to 10 minutes late, then after each day passed it progressed further to 20 even 30 minutes. Today, it was a whopping 45 minutes late. But your instructor didn't say anything, just like all the other times, he kept his mouth shut. He simply stood to the side unnoticed as he watched you struggle to fix your hair and adjust your dance attire, before entering the dance studio. It wasn't a secret that he gave you special treatment, along with all of his other female dancers, but you were different in his eyes. You didn't know if it was because of your family status, or because he liked you, or because you were just a great ballet dancer, but you didn't care as long as he stayed on his side of the room.

The only people who seemed to care that your instructor was treating the women kinder was some of the men of the studio, of course. But one man in particular was Brandon Collen. He is the kind of man that loved to damage pretty things. And he was ironically assigned to be your dance partner. So every time your instructor came to praise you for a well danced piece, or a successful recital, he was forced to listen to every word. Even though at times you did find it to be very unfair for the men, your sympathy quickly evaporated as soon as Brandon began to terrorize you when your instructor was out of earshot.

"He's in a good mood. Let me guess, you sucked him off again?" He'd say loud enough for your other male coworkers around you to hear. They would erupt in laughter and you would stand there timidly with your cheeks blushed red. Your eyes would instantly search for Scarlett to come save you with her witty comebacks, but sometimes she was no where to be found. Times alone, you would searched deep within yourself to find your own little comeback.

"Not all of us have to." You said avoiding his gaze with a small voice, almost a whisper, but enough for people to hear. The people around you would laugh louder and harder at yours than Brandon's, which only infuriated him more. You knew that Brandon's anger toward you stemmed from jealousy. He believed that you actually enjoyed the advances made from your dance instructor, despite disgust written all over your face. The depth of his anger often frightened you, but Scarlett dismissed it completely.

"He just needs to get a girlfriend, trust me, he won't don't anything to you. I've known him since elementary. He's all talk." Scarlett lived in the city way longer than you, and you were often mesmerized by all of the people she knew. But no matter how much you both "knew" about Brandon, neither of you would have expected him to act on his fury this morning.