5:00. Ugh, time to start dancing today. At least I have less on my plate than in the past weeks. Can I just go back to Europe? Ugh, whatever. I grab my red hoodie and black leggings, along with my black sports bra, and put it on.
I take out my bun and put my falling hair in a high ponytail. This hairstyle shows a lot more of my missing hair, but it's not too noticeable. I put all my skin creams on and look at my makeup options. Of course, I should just do what I did yesterday. Continuity.
While the skin stuff is sinking in, I start to cover up my scars. God, yesterday went deep. I can almost see muscles and tendons. To be honest, I kind of enjoyed last night. The feeling of almost dying, while accidental, was exhilarating. I should strive for that more often.
After about five minutes of trying to cover my scars, all the ones that need to be covered are finally covered. My vein isn't showing through the makeup, so I draw out one with blue eyeshadow and almost smash with setting powder.
After putting on my makeup, and covering my cuts, I take my Fluoxetine and Cymbalta, heading to the main room. Today is a no-calorie day, and luckily, I don't have time for a full meal, so I grab my Ensure, my shoes, and dance supplies, heading out the door.
"We're taking Hannah and Ann, so watch for them in the lobby," Mom informs me as we enter the elevator.
As it turns out, Hannah and Ann pop in the elevator with us! I can see Hannah looks nervous. She's the leader of the group dance and she has a solo. We exit the elevator and into Mom's car, and she's shut down, not talking.
I keep my distance. I know how she feels. Scared, and not wanting to talk to anyone in fear that she'll sound stupid. She won't sound stupid to me, but I don't want to pressure her. I just listen to the music on my phone in the meantime, casually eavesdropping on Ann and Mom's conversation. It's all about Michelle and Sarah, however. Nothing interesting to my ears.
When we pull up, Hannah and me, our stomachs turn in anxiety. I feel like I could throw up. Everybody else's cars are here. Even Sarah's. We're almost late. I "chug" my Ensure in the parking and race inside, taking off my shoes. Luckily, the class hasn't started, so I get to sit in the dancer's den for a minute. Ms. Ann quickly pulls Hannah aside for a couple of minutes.
"Girls, Studio A!" Ms. Abby yells, and Hannah reemerges. Ann goes up to the viewing area.
Ms. Abby is in the corner, and we all run over anxiously, all of us ready to start learning Stone Faced.
"All right guys, I want to go over this group dance. Stone. Faced. This piece is covering your true identity. You," Ms. Abby begins, pointing at Hannah, "are this sweet nice kid. I've come to get to know your mother a little bit better over the past few weeks, and I cannot imagine living in that house with that mother. She is on your back constantly. 'Hannah, don't do this. Hannah, do this. Hannah, I told you-- Hannah, Hannah, Hannah--' Ah! And yet you just smile and you're sweet and nice. We need to see something else other than sweet and kind and boring. Get it?"
"Yes," Hannah mutters.
"Let's get started here. So Brady, grab her by the hand. You're coaxing her out. You're trying to get her to break out of her shell," Ms. Abby instructs, starting to block the number.
It's getting harder to dance in these loose clothes. My sports bra has elastic, but it's close to falling off. My leggings are way too big. I think I need some safety pins or something. I think I have some in my dance bag.
This dance is very, flowy, kind of like the improv I did yesterday. I feel like liquid, which I guess is a nice contrast to stone.
"Lay flat Hannah. And go flick, flick, fwoosh," Ms. Gianna instructs, me stuck in the same position that's cramping up my foot.
"Knees together, though. Knees together. Knees together. Knees together. I've said knees together like, ten times, Hannah. It's not the way to be the lead in the group," Ms. Abby instructs.
"All right, you're dismissed. I want Elliana to stay, everybody else go do some school. I'm going to talk to the mothers in the reception area," Ms. Abby orders and we run out.
This group dance is an absolute hot mess. Hannah's not picking up the choreography fast enough, and she also has a solo. I'm just concerned for her well-being at this point. We all silently get our laptops out and begin working.
I have three more social studies lessons until I'm done. I do my English lesson and when I'm done, Sarah is called in, and I decided to cram in these last three social studies lessons. By the time Sarah is done and Hannah is called in, I have done one and half of them. If I keep up this pace I should be done.
I hear a lot of commotion with Hannah's solo, about Ann's controlling nature. She does remind Hannah to get her backpack off the bus every time and tells Hannah what to do a lot, but I wouldn't call her controlling.
Eventually, by the time lunch comes around, I have half a lesson left and a headache. Time for lunch, I guess. All I have is a pack of Mini Bites, a blueberry edition, a cheese stick, and a tiny clementine. Hannah gets my mini bites, Sarah gets my tiny clementine, and Pressley gets my cheese stick. I drink a ton of water to keep my stomach full, and I act talkative and happy.
Sadly, we're dismissed. Even though my body hurts, it only feels like I danced for two minutes, when in reality, it's been an hour. Only an hour? I can't wait until I'm done with school so I can just dance all day. But the producers say I can't until I've finished up school.
So that is my plan. I have twenty English lessons left, and half a social studies lesson. When I get in the car, Hannah seems even more stressed, and Ann seems upset. Mom and Ann seem like they're silently at each other's throats, and I can tell Hannah and I just want to crawl in a hole and perish.
The half-hour is excruciating on the car ride. I just text Sarah about the awkwardness. Honestly, I'm surprised she got a solo and a group dance based on last week. I'm just glad that, as of right now, Studio 19 isn't following us around like stalkers.
"See you tomorrow, Hannah!" I cheerily exclaim as we exit the car.
"See you tomorrow, Lilly," Ann says, and Mom scowls.
"Hannah's like a marionette puppet," Mom mutters under her breath, and I let out a deep exhale of embarrassment, grabbing my dance bag.
I very quickly rush to the lobby and into the elevator, dizzying myself for a bit. Time for my school marathon. I currently got a 96 in science and a 94 in maths, and I'm pulling a 93 in social studies and a 92 in English. Still a 4.0 GPA.
After about twenty minutes, I get to the make-or-break final assessment. I don't remember half of what's on here! This is so stressful! I manage to get an 87 on the final assessment. Passing, but it brings my grade down to a 90. Just barely an A.
My stomach gurgles in want. Not today. Tomorrow. I hit my stomach for punishment for wanting food, begrudgingly getting a swig of water. If I can do five English lessons today, I'll only have fifteen left.
English is so boring and easy. It's just reading and answering questions. There's not even a final assessment, which is the bomb. But I have to write down certain things now since my memory is garbage except for choreography.
I managed to get through four lessons before dinner time, my grade actually up to a 93. But using paper in the dancer's den is a lot harder, so I may have to use a Google Doc. This day has honestly been so mundane that it's gone by so fast.
Dinner is a salad. Eat, purge, exercise, simple. I feel so sick, my stomach churning. Mom keeps talking about Hannah and Ann and all the drama that went on, and I tune it out. I honestly don't care unless it involves me. This is all going to be forgotten and forgiven in five weeks, so why should I even bother?
Mom gets a phone call right after dinner. Probably Dad or Caden. Ugh, I'll have to talk to them. Lie to them. What a horrible daughter and a horrible sister you must be to lie to both of them, Lilliana.
Of course, I have to talk to them. I lie and say everything is fine. Mom is listening too. I have to make my face convincing too. Why is pretending to be normal so hard? They seem so happy, and I want to be happy. But I'd rather be skinny than happy.
"See you soon, Belle. Five weeks!" Dad exclaims on the phone.
"See you soon, Dad. Handing you back to Mom," I say, and I run to the bathroom, deciding to shower early.
Through the sound of the shower, I can throw up my food easily. The salad is cold, but it's also pretty acidic. Good girl, Lilliana. Eliminating unwanted calories is good. I didn't need a reminder, but thanks, I guess?
The intrusive thoughts have been quieter today, I guess. But I barely danced. That's why. Wait until I finish English and I get to sign up for all the classes I please. I step on the scale. 53.1. Half a pound in one day!
The shower burns, but I guess it's more punishment. Only two cuts today. I guess I won't be able to get that euphoric blackout tonight. I probably shouldn't do that every night, either.
I put a band-aid on each wrist, and I take a moment to admire my cuts. My wrists are like a canvas for all my bad days. It shows the trauma Dance Moms has put me on. And it's beautiful.
Whatever, I have to get ready for bed and do 125 squats to burn off the other half of my salad. A white t-shirt with a peach on the heart, and peach-colored sleep shorts, peaches all over them. Simple and cute, but it also allows me to body-check.
My ribs are sticking out a bit through my clothes, I can feel the bumpiness of my spine, and my thigh gap is there. I'm satisfied, even though I'm not at 50 pounds. If this is how my body looks at 53.1 pounds, how will it look at 50? Why do you tell yourself such foolish and obvious lies, Lilliana?
I'm probably just delusional. I probably look like Moto Moto from Madagascar 2. I should just do my 125 squats. That's a tenth of what I did previously, but I didn't dance that day. I did today.
My legs feel fine afterward. I hope it isn't just delayed soreness. I'm so tired, but I can't sleep. I guess more English. Maybe that will make me want to fall asleep. I go to my desk and open up my laptop and do a bunch of English lessons.
I finish one lesson. Not sleepy yet. Mom comes in and tells me to get some sleep. Won't be happening soon. Two lessons. None. Three lessons and I finally feel tired enough. Why did it take me that long to fall asleep? I've never fallen asleep at ten unless I was at an event that ran late.
Whatever. I need to be up at five, so I finally allow myself to fall into the demonic darkness.