I slipped the ballet shoes off my feet as quickly as I could, my fingers fumbling to untie the satin ribbons. Walking over to the side of the studio I waved my hand, commanding the blinds to open, letting in a flood of sunlight. My fingers moved in the air, touching the virtual key pad to change the classical music flowing out of the overhead speakers.
My mother had left about a half hour ago, trusting that I would follow her orders and do pirouettes until my toes bled. This hour of the day was reserved for her drinking. She pretended it wasn't but I could smell the whiskey on her breath and would watch as she tried to make her way up the stairs, stumbling with every step.
I walked to the center of the floor and took a calming breath. This hour might've been nice for her, but it was my haven, the only moment in the day where I could feel free in a lifetime of confinement.
I let out a breath, took a step forward, and danced.
No screaming that I was doing it wrong, no strict choreographed movements. Just me. I brought my body into a turn, tuning myself to be in sync with the sounds flowing throughout the room. My heartbeat grew stronger along with the music, warmth flooding through me.
That was when I decided to let go. All the tension, worries, and fear slipped from my mind. I was a lightweight, my walls temporarily down, and perfectly fine with being blown away in the wind far from my thoughts.
"So this is what you do when I'm gone."
I froze, feeling like a bucket of ice cold water had been poured down my back. She sounded calm, which was worse. It was always worse.
When she was angry and drunk she was unfocused and emotional, firing words at me that I could block out. When she was focused she knew exactly how to hurt me, knowing what would cause me the most pain, like a sharpened blade heading straight for me.
It always worked and I hated her almost as much as I hated myself for it.
"Oh, don't worry" she coolly, taking in the expression on my face. "This is my fault after all. Evidently I hadn't been clear enough with what would happen if you disobeyed me, and to think..." she paused, stepping forward to run an freezing hand along my cheek, "that I spent so much time trying to make you perfect."
I looked away at her words, but her hand slid down to grip my chin harshly and yanked my head back to face her.
"You will do as I say." Her fingernails had drawn blood.
I swallowed thickly and nodded. I shouldn't have tested her, knowing what she was capable of, it was stupid and dangerous. I had to be smart, cleverness was all I had going for me, but sometimes I just couldn't help it. Freedom, even just small tastes of it, we're addicting.
She nodded towards the door as she pulled out a silver flask from her coat pocket.
I let out a breath I didn't even realize I was holding once I sank down onto my bed, having left the studio as soon as her head had moved. I nervously pulled at strands of my hair as I glanced through my bedroom window. She would be drunk within the next half hour, and whatever mother kept in that flask could've been enough to knock out a whole town based on the way it stank. Add on an extra hour and she would be dead until morning and then some.
I stood and pushed open my window, glancing out longingly. I shouldn't, not after such a close call, but it had been a minor offence with no real punishment. What was just a small trip, a few measly hours, that would help me get through the rest of the month until I would be let out again. Some addictions were just too hard to break. With that final thought, I crawled through the window.
I dashed across the paved road and into the dense forest behind my house, the underbrush snagging threads of my pants as I treaded deeper into the foliage. I would have to hide them when I got back. The familiar smell of fresh leaves and rain lingered in the air as sunlight trickled through the gaps in the overhead trees and warmed my back.
I knew the risks I was taking leaving, but I was tired of the relentless pain aimed at me. It had been happening all my life, you think I would be used to it by now, but it chipped away at me a little more each day.
"Victoria!" I called as I got closer to the clearing where I spent most of my available time, which wasn't much.
"Over here," I heard a panting voice call.
I walked in the direction of her voice and turned around a warped looking tree just in time to be nearly kicked in the face.
"Victoria!" I shouted as I stumbled backwards to avoid getting a broken nose, my arms pin wheeling behind me.
"God, don't do that," she exclaimed, clutching her chest like she just had a heart attack. "Plus, you were basically asking for it. You know better than to sneak up on me when I'm training."
"I was shouting your name," I cried indignantly, taking notice of her purposely shortened uniform skirt.
Victoria was a gorgeous brunette who was notoriously known for enforcing the stereotype that pretty girls are dumb, but for a good reason. Most children of wealthy families like ours went into training to become authors, the most revered and coveted job out there. Victoria though, wanted nothing more than to be a part of the Guard, the military of our country who dedicated their lives to battle. She hoped if she proved to be unfit to be an author, her parents would have no choice but to let her look for other job opportunities.
When we could, we would sneak out to the clearing close to our houses and Victoria would practice her skills on an old beat up punching bag that she had hung up on a thick tree branch while I would alternate between immersing myself in a book and trying out new dance moves across the forest floor.
"Yeah well you sounded further away! You okay?" she asked warily. "You seem off, is it your mother again?" A sympathetic expression crossed onto her face.
"Yeah, but what can I do" I mumbled as I plopped onto the ground, neglecting to go into further detail.
"Who cares what she says," Victoria scoffed as she turned back to her punching bag. "One day you just need to outright tell her that it's your life, not hers."
"Mhmm," I hummed in agreement to appease her. Victoria only knew about a fraction of my relationship with my mother. I kept the real horrors to myself.
"Come on, cheer up, Emlyn," Victoria cajoled, stepping away from the punching bag. "I'll tell you what, if you teach me how to do that aerial front flip thing you do in dance then I'll teach you how to do a roundhouse kick."
"Deal."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Get off me, you oaf," I groaned out an hour later as I shoved Victoria off of me. After I taught her how to do the trick, which only took ten minutes I might add, she decided she needed almost a full hour to train me.
"It burns," I whined dramatically, clutching my legs that had been abused by hours of dance and training. I didn't mind the lessons, but I always found a good book could teach me more.
"You're so dramatic," Victoria huffed as she flopped down beside me, twisting her head so she was looking up at the sky.
"Do you ever think we'll get out of here?" She whispered tentatively after a couple minutes of silence, a drastic and sudden change from her normal, confident, I'll fight my way out attitude. "Family is supposed to be the most important thing in our lives. Why are ours so messed up?"
I didn't have an answer for her.
"Why can't we just be perfect like they want?
"Because that's not who we are," I croaked out. "That's not who we are at all."
We lay there on the forest floor until the sun started to drop and smears of orange and pink were swept across the sky; neither of us speaking a word in case it broke the unexpected but warmly welcomed wave of calmness and mindless thought.
We lay there until inky blue was added to the array of colours above us.
We lay there until a cold breeze blew strands of my golden hair into the air that matched the twinkling stars above us.
We lay there until alarms and flashing lights tore through the night.