Page 6 of The Breaking Pointe
“Wellhismultiplestalkingscandals,unsettlingtextmes-
sages, and unprecedented efforts to make sure he watches you tells me that he doesn’t care one bit.” Lauren rests her un-masked chin on the fabric, watching me.
Her tone is rather curious, like she’s more interested in where my head is at.
“It’s stupid.He’s obsessed with something he can’t have.” I pick up my plate, open the microwave, and put it in. “I’ve moved on, alright? I made a mistake almost a year ago, and maybe that’s my fault, but there’s no more giving him any hope that he may have a chance.”
She continues to watch me, leaving a pause between us. “What about if we go with Tony?He really wants to go to the fight anyway, and I don’t know if I can sit through one of those without you again. Please?” she begs.
“Lauren, no. Tony is your boy toy, not mine. And that’s not gonna cover my ass if I show up and he sees my face.” I shake my head, walking to the fridge to get a drink.
“No, but that’s not fair because you love those fights just as much as we do, and this time it’s free.They normally aren’t, and you deserve to have fun.Just this once?”She suddenly slaps the couch with authority then lifts her chin, parting her lips with an idea. “We can cheer on the other guy together?” she asks playfully.
The look in her eyes is nothing short of sincere.
Tony has offered to do just about everything with us because Lauren is aware of how safe it makes me feel.I shouldn’t have to limit my activities all because some man can’t get off of his high horse.Yet, if I ever want to start dating again, I’m going to have to actually leave the house and do something other than teach a dance class or perform a recital.That involves going out and doing things solo, too.
“I’ll think about it, okay?” I smile, tightening my jaw. “Okay, but one thing.You have to think fast.It’s in four
days,” she says as her eyes prey on my movements.
“Four days?”My eyebrows morph into a furrow as my head snaps back down at the letter.
“The letter came a few weeks ago. You kept putting it to the side, so I kept putting it in your pile.Only this time, I figured I’d mention it,” she says shyly.
That would explain the seriously late notice.
“Right…” I say quietly. “I guess my answer is yes then,” I say with regret, shuddering as I make eye contact with her again.
“Don’t worry.” Her lips curve into a side smile. “We can even leave early,” she adds, full on smiling as she turns to the TV again.
I can already hear the list of things that Daniel will try to say to get in my good graces again. He’s an incredible boxer, but his finest skill is love bombing his way into people’s lives so that he’s comfortable enough to manipulate them with ease. It’s only taken me three different times to understand that; I guess third time’s a charm.
The first time we broke up was only official for me.To him, it served as more of a warning, which then resulted in a warning to me to never try to leave him again.He didn’t have to say much, either.The fist beside my head and his disoriented facial expression hovering centimeters away from my face was good enough.
It’s also not something you expect from someone you’ve been in a relationship with for almost three years.
The first time it happened, I truly mistook his anger for purejealousy.Hecouldneverhurtme,right?Ithought
that I had to be doing something beyond terrible to stem this much of an attitude from him.I considered dressing better or saying less. Hiding became more of a comfortable option, which resulted in posting online less often.Whatever I believed would make him see that I only had eyes for him, I did my best to do.Only it would make it worse.He then had no reason to be upset, and it left him with no choice.His next level was hitting me where it’s personal.
Targetingmylooksandbelittlingmycareer.
Suddenly, my talent in dancing became a bludgeoning ear sore to hear about, and it’s a ridiculous activity to indulge in. Not only was his judgment for ballet offensive—it wasn’t enough to make him feel better. I wasn’t sexy anymore, or flexible to his desire.I was a pig, with sore feet and no brains. Still, he kept me around and showed me off as if I were the opposite—and that became one of the most confusing tropes that I’d ever lived through.
Unfortunately, you learn to hate yourself in a different way when someone else points out a number of flaws that you never seemed to see or have before.I would’ve never thought my hair was too ginger, or my freckles were too bold, or that my body was too lanky prior to being with that man. I’m left now to try to redefine what it means to love myself, and hope that it doesn’t make me fear the future. So far, it scares the living hell out of me, and I wonder if men can see it. It feels like it’s written on the middle of my forehead.
I’maninsecure,frailwoman—pleasehurtmyfeelings.
I wonder about everyone that might be able to see right through me.I speculate if men and women see me from afar or watch me on stage and simply think,“That girl needs some serious therapy.”It crosses my mind that it most likely
is obvious. I have that realization every few months, then right after, I pray every night that it’s not. Because if I don’t get to have anything else in this life, I think I should get to have the shreds that are left of my confidence and dignity.
I leave my plate in the microwave and take my itemswith me to my bedroom—my bags, my purse, and my books.I’d eventually get to eating dinner, but not until after meditation, a hot shower, and a foot rub. The same routine, every night. All after pretending that my toes aren’t crying in excruciating pain all day.
I sit on my bed, kicking off my shoes and dropping every- thing once again.Sliding my butt from the bed to the floor,I let out a deep sigh. My hands reach for my feet, unable to wait another second before pulling my socks off.It’s bruised and cut.It even hurts to touch in some areas.Wincing softly, I begin to poke and prod at some areas, peeling small Band- Aids and wrappings off.
I really do spend every day of this life exchanging beautiful feet for being somewhat desirable in aSwan Lakereenact- ment.
