Page 20 of Lyrical (Academy of Stardom 2)

The only person I spoke to the whole weekend was Lena. I’ve been ringing her obsessively to the point of distraction and only relaxed when I found out she’s going on a school trip tomorrow to the Isle of Wight for a week. I didn’t ask where mum got the money to pay for such an expensive trip or acknowledge the jealousy I feel that she has. Money wasn’t something we ever had much of, and even when mum did have some spare, she never used it to buy me things. I lived in hand-me-down clothes from our neighbours’ children and survived on free school meals. Treats weren’t something that were a part of my life, but none of that matters now. I’m just relieved that Lena’s out of harm’s way for the time being.

Now that it’s past three in the afternoon, I’ve recovered enough to haul arse out of bed. I’m tempted to knock on Clancy’s door, apologise, and hang out, but honestly, I’m still not ready to face anyone just yet. Physically, I’m stronger. My feet aren’t as sore as they were, and my strength has returned enough for me to wrap them up and want to dance. But emotionally, mentally, I’m still on edge. Jeb has made no contact after that evening at Grim’s club and I’ve no idea what he has planned for me. I’ve been waiting for the guillotine to fall because if there’s something I know for certain, Jeb won’t let this go. He’ll come back tenfold with something heinous for me to do, or maybe he’s just planning to kill me.

Needing to let off some steam, I dress in a pair of joggers and a loose t-shirt, pull on my trainers and grab my last bruised apple from my pathetically empty fruit bowl, and creep down to one of the studios. Once I dance, I’ll feel better, at least I hope so anyway.

The hallway on the next floor down is quiet, peaceful, and I head into the nearest studio and hook up my mobile phone to the speaker system. Placing the apple on the table, to eat after I’ve finished, I remove my trainers and press play onElastic Heartby Sia, and let the music wash over me.

I don’t think beyond this moment.

I just move, running to the far wall.

Anger burns as I slam into the brick. My screwed up fists, smashing against the wall. Inside, all I can feel is this pent up energy, this rage needing release. If I don’t find a way to ease it, I might just self-combust, and I can’t afford to do that. I have to regain control, just like I did at Grim’s club. Drawing in a deep, ragged breath, my feet glide lightly over the wooden boards as I spin and twist my way back to the mirror, stopping just before I crash into it. My chest heaves as I stare at myself, at the person I’ve become.

Fighting, always fighting.

Fighting to save Lena. Fighting against Jeb, my brother, the Breakers.

I feel exactly like the rubber band that Sia sings about. Right now I’m stretched thin.

I may have a thick skin but I’m fucking scarred from all the fighting. I might be able to take more than others. I might keep fighting back, but I’m only human and everyone has a breaking point, including me. Some days I’m strong, I’m fierce, and others I’m on the verge of breaking, my edges fraying. I can feel myself unravelling. This back and forth, this push and pull, the ups and downs, acting strong but feeling weak, it’s taking its toll. I put up a front to the world, never really revealing who I truly am deep inside, even to the ones I love the most. But I did at Grim’s club. That night, I fucking peeled back the thick skin I wear so well, and I let the Breakers see me.

Did it make a difference?

I’m not sure.

Does it even matter?

I don’t know that either.

All I know right now is that I need to dance. Some people sing to let out their emotions, some people paint, some draw, some write, some play a musical instrument. I dance.

It’s the only source of freedom I have left.

Flaring my nostrils, I draw in a deep breath then lift my fists and slam them against the mirror so hard it wobbles under my anger. “Let it all go, Pen,” I say to myself fiercely, my reflection misting beneath my words. Pressing my forearms against the mirror, I drop my head between my shoulders and breathe in deeply, absorbing the music and Sia’s lyrics until all I am is another outlet for emotion.

I’m no longer Penelope Scott.

I’m not Pen, Kid, Titch or Tiny.

I’m not someone with the weight of the world on my shoulders.

I’m not a girl fucked-up by dangerous men who want to hurt her.

I’m not a woman still in love with the Breakers.

I’m just an instrument of dance.

My body sways, as I clutch my head in my hands and stumble backwards on heavy feet. Pulling at my hair, I tip my head back and let out a silent scream, my body swaying in time to the music. It fills me up, it vibrates the air around me, the lyrics wash over my skin giving me the fuel I need to let it all out. I just go with it. This isn’t a choreographed piece. This is me bleeding out. This is me trying to make sense of everything that’s happened recently.

My hands fall away, and I jerk my body as though electrocuted. The reality of my situation and the events of Friday night finally sinking in. I drop to my knees, crawling across the shiny wooden floor before turning onto my back and slamming my hands and feet in time to the music, my feet push against the floor so that my body slides backwards. Sia’s voice flows over me, and I absorb every damn word. I draw on it, using it to give me the nourishment I need to dance the way I must.

Arching my back, I lift myself up off the floor onto my hands and feet, then push up onto my hands, flipping upright in a back walkover that a gymnast would be proud of. Flinging my arms wide, I spin like a little girl who’s carefree. I spin on my still sore feet trying to free myself of the pain and anger that’s eating away at me and like Sia sings, I want my fucking life back. I want to live. I don’t want to be afraid anymore.

I don’t want to be afraid for my sister.

I don’t want to be afraid for my life.

I don’t want to be afraid of my feelings.

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