The Dance of Eternity

TW: sexual assault, abuse

My wrists flick so beautifully. My bracelets clack in unison, and my hair whips around my shoulders, the blonde and white combining to create a wonderful gray. My hips sway to the rhythm of you, and each step is made just for your eyes. Fabric laps at my ankles as my white dress flows with my body, the lace upon my neck feeling the indents of my collarbones. My eyes are shut as I move, feeling everything but my mind. I am dancing to white nose. To static. I feel the rhythm of it in my body, taste it in my teeth, almost like cinnamon. It tastes burnt, sticky. It lingers in my mouth as I continue, saliva mixing with sweetness. My jaw is stuck together and I cannot open it. My tongue must remain sealed, but at least I can smile. I smile as I feel your eyes on me. I know you are not dancing as well. You are not the one to dance. This is my solo to you. This is my parting goodbye. My goodbye to all I knew that was true, to all I believed was loveable. I have danced the aspect of me away that was pure, and I feel tired. My limbs ache from this dance. My head pounds and sweat drips down my face. I roll my head in a circle, understanding that the world is spinning in ways that I can not see. I understand that I look disgusting, but for some reason you still watch.

I am so tired. The dance has not stopped. I don’t dare to open my eyes. You have not told me that I could. I feel a hand on my wrist. I don’t flinch. I feel you move my arms upwards. I feel you let go, but I keep my arm raised. I feel you grab my leg, hold my back. You are posing me, fixing me. Fixing my imperfections, making me beautiful. Your grasps are not gentle, and I feel my skin cracking beneath your power, feel my spine breaking, my wrist bones colliding into one another. Two hands grab my face, and pull me in for a kiss. I don’t kiss back, but I do not push away either. I smile into your lips, smile as your teeth press against my mouth, smile as your hands trace my spine. Is this what you want? Am I doing good enough? Can you feel my beauty with your kiss? Is it okay that you are smearing my lipstick? Are my heels beautiful enough? You know I wore them just for you. You know I placed black upon my eyes, placed product on my face, brightened my face pink with the most alluring blush, all for you. I put my best perfume on. Hopefully I smell like heaven. You let go of me, and reel back. I don’t know where you went, but I keep my position. I still taste the cinnamon.

Has the heat grown here? Are those tears or sweat falling down my face? I wish I could ask you. Why must my mouth remain sealed? I wonder why you did this to me. I thought I was being beautiful for you. I thought that this dress, this makeup, I thought it would make you love me. It’s not about finding someone to love me anymore. It’s about finding out how to make you love me. I can dance. I can sing. I can cry. I can die. I can do everything a human being is capable of doing. I just can’t do what you want me to do. If only you would tell me. Swear an oath that is only for me. Swear to me that you are trying just as hard as I am. Swear to me that I am as alluring as I am attempting to make myself. Give me a new pair of heels, a shorter dress, more expensive makeup. Put in the effort that I have. Grab my hands gently, sway by my side. Place your forehead upon mine, feel my breaths quicken, and the static turn to piano. Let me place my feet atop of yours. Lead me in this dance of unison, handcuff me to your hands, no matter how much it burns. Let my hands boil, kiss me with your stinging lips, trace the lace over my collarbones. Show me that you truly love me. Maybe if I open my eyes, you will smile. The strap of my dress peels off my shoulders, and you tug it down more. Is this what you want from me?

I think I have gotten better as time goes on. I have begun to find a repetitive rhythm. A continuous parade of my feet, gently pressing against earth's floor; it is not daring to give away below me. I wonder what room I am in. What colors the walls are. If it is empty or if I am narrowly missing objects as I move. You are closer to me. I can sense your presence. You were always taller than me. Towering over me like a mother and a child. I can smell something sweet on your neck. Something that inches me closer. I am not sure what it is. How I wish to open my mouth and intake it. To feel it on my lips and tongue, but I still remain sealed. I wonder what it tastes like. If it tastes like honey and lavender, or the sweet scent of the beach waves. I fear it, for some reason. The hairs on my arms stand, and my legs begin to shake. I must keep dancing. I must keep to the beat of the new found piano, hitting each key with a sway of my arms or a step of my bare feet. My dress is shorter. My hair is curled and put up bountifully, with jewels scattered about the strands that lay loose. I feel a new lipstick on, more expensive makeup. Freckles dot my cheeks, and my movements are more smooth than when I began. A hand rests on my shoulder. My dress is strapless now. Nothing to slip off my shoulder. You caress my shoulders, my neck, my collarbone. Your hand traces my cheek, and I feel something wet wipe away as you do. It is not sweet cinnamon. It is not heaven. It is a simple tear, and it tastes like blood. You only wipe away one. There are many more that come. They pool onto my lips, staining pink lipstick crimson. I hope the metallic scent doesn’t make me smell like hell.

I can’t feel my legs, and the blood is everywhere. I can feel it dripping down my legs, my arms, my stomach. I can smell the sweet scent of flowers around me, your aroma now gone. Your hands no longer caress me. I wonder if it is something I did wrong. If there was one wrong movement. I changed myself for you, and god do I love you, baby. God do I need you to watch me. God do I need your eyes to be on me. I am thinking of slipping this dress off of my body, allowing me to dance bare in front of you. I don’t exactly think I have a choice. I don’t think I can do anything but be bare in front of you. I need the stench of the white flowers to leave me. I need that sweet scent of your neck back, your hands poisoning me. So it slips off. It clutters to the floor, and I step out of it, dancing in front of you in the whole entire truth. I hear you rise. The piano quickens in its pace, and I attempt to move faster, but your hands grab me and keep me from moving any longer. Without my dance, without this rhythm, I fall weak, and clash to the floor in a heap. The blood continues to pool from my eyes, and hell is me. Your hands trace the sides of my legs, and without thinking, I open my mouth.

“Stop.”

I open my eyes.

“Stop.”

Your hand strikes me. I watch as your pale palms turn red, and watch the world spin as I fall to the side, head hitting the floor. I am in my basement. This lovely room of mine, so spacious. You bring your face down to mine. I see your blue eyes, your blonde waving hair. I see the candy on your neck. I reach forwards, and place it in my mouth. It tastes like salt. Oh how I love you.

The taste of salt has now replaced the sticky cinnamon, and I am happy for its release. I am happy that I can pant with an open mouth, and I can feel my eyes wide with terror. Your face is blurry now. It looks like the static of a television, and your body is glitching. You are holding a hand out to me, and I feel as if I am fading in and out. I grab it, nonetheless, and you pull me to my feet. The static tilts to the side, and I know that call. I know that need that rises inside of me, and I begin to dance again. My white dress is on me, though now it is stained red, dripping from the bottom. The piano is gone, and the original static is playing in my mind. As I lift my leg into the air, you grasp it and pull me to the ground. With shaking arms, I pull myself back up, only to be brought down again. This continues for eternity. A continuous unfinished dance that never has a grand finale. Never has that last beat. Never has an applause, an encore. Nobody gets to see the end of this. Bruises have begun forming on my skin, and my eyes can view it all. I see the glitching, the white walls. I wonder how beguiling the red looks against the white. If I look like a rose among white flowers. If I look like a cardinal in a flock of doves. I wonder if you like this outcast. If you like the way I differentiate from the rest, if you like the wildness in my eyes. The falling and shoving myself back up to my feet. The way I quicken each time I stand again. I hope you are okay with me. I hope you enjoy this as much as I hate it. Anything for you.

Eternity does not last forever. My dance is calm now, and my dress is a light blue, jewels lacing the front and a beautiful necklace lays in rest upon my shining and clean collarbones. A new person sits in front of me. Her hair is red, but not of the crimson sight of blood, the beauty of the sunset. The love of a beating heart. A pure desire. She watches me as I move. You are not there. There is no more glitching, no more static. It is only gentle notes of a piano, a lovely cadence that causes me to flow with laughter sticking to the tip of my tongue. She claps along as I move, and rises from her resting place on the couch. She grabs my hands and sways with me, places her head on my shoulder. She smells like what nature does. Eternity does not last forever.