by Abby Gale
“She’ll spread her legs at ten to all the boys at this rate. How can she be my daughter?” I hear her say to herself, shaking her head. I don’t understand what she means, but she gets angrier with every word she mutters.
She rips the t-shirt I’m wearing and rubs my face until the crayon comes off. Her hands hurt my cheeks, but she doesn’t stop even though I’m crying.
“I’m sorry, mommy.”
“You should be. There’s evil inside you, Veronica. It tempts you, makes you sin. Pretty is bad, pretty is what puts women in trouble,” she says, and I cry harder. I’m not evil. I’m not bad.
I try to run to my bed, but mommy doesn’t let me. She grips my hair and pulls it. “Stay here. I’ll fix this. I’ll fix you.”
I stay put. I don’t know what else to do. I’m afraid of her. She’s moving fast around the room, looking into the drawer for a thing.
She holds out scissors, and I look at the door. I’m afraid. Her face is funny again with the way she’s angry. Will she hurt me? I don’t want her to hurt me.
“Mommy… mommy, what are you doing?”
“I’ll fix you, Veronica,” she says and pulls me by my hair. “This hair will go away. It’s devil’s temptation.”
“Mommy, please. Don’t.” I sob, but she doesn’t stop. The scissors meet my hair, and my black manes fall to the ground next to my feet over and over again. I close my eyes when my hair reaches to my shoulders, but mommy doesn’t stop even then. I hear the teeth of scissors over and over again until I can’t feel any of the strands of my hair.
“Here. Finally. You won’t worry about being pretty again,” she says. Her voice is coming out like she’s smiling.
With fear, I open my eyes and another sob escapes from my throat. I look like a boy. I try to touch my hair, grip it, but there’s not enough length to hold.
I wanted to have blonde hair like the little girl. Now, I don’t even have any hair.
Is God punishing me?
I take hold of hair that’s lying in front of me, and another sob gets out.
I don’t like whoever God is.
Chapter 4
Past
Age 7
I sneak out when mom closes herself in her room to pray. It’s so good outside, there’s no rain, the sun is shining. I’m sitting behind the blackberry bushes, playing with my one-armed doll. I hear laughter from the next door. It’s the pretty girl’s house, but I have never looked at her house after my mom cut my hair that day. I blame the girl, even though I know it’s not her fault. She doesn’t even know of my existence. I hear the girl and her friends singing. It sounds like they are having fun. I wish I had a friend to play with.
“What are you doing there?” I hear someone ask.
Looking around myself, I try to see where the voice comes from. It’s the girl next door, leaning over the fence. She’s smiling, and she doesn’t look like a little girl anymore, she looks older than me and happier.
I look at her, not knowing what to say.
“Hi! My name is Lauren. What’s your name?” she asks, still smiling.
“Veronica,” I whisper. I don’t want my mom to catch us.
“Why are you whispering?” she whispers.
I shrug.
“Let’s play together. Come to our house. You won’t stay alone,” she says, outstretches her arm like she can help me up.
I glance over my shoulder toward my house. Mom is still nowhere to be seen. Maybe I can go, but I shake my head with the fear of mom’s anger. “No, I can’t.”
“We’re playing in my Barbie doll house. There are chocolate cookies, too. It’ll be fun,” she says.
“What is a dollhouse?” I ask, slowly walking toward her. I don’t know about chocolate cookies, but if it’s something close to chocolate I want it.
Her blue eyes widen. “Don’t you have one?”
I shake my head.
“Then you must come,” she says.
After looking at the house once more, I look at her and nod. “Okay, I’ll come.”
“Get inside, Veronica.” I freeze in my spot when I hear my mom’s voice looming.
“Is that your mom?” Lauren whispers, looking scared as she tries to hide behind the fence just like I want to do.
I nod.
“Veronica!” I hurry inside the house when mom yells at me.
Mom grabs me by the collar of my t-shirt and pulls me inside the house. My eyes well up with tears, but I don’t fight when she pushes me inside the closet. I’ve already got used to being in there.
Mom locks me inside. “Pray, Veronica. Pray for God to give you enough wisdom to stay away from people. People aren’t to be trusted, they’re evil. They’ll lead you to sin. Don’t trust anyone, Veronica. No one. Pray. Pray hard,” she says after leaving me in the dark.
At first, I hated this closet. It was dark, cold, and scary; it still is. But lately, I like it more than I hate it. Mom is scaring me, but when I’m here, I don’t need to worry about doing something to anger my mom.
I don’t pray, though. I decide that I don’t like God. And lately, I don’t like my mother, either.
Chapter 5
Present
“Stella, Marilyn! Hey, hey, what are you fighting for?” I pull away two little monsters from each other.
“She pulled my hair!” Stella shouts.
I turn to Marilyn who shoots daggers at Stella. “Why did you pull her hair, dear?”
“She always wants to be in the front. This time I want to be in the front!” she says, her eyes have already welled up with tears.
I bite my lip not to laugh before pulling both of them into my arms. “Do you know why these walls have mirrors?” I say, pointing the big mirrors that cover the walls.
“So, we can see ourselves?” Marilyn guesses when Stella says, “To see how others dance?”
I shake my head. “There are mirrors so all of us can be in the front.” I turn Marilyn to face the mirror on the left wall and say, “Look, your spot is on the front. All the others are behind you at this point.”
Marilyn’s eyes widen, and she beams, showing me the missing teeth in the front. Unexpectedly, she throws herself at me. “Thank you for putting me in the front.”
Stella does the same, after looking at her own place and smile.
Shaking my head, I laugh. “Alright, you’re friends, and that’s the most important thing. Now apologize to each other and take your places. We’ll start the class.”
After an hour of dance class with ten little girls from age 5 to 7, I walk them outside, so they can meet their parents. When I’m back in the studio to tidy up the place I hear a throat clearing behind me.
“Miss Sage?” says a woman. I remember her, she’s Stella’s mother.
“Hi.”
“I won’t take your time, I can guess you’re busy and tired, but Stella’s just told me what happened today, and I wanted to thank you for how you handled the situation. Stella is very ambitious even for her young age, and while I’m happy that she’s passionate about the things she likes, I also want her to know that life isn’t about being the first, it’s about the joy in the process. So, I can’t tell you how happy I felt when she told me that you showed her that you can be in the front if you look from the right place and that friendships are important,” she says, before taking my hand for a shake, “Thank you.”
I smile at her, not knowing what to do. “Stella is a great girl. A little bit ambitious, yes, but that’s not a bad thing. She’s smart enough to realize with time that competition isn’t so important. I’m glad I could be some kind of help.”
She nods. “She really enjoys your classes. You’re so good with kids. Do you have children?”
My smile falls. “No. I can’t be a mother.”
Her expression turns pitiful, and I hate it. “I’m sorry. I… I better go. Thank you for your time.” Her words rush out from her mouth, and she quickly leaves the studio.
People are strange. When you show them yo
ur flaw, they don’t know what to do with you, and finally, they leave you. It’s a good thing I’m used to being alone.
Chapter 6
Past
Age 8
I’m hungry.
I’m hungry, but there’s nothing to eat in the house. My mom hasn’t gone out shopping. She’s been so busy praying in her room. I drink some water and decide to go out.
Lying down behind the blackberry bushes, my usual place, I look at the sky. It’s grey today. It’s always raining when the sky is grey. I don’t like rain so much, especially if there’s thunder.
I watch the clouds and eat blackberries. They are tasty.
“My mom says you shouldn’t eat anything before washing them,” a boy says behind me.
I turn to face him. I saw him once in the house across the road. I hear his laughter, and I don’t like him because of it. He always sounds happy even when I’m not.
“My mom doesn’t say that,” I protest. I don’t tell him my mom doesn’t even know that I’m eating these or that I’m sneaking out of the house.
He nods and walks closer to me. “Wanna eat some?” he asks, stretching his hand out.
I smile when I see the chocolate. I haven’t eaten chocolate for so long. I look at him, half hoping he’ll take the chocolate back. He grinds his foot on the floor like he’s embarrassed. I smile at his shy expression. Maybe he’s not a bad kid. I nod as an answer and take the chocolate he’s offered.
“Thank you,” I murmur and lay down to the grass to keep watching the sky.
“What are you looking at?” he asks after a while, lying next to me.
“The clouds. They look angry, and they’re chasing each other.”
I feel him looking at me, but I don’t turn my head away from the clouds.
“Sometimes I look at the clouds, too. When it’s sunny. They look like animals then,” he says.
I nod, even though I have never seen a cloud that looks like an animal and put the last piece of chocolate in my mouth. It tastes so good, even better than I remembered. Sucking my fingers into my mouth, I devour the taste. I hope I can eat it again sometime soon.
He tears another piece of chocolate and gives it to me.
I shake my head. “No, it’s yours,” I say, even though I really want another piece.
“My mom doesn’t let me eat all of it by myself anyway. It’s good that I’m sharing with you,” he says, smiling. One of his front teeth is missing.
I finally take it and smile at him. He seems nice, he can be my friend I think. I don’t have any friends.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“Nick. Yours?”
“Veronica.”
He grins. “That’s so cool. I’m Nick, and I can call you Nikki.”
I think about it a little. I like that. I nod and beam at him.
“We can be best friends, Nikki,” he says.
“I don’t have any friends.”
He outstretched his hand, it has chocolate stains on his fingers. “You have one now,” he says.
I look at his hand and back at his smile again.
Finally, we shake hands.
The thunder chooses to strike at that moment, and I jump. I don’t like thunders, it makes me scared.
“Are you afraid?” he says, moving closer to me.
I nod.
“Don’t worry. I’ll protect you. We are best friends now,” he says, wrapping his arm around my shoulder.
I don’t know why, but I get scared less when he hugs me.
I lift my head to smile at him, but I see a movement in my house and stiffen.
“You should go. My mom will be angry at me if she sees I’m outside. Go, please,” I say, jumping onto my feet.
My panic must scare him, he gets on his feet too.
I run back to the house. “Go,” I mouth at him just before I close the front door.
I lay down on the couch, pretending that I’m asleep. But inside I’m smiling.
I have a best friend, now.
Chapter 7
Present
Leaving the studio, I look at the building I spend my days in. Teaching children how to dance has never been my dream, but after seeing the job advertisement on their window, I knew I wanted to do it. And now I wouldn’t trade it for the world.
These kids fill a hole inside me with their innocence and cute smiles. Their laugh shows me the goodness in the world that there’s a reason to keep living. It’s been seven years now that I realize dancing has healing power, and since then my life is full of music and dance. I’ve made sure of that. Working in the Club Nymph was a coincidence, I didn’t even know I loved dancing until I started to work there. When the owner, William Harrison hired me, I felt I found my place in this world, even though I didn’t like the owner. It didn’t surprise me he turned out to be one of the biggest douchebags in the world, but I was devastated when the place I found my happiness had to be closed. But things turned out well, and The Vincent Brothers, who were the VIP customers of Club Nymph bought the place and let us, Harley, Salem, and I to manage the club the way we want it. We even changed the name. Now, it’s The Man’s World… and is being managed by women. So, every hour of my day is now filled with music and dance. Such a therapeutic life.
On the way to my house, I stop by a Chinese restaurant to get some take-out. As I pay the bill, I feel my skin prickles. It’s like a magnetic pull that tells you you’re being watched. A pressure of the stare that’s directed at you. I turn my head, looking around the restaurant to see someone, but everyone minds their own business. Shaking my head, I get out of the restaurant. The strange feeling doesn’t go away even when I reach my building. I search my surroundings one more time before I enter the lobby of my apartment. For a second, I thought I saw someone in the alleyway at the opposite of my building, but the cars that pass through the street make it hard for me to see clearly.
With anxious beats of my heart, I head to my apartment. As soon as I step inside, Night, my cat puts his claws on my ankles. He must be hungry.
“Nice to see you too, Night,” I say, lifting him to my arms.
I found Night next to a trash can five years ago. If it weren't for his heart-shattering whine, I wouldn’t have seen him in the dark. He’s as dark as night, maybe even darker. When I heard him, I watched him trying to get under the big white cat I guessed that was his mother. But the white cat pushed him away, licking her other babies who were as white as her.
To this day, I don’t know if the white cat was really Night’s mother, but that day I lifted Night into my arms, and after a middle finger to the big white bad cat, I took him to the vet. Since then, he’s been my best companion.
With him in my arms, I head for the kitchen, pouring his meal into his plate and open the boxes of Chinese for myself. After getting comfortable in front of the television, I let myself relax. Tonight, the club is closed, just like every Monday is, so it’s theoretically my day-off and opposite to most of the people, I like Mondays.
I go to the movies I want to watch. When I decide on a horror movie, Night strolls from the kitchen and jumps on the couch next to me. He’s different from most cats. He loves attention, and whenever I’m home, he’s always either beside me or on my lap. I think we’re the solution to each other’s loneliness. I pet his fur before enjoying my meal with screams and tense music from the movie as my background.
By the time the movie ends, Night is snoring softly on my lap. He’s got scared of the movie, only stopped growling when I caressed his head on my lap. Putting him back on the couch, I make myself a green tea and go out to the balcony.
It’s a nice night out, clear, and peaceful. I can see some of the stars wink at me for a change. Normally, they’re hidden either by clouds or the bright lights of the city. Suddenly feeling the same prickling sensation I felt earlier today, I look at the street. A move catches my attention on the other side of the road. That dark alley always gives me chills. Narrowing my eyes, I try to see better. The stree
t light before the alleyway only lights up the entry of the dark passageway. Finally, a figure appears from the shadows. It’s ridiculous maybe, but I feel like he’s looking right into my eyes.
Swallowing the nerves, I try to act like I don’t notice him. It can be anyone who uses the shortcut at night, or maybe a homeless who lives there, in the darkness. But as the anxiety of being watched doesn’t go away, I can’t convince myself that there’s nothing unusual. The black-clad figure who is still standing in the exact spot doesn’t help the uneasiness leave me.
I grit my teeth and turn my gaze to him. I stare at him even though the hair on my neck stands to attention, hoping he’ll either get bored and leave or, I don’t know, do something. But he keeps leaning against the wall, his face is hidden behind the black hoodie under his leather jacket. When he pushes away from the wall, I sigh in relief, thinking he’s finally had enough and will leave me alone; but my relief fades like a wilting daisy as he reaches his pocket and brings out a cigarette box. I watch him as he lights up the cigarette, I swear I almost see a small quirk on his lips like he’s smirking, but of course it must be just my imagination since he’s not close enough to me to see such details.
Gripping the railings of the balcony until my knuckles go white, I lean a little like it’ll help me to see better. He still looks unfazed and oblivious to my internal anger mixed with anxiety. He’s smoking and blowing the smoke my way, or that’s how my mind tricks me to think. I watch him grinding his feet to the pavement, almost as if he doesn’t realize he’s doing it. My skin breaks into goosebumps, but this time it’s not because of fear or anxiety. This time it’s because I feel some kind of familiarity I can’t put my finger on.
When I take a step back, he takes one forward. I almost feel his breath on my face like he’s here with me, in the small space of my balcony instead of meters away from me. My hands are shaking as I push the door so I can get inside, but I can still feel the heaviness of his gaze on my back.