by Azzurra Nox
“I saw him talking to you.”
“Jon? Yeah. So what?”
“He loves you.”
“What does it matter if he does?”
“You’re blind to his feelings.”
“Not blind, I just don’t know how to deal with them. What does he expect me to do?”
“Do you like him? I must know this,” he grabbed a handful of the tutu’s material, balling it in his fist in contained anger.
“No, I don’t. Not that way. He’s just a friend. Michael, I love you,” his fingers slowly released the tulle when she said that to him.
“I don’t know what’s happening to me, Lena. Nothing has ever been mine. But I need you to be mine. That’s all I know.”
His lips crushed hers again, not giving her a chance to reply. Once again, she abandoned herself to the addicting rush. Her hands tugged at his cotton shirt, rising up, feeling his smooth skin beneath the fabric. Their tongues moved in a harmonic slow sensuous vibe, as though they wanted to take their time with the kiss rather than rush into it. As her hand rose, she noticed something odd. It was almost not perceivable at first, but then she passed her hand against his stomach again and confirmed the anomaly. Almost impulsively she pulled her hand quickly away, and broke the kiss.
“What’s wrong?”
“You…there’s something wrong with you.”
“What do you mean?” his eyes fixed on hers, caressing her cheek with the back of his hand.
She pulled his shirt up half way looking down. Sure enough it was what she had imagined. His skin was smooth and perfect with no signs of a navel.
“I don’t understand? How is this possible?”
“It’s a malformation,” he faltered.
Tension grappled at the air, pulling her down with it. For a moment they were both silent, as they gazed into each others’ eyes. She licked her lips and was about to speak when a knock on the door interrupted them.
“What’s taking you so long? I’ve been waiting for over twenty minutes in the car!” Mr. Martin’s tone indicated a slight impatience and annoyance.
Oh shit, she thought. She had completely forgotten about him waiting for her! What was she going to do now? She couldn’t just come out of the dressing room with Michael there. He must’ve sensed her despair because he moved away from door, and hurried towards the window.
“I’m almost done getting dressed! I’ll be out in five minutes, promise!” she called out, hoping that her dad wouldn’t question her further.
“Just put a move on it,” he said from behind the door, “You know I have to be at work early tomorrow.”
“Yes, just five minutes!”
She heard him move away from the door, but wasn’t sure if he was waiting for her there or had decided to go back to their car in the parking lot. Her heart beat fast, she hadn’t even noticed where the dress had been torn till she saw her reflection in the mirror. The strap of her tutu was ripped down the front, exposing some of her pale flesh underneath. Her hand automatically held up the flimsy garment so that her small breast was no longer in view.
“I’m leaving,” he told her, “Go to him. I don’t want to get you in trouble.”
“Wait…but..” she was going to add something more when another knock came to the door.
“Lena! It’s me!” Bethany’s voice came from the other side.
Stuck between what to do, she turned to Michael, “Give me a second, I’ll get rid of her,” and then went to the door to open it halfway so that Bethany couldn’t see inside as Lena stood behind it to conceal her ripped costume.
“I just wanted to congratulate you on a job well done, Christine,” she emphasized on the character’s name.
“Thanks, you were good too, Carlotta.”
“I’m on my way to celebrate with Dior and Bailey. You can join us.”
“I’d love to, but my dad is out waiting for me. Maybe next time?”
“Sure, no problem. See you in school,” and with that she quickly rushed over to the Honeys who were waiting in the corner for her.
Lena closed the door.
“Michael?” So many questions filled her thoughts. Where was he?
She looked around. He was nowhere in sight. The window at the end of the dressing room was open, curtains blowing in a languid motion with the night wind. Her heart was already aching for him like someone was literally sucking the blood out of her chest and leaving her gasping for air like a fish out of water. She hated this feeling sometimes. It made her feel vulnerable. A sigh escaped from her lips as she turned her back to the window.
The flowers she had received that night were on the floor. Some of them had gotten crushed from the weight of their feet when they got carried away with their amorous affections. A pink note caught her attention. It was small and attached to the cherry blossoms that Jon had given her. She knelt down to gather it, curious as to why she hadn’t noticed it before. It was a small card, and when she opened it the words that bled from the paper were pungent like a needle that’s seared in flesh and twisted to cause agony.
I love you.
Three words that were meant to cause joy but could only bring sorrow to her because she knew the weight of them and what it signified. There’s no room for friendship when love takes hold. For a moment she felt utterly alone as the realization sunk into her like a dreaded weight plummeting to the very bottom of her being. Maybe he’d move on. Maybe he’d get over her, and maybe then….only then they could be as they used to be. But right now that seemed so distant. Light years away. They might as well be on different planets the gap was so huge. Their distance so vast. Her hand let go of the soft fabric, letting the tutu slide off of her body. It was like shedding a second skin. If life were a ballet show, then she was Christine, and Jon was Erik. She could only hope that they wouldn’t end up so fatally flawed by their emotions as the protagonists of Phantom of the Opera. However, life wasn’t a ballet and no one had ever died from a broken heart in real life, right? She couldn’t even bring herself to answer her own question, but could only hope that the creator of the story was wrong. That life went on. That people moved on. That hearts could mend. It was their only salvation.
Part Two
Interlude One
Hollywood, California September 1932
Hollywood is the land of hopes and dreams for many. Especially for starlets that wish to try their luck with a cinematic career. In the 1930’s many Broadway actors moved to Los Angeles in hopes to make it big on the silver screen to try to mirror their stage success. Peg Entwistle was one of them. She had a burgeoning successful career in Broadway. Years later, when Bette Davis was asked why she decided to become an actress, she cited her as an inspiration. It seemed as though it was quite natural for Peg to want to try her luck in Hollywood. Everything was in her favor. That’s why when she arrived in Los Angeles in the Spring of 1932, Peg was full of hope and anticipation. Fate smiled down upon her the moment she set foot in the city, quickly landing her first acting gig. Shortly though, lady luck soon left her thereafter. Months passed by without an inkling of hope for a job and gradually her great aspirations began to dwindle down to despair. It was around that time that she began to hear the flight of wings flapping.
Initially, it was only a faint sound she’d hear at night, but as the weeks progressed the flapping got louder, till one night she heard a voice. Life could be better if you’d let go. It was both menacing and seductive, as though it wanted to lull her into a false sense of security. From a soft, cuddly blanket that could easily transform into a straight jacket capable of stifling her lungs and restricting her limbs. She tried to silence the voice that taunted her with alcohol and over the counter drugs.
She woke up on the morning of the eighteenth feeling severely hung-over. Her head throbbed as though someone had been hitting her temples with a jackhammer. The clock on her counter indicated that it was late afternoon.
“Oh..no,” she groaned, combing her short blonde bob with her fingers as she c
rawled out of bed in a slow sleep-like fashion. The thought of having to go back to another day of auditions at the studios made her feel sick to her stomach. She couldn’t bring herself to do yet another audition that brought no prospective job offers. She never had imagined that Hollywood would be such a difficult beast to tame and conquest. New York had been at her feet. Everyone had assured her that she had promising talent. It was inevitable for her to want to try her luck with cinema. Even if she wanted to return to New York she had no money, and she didn’t want to be a burden to her uncle by asking him to pay for her ticket. Especially since he had been kind enough to allow her to live at his house free of charge all these months, and never once made her feel like the unsuccessful actor that she had become. But she couldn’t sit around the house all day thinking about that just now. She didn’t even bother to shower, and slipped into a white knee length dress, buttoned down in front. Most days, she couldn’t even stand to gaze at her own reflection anymore. It only reminded her of her failure. You’ve got a face that’s worth a million dollars, many had told her growing up. Peg wasn’t particularly stunning, but her diminutive feminine features only emphasized her dramatic flair when she spoke.
Before leaving the house, she grabbed her coat and told her Uncle Harold that she was going to be meeting some friends that evening. He looked relieved that she was planning to see some people and not remain cooped up in her room in total darkness, crying bitter tears. But she had lied to him. She hadn’t really planned to meet up with anyone. Peg only wanted to be out of the house. Her lungs longed for the fresh air, although when she inhaled, the air didn’t feel crisp but rather suffocating, with remnants of smoke lingering in the atmosphere because of the recent fires along the Hollywood hills. She walked along the streets, without a true destination in mind. Thoughts of desperation pumped her brain with hopelessness. Twenty-four years old and her promising career was over. How was that possible? She couldn’t bring herself to accept that fact. Tears burned the rims of her eyes. Looking up at the hills, she saw it. The sign that mocked her whole existence, and made her feel worse every single day. HOLLYWOODLAND.
A folly thought entered her mind at that moment. She wanted to confront that sign, she wanted to see it up-close like someone would accost a bully. The trail up Griffith Park was rocky and steep. But that didn’t deter her from going. Her heels sank into the softest parts of the trail, whilst they’d scrape against the rocky edges. The sound of flapping wings got closer, so close she could feel a slight breeze and when she looked up she saw a faint shape and black wings. A fog had settled around the hills and so her vision wasn’t accurate in distinguishing what it could be. She didn’t even notice the presence of a black feather that fell right beside her. Panting, she dug her nails into the soil as the hill became steeper and walking upright had become difficult. It felt more like rock climbing now. Whiteness surrounded her, as she heard a voice beckon, “You’re almost there, you can do it.”
She had finally reached the base of the letter H of HOLLYWOODLAND. Overheated from the exertion, she pulled her coat off, folding it neatly before placing it on the ground with her purse. “Well, it’s only the two of us now, big boy,” she said to the sign, as she slowly began to climb up the maintenance ladder to the letter H. Both a feeling of excitement and dread filled her veins, pumping her to continue till she reached the top. When she stood on top of the H, she was overwhelmed with triumph like a mountain climber having overcome an immense height. This was her Everest. The city of Los Angeles stood below her. She was on top of the world. “I won! I conquered you, Hollywood!” she shouted loudly, her voice echoing along the hills. With her arms outstretched, she smiled wildly. A breeze picked up around the rolling hills, her hair blowing in front of her eyes. Then she felt something push her, like a pair of hands behind her back nudging forward. She tried to keep her balance, but lost her footing. Peg’s delicate body did a perfect swan dive off the letter H, where she met her death fifty feet below. Some stars rise, whilst others fall.
Interlude Two
Tokyo, Japan May 2006
The cherry blossoms embellished the path along the park. Pink petals sparse here and there, fallen from the weight of being in bloom for awhile. The late afternoon sun shown down on Madoka Yoshimoto creating an almost perfect postcard effect with her bare feet on the green lawn, watching the grass wiggle between her toes. It was such a gorgeous day. Too beautiful to be her last and yet she didn’t want to think about it. All the months of treatment had been in vain. Nothing could cure her from leukemia. There were no donors and chemotherapy wasn’t helping. The last time she went to the doctor he had given her a week to live. It was the end of the week now. But she didn’t want to spend it at home. She wanted to enjoy the colorful Spring day. Her arms looked like a patchwork quilt from the tiny red pinpoint dots, clinically known as petechiae, a common symptom of the disease. She pulled on a tan hued Prada jacket. Madoka had always been fashion forward, spending her days walking along the streets of Omotesand with her friends.
Standing up, she decided to go for a walk. The streets were busy with cars and pedestrians. A couple of young girls walked past her dressed in Kawaii outfits. Heavily multicolored dresses adorned with pins, Hello Kitty plush charms, and rows upon rows of white and pink faux pearls. She smiled at them. They reminded them of her when she was younger. Her smile quickly turned into a frown. She was still young. Only eighteen years old. Who dies at eighteen? Usually that’s when your life begins, not ends. Her fingers pulled nervously at a lock of caramel hair. She hated how the wig felt whenever she touched it. Even if she had gotten one made from human hair, it wasn’t like her own. The locks felt coarse, whilst hers had been shiny and silky. But what could she expect? They were probably using discarded hair from Russian inmates at the women’s penitentiary. Sometimes it would itch against her scalp that held little tufts of black hair.
The sun was beginning to slowly set along the Sumida River. The spectacle was nothing short of breathtaking. Tokyo’s busy city lights merging with the soft pastels of vibrant red, purple, and pink. She walked down the little meadow that separated the river from the street. In her hand she clutched a note written on white parchment paper. A part of her knew that she should’ve gone to the temple and invoke her ancestors to aid her in her time of need. Instead, she preferred to leave her wishes to the river. Have the waters flow her words. Her joints ached from all the walking, getting breathless by the second. How she loathed this illness with all her being, and yet she wasn’t ready to go. Not yet. She had so much planned for her future. She had longed to be a novelist. All those years spent writing stories that her friends would easily devour in a span of mere days and craved more. How could someone with so much to give, have to leave? Her mobile phone vibrated. She was certain that her parents were worried sick and calling to know her whereabouts. But she didn’t want to spend her last night on earth having to feel depressed. If only she could have another chance.
The sound of the river flowing was soothing as it merged with the sound of automobiles and music gushing from open car windows. She closed her eyes trying to breathe in the dusk. A strange flapping noise startled her. When she opened her eyes she saw nothing. It didn’t make any sense. A voice whispered behind her, “He’s coming to take you, but I can give you a choice.”
“Who’s coming?” she tried to disguise the fear in her voice with a veil of curiosity but the shaking in her knees betrayed her composure.
“He’s been waiting for you. I’ve seen him. But I can give you life.”
To this she turned around to witness a girl that looked as though she were in shadows. From her black hair, black eyes, and black dress, she seemed devoured by an inkblot. Madoka squinted trying to make out the girl’s figure, but something large and black was hovering over her.
“How can you do that? No one can save me. The doctors confirmed that I’m going to die.”
“You are, unless you wish to live.”
“I do! I don’t want t
o die.”
The second she said that the girl walked into view and Madoka gasped when she saw the glistening black wings. A smirk danced upon her face, her pale skin seeming to glow against the total absence of color.
“Give me your soul and you won’t die.”
“Do what?” she couldn’t grasp what the girl was trying to say. It made no sense at all. Was such a thing even possible?
“Your soul for your life. It’s a fair exchange.”
The desire to live was high. She had so many things she still wanted to accomplish. So many things she wanted to experience. Life couldn’t end at eighteen. It had to be the beginning not the end. Without a single hesitation she replied, “You’re right. It’s a fair exchange. I accept.”
Without a single word, she fell to her knees feeling as though a force was pushing her down. The dark haired girl spread her wings. Madoka felt strangely compelled to offer her wrists, palms facing up as she peered into the girl’s cavern eyes. Before she even had the chance to speak, the girl nails sliced open her wrists. She almost keeled over at the sight of her blood gushing forth in a torrent.
“Oh my god!” she cried out, the pain of her cut flesh throbbed vigorously.
The black winged girl let out a satisfied laugh, as she pulled Madoka’s head back the wig coming loose and falling limp on the dewy grass. Her nails drew a perfect incision across her neck. Blood seeped out from the cut flesh, dripping on the grass. The girl’s black wings wrapped around Madoka’s almost lifeless body, bringing her lips to hers and giving her what would seem to be a kiss, but in reality was nothing more than the theft of her final breath.