An Angels Murder

~Chapter One~

I never had the childhood every other kid had. I never grew up playing with barbie dolls or playing in parks or watching Disney movies.

There was this emptiness, a hollowness that lingered in my chest. I was envious of those who had what I didn't. They never gave me the comfort, the compassion, the happiness they were supposed to give me.

Maybe it was because of me, my personality or the way I tried to keep my head high and never let anyone talk down on me. But they always found a way to torture me, to deliberately hurt my feelings.

I was a child.

I was a child who's only ask was to be loved by the people who brought me into this sick world.

If parents refuse to learn how to love their child, then they shouldn't have kids.

These thoughts linger in my mind as I stare at my therapist who sits in the chair across from me.

"And why are you here?" He asks, annoyance clear in his tone. My words come out as a mumble. I watch as he rolls his eyes at me.

"You know I hate it when you mumble," he groans.

"Sorry," I reply timidly. He's obviously very annoyed with me as I start to speak again.

"I was j-just wondering if you had anything f-for my insomnia?" I stuttered, picking at the skin around my nails. He shakes his head.

"No," he replies bluntly. I'm a little taken aback but I just nod slightly before standing up.

"Sorry for w-wasting your time, I'll s-see you next week. Thank you Dr.Marshal," he sighs before showing me out of the room. I'm not good with confrontation. I'm pretty quiet and don't really speak unless someone talks to me. I've been like this for most of my life and don't really mind it. I find it better for myself.

I slowly walk down the stairs, leaning on the railing for support.

So basically my left leg is fucked.

I fractured my tibia, ruptured my Achilles tendon and tore my ACL completely.

All from a fall down a steep flight of stairs. Not a fall...a hard push but that's besides the point.

And I don't drive. Driving gives me to much anxiety. I just walk everywhere. And yes I know I just mentioned that I can barely walk down two steps properly, but I would rather endure the pain then be constantly anxious.

I walk into the busy street, turning left. I head for the cafe. I have a four hour shift today. A little shorter than usual.

I don't mind it actually. I would rather be working all day then have to be cooped up in my apartment.

I continue to walk down the street and make it to the cafe. I like morning shifts better than afternoon because I can have time to go home after work and then head to the studio. I only work part time so my hours a kinda flexible.

I pull open the door and watch the crowd inside. I walk past the people lining up to get their orders taken and go behind the counter. I can hear knives and forks clattering as people talked and ate.

"Hey Donatella, you okay to waitress today? If your leg is hur-"

"I'm okay Stephanie, thanks though," I smiled. She nodded her head before walking over to the second register.

Work was crazy, and I was only there for four hours. I was working the last shift for the day which meant I had to quickly clean up and head to the studio.

"Thanks for helping me lock up," Stephanie smiled while placing the key in her pocket. I nodded before going our separate ways.

The studio was only a five minute walk from the cafe so I took my time knowing I wasn't going to be late.

When I got there, there was students standing at the top of the staircase. I slowly walked up, grabbing the railing as people watched.

"Hey Miss D," my students greeted.

"Hey guys, sorry it took me so long," I apologised while taking the last step. They all talked over each other as I opened up the doors. They all quickly ran past me, making their way to our designated studio.

Once they were all inside, I waited for them to get their shoes on and stretch before we started.

I'm an Ex-Ballerina. Because my of leg I had to stop doing it professionally and decided to start teaching. I started ballet when I was three and forced myself to stop at eighteen.

I was fifteen when I was hospitalised for my injury. I was in the hospital and doing physiotherapy for a couple months before my parents shipped me off to Switzerland for boarding school.

They're fucking assholes. My father more than my mother.

Anyway, I was lucky that I was able to do private lessons of ballet in my boarding school so I continued to do so until I was eighteen. I was letting my injury get worse and worse until the pain was unbearable. So not only did I force myself to stop, but my teacher said that it wasn't worth it because I wouldn't be able to go on stage and perform anyway.

My leg never healed properly. My fracture never healed and my ACL is still severely torn. I block out the pain by teaching my students to dance and also using strong pain killers. It's the only way I can get any sleep, especially when the weather is extremely cold or rainy.

I did ballet for fifteen years. It was my life and my love. And I still do love it, maybe even more now then when I was a student.

I care for each and every one of my students and hope for nothing but the best for them. I push them to their limits and hope they will become better than what I imagine them to.

My dream is to open up my own studio and teach those who can't afford to pay for lessons. Because I'm currently in a position where I cant splurge or buy any of my wants, I want to give back to those less fortunate. And I refuse to get help from my parents because they were the ones who put a stop to my passion.

I hope that one day my students can finish what I never could.

I hope that one day they can finish what I had started all those years ago.
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This is fucking crazy. I really can't believe that I've gotten this far in my writing.

I appreciate and love the all my supporters who have been on this journey with me.

I love you all.

Word count: 1141