You'll Be Alright - Taylor Swift

Part 29

Sitting on the edge of the big, padded chair, my legs swing back and forth, not quite reaching the floor. I tug on the sleeves of Taylor's hoodie, pulling them over my hands until the cuffs almost cover my fingers. It's warm and smells like her—a mix of her perfume and something that just feels like home. I bury my nose in the fabric and take a deep breath, trying to hold onto that comforting feeling.

The rehearsal space is huge, bigger than any of the places I used to live in back when I was with Cory, with high ceilings and walls lined with mirrors. It's so bright in here, with lights shining down on everyone as they move around. I can see the sweat glistening on their skin and the way their muscles tense and relax with every movement. They're all so fast, so strong, so sure of themselves. I wish I could be like that. I wish I could be brave.

Taylor is in the middle of the room, surrounded by her dancers. She's wearing a crop top and leggings, her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. She looks so confident, so powerful, like nothing in the world could ever scare her. I watch her as she counts out the beats, her voice loud and clear, cutting through the music that's blasting from the speakers. "One, two, three, four!" she shouts, and everyone moves in perfect sync, their bodies flowing together like water.

I try to follow along with the music, tapping my fingers against my knee in time with the beat. But it's hard to focus, my mind keeps drifting. Every time I close my eyes, even for just a second, I see his face. I feel his hands on me, and I want to scream, but no sound comes out. I shake my head, trying to push the memories away. This is supposed to be a safe place. Taylor promised me that nothing bad would happen here, that I was safe with her. But it's hard to believe that sometimes. The fear is always there, lurking just below the surface, waiting to pull me under. It's silly. I know it is. It's been weeks now. I want to be better again. I was starting to feel good being with Taylor, nothing like I have ever felt before, but then the nightmares started again, and now I feel like I used to when I was with Cory, and I hate it. I hate it.

"Okay, let's take it from the top!" Taylor calls out, and the music stops for a moment before starting again. I watch her as she moves to the front of the group, her eyes focused, her movements sharp and precise. She's amazing like she's not even real. I've seen her perform so many times, but it still feels like magic every time. The way she sings and dances makes it seem like she can do anything.

I curl up a little more in the chair, pulling my knees up to my chest and wrapping my arms around them, ignoring the twinge of pain in my knee as I pull it to my chest, knowing I'm not really supposed to do that. 

I want to be strong like Taylor. I want to be able to dance and sing and not be scared of everything all the time. I want to be normal. But I'm not. I'm broken. Every time I think I'm getting better, something happens, and I'm right back where I started. I hate it. I hate being so scared all the time. 

But most of all, I hate that Taylor has to see me like this. I know she's worried about me, even though she tries to hide it. She thinks I don't notice, but I do. I see the way she looks at me like she's afraid I'm going to break apart any second.

The music changes, a new song starts up, and Taylor glances over at me. Our eyes meet for a moment, and she smiles, a small, soft smile that makes my chest ache. I try to smile back, but I don't think it comes out right. She gives me a thumbs-up, and I nod, trying to show her that I'm okay, even though I'm not sure I am.

The dancers are spinning and jumping, their feet moving so fast I can barely keep up. I want to look away, but I can't. There's something about the way they move, the way they pour everything into the dance, that makes me feel a little less scared. Maybe, just for a little while, I can pretend that everything is okay.