Stalking the Dancer || 18+

Part Nine - Current Connection

I turn the water off and loosely wrap my towel around me with one hand so  I can use the other to balance myself against the wall as I step out of the shower, leaving my other leg inside. I turn on my good foot to bend down and unwrap the plastic bag from my cast, being mostly careful not to get it wet. I can't say I like this thing, it's like a ball and chain that swallowed my foot- I frankly think I could get more done dragging a literal ball and chain behind me. The wet plastic does its best to cling to my leg as I do mine to rip myself free from it. Somewhere in the drippy, dramatic, leaning-over-the-shower-conundrum, I decide my other hand is needed more elsewhere. I let the towel go so I can pull myself free, the white fabric is draped across my back, hanging loosely around me while I'm bent at the waist.

This may be the least graceful thing I've done in a while, but the triumph when I finally yank it over my toes might as well be tangible, "Hell yeah!" With a free foot and a lot of self-confidence, I stand up and move toward the mirror, my towel falling to the floor in the process. The cool air hits my skin erupting in goosebumps all over my body, my nipples peak and I struggle to see an outline of myself in the foggy glass. It's probably better that way.

Dancing has taught me a lot about my body. I am hyperaware of how I look and focused on things I never would have noticed if they weren't pointed out to me by a no-nonsense teacher, repeatedly and with gusto. Perfection is attainable in the dance world- that's what they'd like you to think, at least- because striving for perfection is what knocks some of the greatest dancers out of the game. Perfection means nothing if you don't have the strength to stay there, to fight for it. I took every judgment and correction to heart, being even tougher on myself than the mentors who doled it out in the first place. Years of that make it hard for me to look in the mirror, I never see the things I like about myself looking back at me, only the bits that I think are worst have the gall to stare back at me. I don't need to do this to myself right now. 

Water dripping from the shower head fills the uncomfortable silence between me and my reflection, the only thing reminding me that I'm real in this moment is the sound of my shallow breath as I pull it into my feeble lungs. I'm tired, I haven't been sleeping well since I found out a shadow man is watching my every move. He's scary, sure. He materializes behind corners and shows up when I least expect him to. But the scariest part is how I can't stop my adrenaline rush every time he pops up, doing his best to pull me into his orbit. It's addicting in such a twisted way that I'm ashamed of myself for even participating in it. So, I lock myself inside this room whenever Ray isn't here and it's been working pretty darn well if you ask me. 

I mindlessly drag a brush through my hair a few times before a draft hits my bare skin, causing a shiver to run through like a lightning strike. I turn toward the closed toilet seat where I left my change of clothes, "Shit, where'd I leave my sweatshirt?" The words come out mumbly, so muffled that even I can hardly hear them, but they must be loud enough. My sweatshirt falls at my feet as if it had been floating above my head the entire time. Naivety aside, I'm not foolish enough to reach for it without scanning my surroundings, which seem untouched from the way I left them before my shower. Slowly bending my knees to reach my shirt, I don't dare peel my eyes from the dark doorway leading into my temporary bedroom. My locked temporary bedroom. I've never forgotten to lock that door, never knowing when wandering hands might try the knob. I guess Daddy was right, nobody's safe from the ass-end of an ass. Stupid mistakes take mercy on no one, that lesson solidifies in my chest as Billy steps out of the shadows of my bedroom and into the light emanating from the bathroom. 

I fucked up.

I stand and pull my sweatshirt over my head, doing my best not to think about the fact that he's been staring at my naked body this entire time. I didn't hear him open the door so he must've gotten home from work while I was inside the shower. He stood there and watched me, he snuck in and stole my clothes!