Flawless: Gazelle [COMPLETE]

Chapter One

Chapter One

Flashback

10-year-old

I was so fast and graceful I practically flew across the woven strips of ribboning air, colour flashing bright and alive in front of my glowing and wind-blown face. Lights were shining on me, but even if they weren't, I was sure I would still shine and dazzle the audience; I was radiant with happiness!

After streams of consecutive performances, all of which were hot and sweaty and left me starry-eyed and panting for breath, I resigned backstage, 'Swan Lake' still playing repeatedly in my head.

I peeked from behind the curtain, my eager eyes searching frantically through the tightly woven crowds of the hall.

'Dad!'

Rejoicing, I rushed off the stage and into my father's open arms.

'That was wonderful!' he praised my performance, ruffling my hair fondly. 'My little 10-year-old gazelle!'

Kissing my forehead, he whispered, 'I'm so proud of you, and so is your mother, lying in her comfortable hospital bed all the way in Switzerland. She will come back to us soon, completely recovered, I promise, sweetheart.'

At that, I turned to face him, eyes hopeful. 'Do you really believe so?' I whispered. 'I miss Mama.'

*****

14-year-old

'Dad?' I flicked on the lights. 'I'm home.' Hearing no anticipated reply except my own echo reflecting back to me through the empty hallway raised my awareness, and I wandered down the corridor.

20/2/98

My dear gazelle,

I am a scam of a father. Every time I

see you perform, I cannot help but feel I cannot

provide for you. You have great potential, yet I feel

I hold you back. I do not offer you enough. I am

uneducated. Therefore, I believe my leaving is the right

thing to do. Keep dancing. Keep finding joy in your

performances.

I love you, my little gazelle.

Love, Dad

The note was dated eight years ago, when I was merely six. Had he been planning to leave all along?

3/4/02

Darling,

Your performances are magic! It makes

me smile, seeing your achievement, but now I am

guilty. I can only imagine the pain that is inflicted

upon you every time people ask about your father; how

ashamed you must be. Your mother has left us, yet I

still feel obliged to leave for your sake, for the better.

I am poor, pathetic and plain. You are the opposite

of me. Therefore, I am not right nor fit to be your father.

Sincerest apologies, gazelle.

I slid down the wall, trembling.

No. Something about this didn't fit. Leaving so abruptly was so unlike his usual character. He was usually such an organised person. The notes looked like they were written simultaneously as well and in a rush. However, I guessed that I was in denial, and should come to terms with the facts.

Did he not know how glad I was to have him for a father? How happy and proud I was when hearing his praise? Why? Did he not know? He was overthinking the whole situation. He was my father! I spied an envelope pinned against the wall, and found a cheque summing up to £500,000. I felt a sense of dread and foreboding as I read the note. It confirmed my worst fears.

23/5/06

Gazelle, I'm sorry...

23rd May, 2006. That was today. He had left me.

Snapping back to reality, I started running to his room, scavenging for the keys, finally finding them, rummaging through his drawers, finding them all emptied, crying, breaking things, slowly, slowly, slowly, falling asleep.

*****

2 years later

After streams of consecutive performances, all of which left me wanting to do more, I resigned backstage.

I peeked out from behind the curtain, desperate eyes searching for that one familiar face, imagining him stroking my hair, kissing my forehead, telling me how proud both him and my mama were of me, calling me his little sixteen-year-old gazelle, because to him, I was a child no matter what.

But it never came.

I would wait, hopeful, after every performance, only to find myself shattered and broken afterwards. I stopped hoping, performing, waiting. I moved on. I kept dancing, but it was not to the same melody. My song was one of a broken, stone-cold girl. I was hidden, mysterious, drowning in my own pain. I was nobody. Not depressed, not self-destructive, not alcoholic, not drugged, not possessed, not crazy, not diseased, not frozen, not suicidal, not dead.

I was nothing.

And slowly, by being nothing, the pain dulled and dimmed to nothing as well. There was nothing for me to hold on to. I became who I am now, a living, breathing representation of a teenager in 2008 who had fallen, but never found the courage to get back up.

He left, and along with him, so did my trust, hope, love... everything.