Mirage (The Great Wattpad Write-Off)

Peaceful Perfection

Trigger Warning: Abuse, Depression, Some Anxiety.

Leaves fluttered down around her sulking body. The faint clicks of her shoes echoed around her, drowning out the sound of a desperate night, the cold clinging to her pale skin.

She was coated in pink--a very light pink, one that used to give her butterflies in her tummy, but now only made her bruised skin stand out against her leotard.

She once called herself a dancer. When her hair hung in tight braids around her shoulders and the world was still magical and bright.

Now, she was just Marie, the lonely girl scurrying along home, away from pain, and toward torture.

The door clicked shut behind her. She winced, afraid of waking Anna up. She took off her shoes and dangled them by their straps. She walked on her tiptoes, treading lightly in her tights. She held her breath as she walked past the master bedroom, the door slightly ajar. She shut her bedroom door behind her, shielding her from the wrath of the past, praying for a better, brighter day.

That day couldn't come soon enough, though.

Her stomach growled and her feet ached. She had a headache from the bun that was too tight.

But it was never tight enough.

She was never strong enough.

And she always ate too much.

"You have to keep a perfect body," Anna always scolded her; Marie could hear her mother's taunting voice in her head. She could envision the disapproved look Anna always gave her, looking down on her from her tall and plump perch of perfection.

One thing Marie wasn't.

A tear floated down her cheek, then another, and another.

Marie's body shook with her inaudible sobs. Her body collapsed on the floor so gracefully, barely making a sound on the hardwood. She ripped out her bun. She threw the shoes away from her. She gripped her stomach, experiencing a pain far worse than hunger ever brought her: it was dread.

She didn't want to go to sleep because then the next day would come faster. The next day was never better. It was always the same. She was always the same disappointing Marie.

She was never enough.

She peeled off her tights. Her feet were red and swollen. They were so disfigured from standing on pointe for her entire life. They were so bony. They were so ugly. But they were her favorite part about herself.

She pushed herself out of her puddle of desperation.

She watched as a girl approached her in the mirror, different from the one she thought she was. Her expression was hollow, and her face looked fake. She wore too much makeup, and it covered her ugly with a different kind of ugly.

Marie took a wipe and smeared the makeup off of her. It reminded her of Mulan, who was pretending to be somebody she wasn't in order to help her family. But who was Marie truly helping? Anna achieve her dream? No. She was never sufficient for Anna. Herself? Definitely not.

She looked at the bruises lining her body. Her collarbone was a deep purple and her side was tender to the touch. She gingerly removed her leotard.

The wounds were there to remind her that she was there. She still existed as long as the pain did. She turned to leave her bathroom, but she caught her side on the door. She let out a faint yelp, just loud enough to cut through the silence that had once eased her. Immediately, Marie pulled her hands up to cover her mouth.

She quickly found an old t-shirt and leggings to wear to bed and threw them on. She went to turn off her light and listened for Anna. At first, the hall was silent. Then, she heard loud stomping getting closer.

Marie scrambled backwards, until she fell when the door shot open. Anna was livid: her face was red and her curlers had gone awry, tufts of hair blocking part of her view.

Anna walked closer, this time at a slower pace. Marie backed herself against her bed and shrunk back, trying so desperately to become invisible. Anna lifted her arm and smacked Marie across the face. Marie let out a cry of pain.

"BE QUIET," Anna barked, slapping her again. Marie fell over, holding her face. Anna slammed her foot into Marie's diaphragm.

She couldn't breathe.

She felt another kick. And another. A punch to the face. She was repeatedly kicked, until she grew numb to the pain. She couldn't feel herself anymore. She couldn't feel the tears dripping down her cheek or the blood running down her neck.

And for the first time she was happy. She embraced the next day because she knew it would bring joy and comfort and light, and all would be perfect.

She was perfect.