The Choreographer

47: Odette

A/N: So I feel like Alona Tal has been the best representation that I can find to match how I think Isabel may look.

Of course, if you pictured her different, keep on keeping on.

But anyway, not all pictures I see of Alona Tal make me think Isabel. (I'm picky, I know, but really it's bc I had no celebrity which I made Isabel after, but I feel like people like to have some face to a name, hence, Alona Tal.)

The one above is one of Alona that reminds me of Isabel, even though she's kind of making a weird face, lol. And there's the pic, just incase you wanted it. Haha.

***

I've been in the gym in the basement since I woke up at six this morning. I check my phone as I get water. It's almost ten.

I walk, shaking off any tense muscles as I hit the treadmill again.

Each footstep is a reminder that everyone knows. They'll be waiting for me to be that way again. All the fans will think that I'm gross, lesser, not worth Harry's time.

I turn up the pace on the treadmill.

I will be out of a job, people will think I'm unworthy. I can't believe this is happening.

I kick up the pace some more.

I run for twenty more minutes. I hear footsteps overhead and know that Harry is awake. I hear the footsteps walk down the basement stairs and I keep running, willing myself to calm down.

"When did you get up?" Harry says walking barefoot in the doorway. He sounds sleepy.

"Around eight." I lie. I turn off the treadmill. "I came down here around nine." Another lie.

"You okay?" He asks.

I wouldn't talk to him last night. I didn't lash out after the paparazzi, I didn't cry, I didn't do anything. I was inanimate. At least that's what I wanted to be.

"Fine." I force a smile that I hope looks natural.

"It's okay if you're not." He tells me.

Not it's not.

"I know." I lie. "But I'm fine, really."

Harry looks at me skeptically. He walks over to me and takes my hand. "It is okay if you are not okay."

I keep up my emotional wall with a shake of my head and a shrug. "Really, I mean, it was going to happen sooner or later."

"Yeah?" Harry asks, wanting me to talk more, to open up.

"Yeah, I mean, she..." I turn away from him, "I couldn't be a secret forever."

***

I've been all over the tabloids, for being ugly, for hitting the photographer, and for everyone wondering how I lost so much weight.

Maybe I should act like this is a good thing, and share my story, share how all of this has changed me. How I 'over came bullying' and 'became a new and better person.' I could have the chance to say all of the things I never did and all of the things I don't mean.

I didn't overcome bullying. I ran away from it.

It didn't change me for the better.

Harry did.

Harry.

All I've done is lie to him. Lie about how much I work out, lie about how much I eat, lie about being okay.

Lie lie lie lie lie.

I hide from him, and from my weight on the scale. From tabloids and newspapers and magazines, from my mother and from myself. I hide from myself because that girl in the photo is me, and I can no longer deny her to everyone around me.