All The Men I Have Danced With Are Dead

Prologue

December 26th, 2019.

Aurora sat on a leather couch, her gaze fixed on the sun's retreating glow. An aging antique clock hung on the stone wall directly under the window, with the shorthand ticking past five and the long hand pointing at ten. The bare window to the left of the sofa framed the view of the darkening lake. Aurora noticed that unlike the weeks before, there was a tint of red, just by the edge - contrary to the completely flawless orange circle it had consistently been. She disregarded this as benign and continued her routine of staring at the outside world into the nothingness of her thoughts and completely ignoring the woman in front of her.

Dr. Shorty Rice sat across from Aurora, her gaze fixed on her patient. A golden plaque on the wall by the entrance of the office proclaimed her a Ph.D. holder in psychotherapy from Princeton University. The blatant display was perhaps meant to reassure patients that they were in capable and "well-educated" hands.

As Aurora stared out the window, the doctor observed her with an unwavering intensity. Her stern demeanor matched her physical appearance: tall and underweight with grey-blonde hair that was pulled tightly back. But what stood out most was the deep furrow on her forehead - a permanent frown etched into her features. In hand with the seriousness of her demeanor, Dr. Rice was always impeccably dressed. She alternated between pale grey and navy blue pantsuits, each one perfectly tailored and ironed to a crisp finish. Her attire seemed to reflect the meticulous attention to detail that she brought to her work.

As Rice sat across from Aurora, she held a yellow notepad balanced perfectly on her crossed legs. In her hand was a cup of pure black coffee, and the way she held it showed that she had been nursing it well before the start of their session. Her fingers were perfectly manicured, and her blue-grey eyes remained set on Aurora, never once wavering.

At precisely twelve minutes and fifty-seven seconds into their session, just as she had done on countless Tuesdays before, Dr. Shorty Rice posed the same question to Aurora: "How are you today?" It was always in the same order of words, never any variation or deviation. The doctor seemed to place a great emphasis on the word 'today,' as if the past and future were not in question. Aurora always wondered why, but the thoughts were fleeting - as the the only response she could give was a slight nod. It wasn't an indication of whether today was good or bad, but simply a confirmation that it was indeed 'today.' Though she longed to speak and convey all that was locked inside her, Aurora simply couldn't. 

Not that she hadn't tried, but It was as if her vocal cords had been glued shut, rendering her unable to articulate the tumultuous thoughts that swirled in her mind. The doctors who treated her after the accident had labeled her condition as selective mutism, but they were unaware of the deep-rooted history of this affliction in her life. As a child, she struggled with the insecurities that accompanied the disorder, and it wasn't until she was fourteen that she finally overcame it. But now, at the age of twenty-three, it had returned with a vengeance, dominating every aspect of her existence. 

"Where do you go when your thoughts are not here? The doctor asked this next. Another nod, all the while Aurora's attention was still focused on the contents of the open window.

A moment's pause and... like all other sessions, the doctor begins a monolog on the importance of expressing emotion. A point at which Aurora does little to actively listen.

But then,

"'....Like the fact that...Peter is dead" The doctor said this very slowly and leaned forward in her chair. Her tone was almost cruel...almost gleeful. She had never asked this before.

Aurora's focus snapped away from the window to meet the doctor's intense gaze.  Dr. Rice's voice hung in the air like a heavy cloud, making Aurora acutely aware of every breath she took. The sound of the ticking clock on the wall seemed to grow louder with each passing second as if counting down to something inevitable. Aurora felt her heart rate increase and her palms begin to sweat. The doctor's words hung there, heavy and cruel, like a dagger in Aurora's chest. 

Rice didn't say anything else, she just stared back at Aurora, as the confused expression on her face turned to despair and very slowly sank into utter and complete exhaustion. Like the mask, she wore had melted away leaving behind the unfiltered truth. The truth is that Aurora was just like most people roaming the world, a person burdened by the contents of a difficult life.

They had never acknowledged the fact until that moment. The very fact that put her in this predicament in the first place.

"Did you kill him?" The doctor continued, with the same tone and the same intent. Aurora let out a small gasp as the words pounced on her skin like poison. It flowed into her blood and paralyzed her brain, her pupils became dilated and a tremor shook her hand.

The air shivered in response to the silence that now occupied it. It made Aurora's blood as cold as the autumnal air that crept through an open window.

The long hand on the clock above Aurora had taken a turn about and settled just before the numeral five- before her body responded again. Her hand still shook as it stretched to pick up the now cold cup of coffee that is usually placed beside her at the start of every session. As she took a sip a small shiver ran down her spine, almost as if she had forgotten the sensation of pleasure. Despite the oppressive atmosphere of the room, the taste of the coffee seemed to provide a small comfort to her, reminding her of the world outside this suffocating space.

"Did you kill him?" Rice asked again after the silence had stretched long enough. She said it as if daring Aurora to finally speak up - it was time to finally say something.

As the doctor's words lingered in the air, Aurora was forced to confront the reality of Peter's death in a way she never had before. The memories flooded back, threatening to overwhelm her. She remembered the fear and shock she felt as she watched him bleed out, and the numbness that followed in the days and weeks after. But now, at this moment, she allowed herself to feel the full weight of her grief and loss, allowing it to occupy her mind and penetrate the walls of her consciousness where she had stored it all. 

Rice's eyes were fixed on Aurora, her expression softening as she handed her a tissue from the side table. Aurora hadn't realized she was crying.

Maybe it was the exhaustion from carrying the weight of her thoughts for so long. Perhaps it was the overwhelming feeling of being trapped in her own mind. But at that moment, she felt a glimmer of hope.

As Rice sat there patiently, Aurora pondered whether she was ready to open up about the memories that had haunted her for so long. The memories that had stripped her of her ability to speak. She wondered if she could find the courage to break free from the chains that bound her.

The memories flooded back, engulfing her in a wave of emotion that threatened to drown her. But she took a deep breath, and for the first time in too long, she tried to speak. The words came out in a whisper, barely audible.

"If I was a girl in a book, all would be well," she said, her voice trembling with emotion. It was a strange thing to say, but it was the only way she could articulate the overwhelming sense of despair that had taken hold of her. For a moment, she felt a sense of relief, as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. But the story had a long way to go.