The Pretty Poison

.PART 5 - Chapter 3

.PART 5 – Chapter 3

Lightning Feather.

The words mull around my thoughts, taking hold of my concentration and distracting me from my dance. It’s a beautiful name for our new company member and it suits her too. Her fiery red hair flows through the wind as soft as the words she chooses to speak while her wit and audacious persona strike hard into your thoughts. Even the bruises on her body flatter her new Native American epithet. She has yet to remember her past but the troupe does not seem to mind. Still, something about her is putting me off. It’s almost as if she is too perfect.

I spin the shining Poi above my head, barely missing my face. Luckily, I’m using my LEDs today instead of my performing fire chains. My lack of focus won’t burn while last night haunts my thoughts.

Feather wasn’t aggressive in the dream and neither is she in real life. She was calm and gentle and everything listed under the description of a protective mother bear. But it terrified me. Remnants of the memory crawl under my skin from the panic and my real-life feet misstep with the Poi. Why won’t the damn thing stop gnawing at the corners of reason?

The figure eight shines in the air as I rotate my arms in large circles and lean my head back. Following the rhythm, I whip the Poi in front and circle around. The LEDs leave a trail of light with the speed of the turn. It leaves me dizzy and entranced as it really shouldn’t.

The motions aren’t enough to take me back to the dance. All I can think about is that nightmare. My mother, what was she doing there? I haven’t dreamed of her or my father since—

“Stop!” Westley shuts off my music to my routine. Taken by such surprise, my feet trip over themselves and my loose grip lets one of the hard plastic bulbs hit my cheek. A sharp inhale slithers through gritted teeth as I rub my face tenderly. The sting resonates through my bones and I can feel blood burn my face. Luckily, none of this blood is seeping through. Unluckily, a headache starts to whirl through my brain.

My attention slips from last night back to the overly quiet circus Ring. Westley’s silhouette walks up to me from the benches around the tent’s entrance. Hunched shoulders and taunt muscles; he is definitely pissed off. His footsteps stomp over the ground’s worn out grass audibly.

I coil the dangling Poi around my wrists with the narrowing of his eyes as he scrutinizes over my body. The scent of his cologne mingles with my shallow breathing while he circles slowly, very clearly annoyed. I glare down in embarrassment, anger boiling under my skin. This routine may not be simple, but I should have mastered it by now.

Jabs on my shoulder make their way down to my elbow from Westley’s finger. He pokes my muscled arm, silent with an accusatory gaze. Sometimes, I think he forgets how self-conscious I am. My nails scratch the unsettling sensation his finger leave but he takes no notice.

“Let me get this straight,” Westley starts, waltzing around in thought. Fingers fold beneath his chin and I know whatever he says will make me feel worse than I already am. His animated posture reels around to stare directly at me. Trying to find his words, his hands manically wave in the air. “You are actually here right now? You aren’t a ghost thing, right?”

His steps form a line as they stroll back to the audience bench he had been seated before. I keep quiet. Whether the question was rhetorical, I don’t know. When turns around with his brows raised waiting for an answer, I shake my head tentatively. Why would he even think I’m—?

“Then why aren’t you getting these moves right?! You have had weeks with this routine, maybe even months! I’ve actually lost count on how long we’ve worked on it.” His shouts make me cower. I make too many mistakes and shouldn’t even be here with the rest of my cast. I’m so goddamn flawed, it sickens me. Westley is closer now, still carrying on. “I train you, I show you the steps. I figured you would have become better by now. The new show starts in a few weeks!”