Don't Let Me Go

"Maybe it'll be him." I pointed a boy across the street. He looked almost bored, as he aimlessly kicked around a rock.

Diana shook her head, frowning at me. "Trust me, you don't want it to be him."

"Who is he?" I asked, looking the boys direction. Dark curls hung in front of his face as he looked down at the pavement, kicking the rock with his toe. A large purple bruise was prominent on his left cheek, I could see it even from this distance.

She shrugged, giving me a dark look. "Love, I'm going to tell you this right now, you stay away from that boy. All he is, is trouble."

The boy stopped kicking the rock, he slowly lifted his head. Peering out from behind his dark curls, he met my gaze. Air got stuck in my lungs as his electrifying green eyes connected with my hazel ones. He held me in a trance with his stare, and I found myself unable to move from the spot I was standing in. A smirk made its way onto his lips, and he turned away from me.

"I just wanted to know his name," I


4. Chapter Three

Well that was quick :) You guys rock!! Next update will be after I get ten comments! You guys can do it, you are like the best fans ever. Go my little poatoes!!!! Tell me what you think of the new cover too!!

Chapter Three

Dance was my escape. It was the only time I could wash off all my make-up and be free of what people would say about my scars. It was the only time I could let myself go. I stood in front of the mirror that ran along the walls. My skin was pale, decorated with dark purple, ugly marks. Scars ran along my cheeks, my nose a little bent and out of place. The spandex I was wearing revealed my long, thin legs. They were blotchy and bruised, indents were visible from where my father marked me. Looking in the mirror made me feel ugly, weak, and worthless; and that's why I like coming there so much.

I know my father doesn't think I'm good enough, and he never well, but when I look at myself in the mirror, I think that maybe I'd have one less scar if I had just been better, if I had gotten first instead of second, if my score was perfect instead of great. My scars give me determination, they make me push myself and work harder. Looking at my broken an beaten self, I see someone who can do better, who can be better. I will be better.

My feet lift off the ground, making a perfect spilt in the air as I leapt up high. Gracefully, I landed on my toes. I continued with my footwork, gliding across the hard wood floor, my toes remaining pointed and my legs as straight as a board. My eyes never left the mirror as I watch myself float across the floor, determination etched onto my features as I leapt into the air once more, spinning before landing on the ground with grace. I gave my reflection a grin, satisfied my performance, but only for now.

Quickly, I ran over to the corner of the studio where the sound system was, putting in my music. The notes of the piano keys started up as I back away, feeling my body be engulfed by the smooth and heavy sounds of the instrument. Music took over me, I had no control as my legs did their job. When the tempo sped up a bit, I lifted my right leg, spinning in a circle, as fast as I could. Gradually, I came to a stop, lifting my leg above my head as the music slowed once again. Suddenly, I felt as though I was being watched, like there was another presence here. Keeping my position, I slowly lifted my eyes to waiting area, where most mothers would sit and watch their daughters dance. My heart stopped. There was my father, standing there with his arms crossed, and he did not look entirely pleased. Knowing full well what he wanted, I dropped my leg and turned off the music, making my way towards him. "Hello Father," I greeted with my arms crossed behind my back, eyes trailing down to my worn out ballet shoes. "I thought you were working late tonight."

His eyes were eating up my appearance, I could feel their harsh state on me. "Just what the hell do you think you're doing?" he snapped, his tone parlous and threatening, ignoring my statement.

"Dancing," my reply sounded honest enough, but it was the content of it that pushed my father over the edge. He raised a large hand, slapping me about the face. I could feel the slash from his ring, and my face stung at the contact.

"Don't you give me that sass!" he bellowed, grabbing me by the forearm and shoving me up against the glass wall, my back to where I was previously lost in my own world of dance. "Why are you not covered up?" I knew he wasn't talking about my lack of clothing, but the lack of make-up that usually covered the damage he's done to my skin.

I gulped. "No one is here," I rushed out, my heart beating quickly. "Mrs. Evans gave me the key and no one else is here! No one else would see me! I'd just sweat off all the make-up and have to reapply it anyways! It'd just be a waste!" I tried to state my case, flinching away from his cold gray eyes.

My body twisted as my father turned my head and slammed my face against the glass, my nose being pressed forcefully into my face. I could feel the blood starting to fall. His other hand gripped my other forearm, so tight I could feel bruises forming in the shape of hands. With a animal like noise, he lifted me off my feet and hurled me to the floor, my body crushing against the wood. My mouth opened as I gasped in pain, but no words would form, no screams or pleas for mercy, there was just pain. He brought his foot to my head, making black spots spread across my vision. Another hard, swift kick was brought to the soft area between my rips and my hip. A groan softly exited my lips, not nearly loud enough for my father to hear.

Suddenly, the large hand that was just on my arms was around my neck, pulling me off the ground. My vision was blotchy and I couldn't breath. His face was close to mine, that's all I could tell. "If you ever leave the house with a single square inch of your skin not coated with make-up, you will regret it. Got it?" I managed to feebly nod my head, though I could barely comprehend what he was saying. There was a loud, high pitched ringing in my ear that grew louder every second. "Now get out there and dance, I expect perfection," he spat at me, releasing my neck. I stumbled backward, gasping for air. Once I regained my balance, I stood there for just a few seconds, regaining my breath an vision as the black spots faded.

My shaking legs carried me out of the room and onto the dance floor once again. Struggling to breath, I briefly leaned against the sound system before pressing my finger to the play button. The same track started again, my feet sliding away as I looked at myself in the mirror. Blood was running down my nose and cheek, a bruise forming where my father kicked me, dangerously close to my temple. Anger started to coarse through my veins, because I knew I didn't deserve this. Once again, my body started moving to the notes, my motions sharper and more vigorous now that they were fueled by anger.

With my father watching, I had done that routine better than I ever had before, jumping higher and my movements smoother; and the whole reason was because my father had abused me.


"What happened to your nose?" Diana asked me the next day as she picked me up again.

A sigh escaped my lips. No matter how much make-up I used to paint over my face, I could fix my nose that was now slightly bent to the right. "I feel yesterday at rehearsals. My ankle twisted while I was doing my battement tendu jeté," I knew the use of ballet terms would confuse Diana, and therefor would make her confused, thus dropping the topic to avoid embarrassment. Believe me when I say this wasn't the first time this happened.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, and quiet like a ninja, I pulled it out without Diana even noticing. A smile made its way onto my face as I saw who it was; Harry. 'Good morning love, how are you today xx.'

Even though it was just a bit silly to me that I was texting a boy I just met yesterday, I couldn't help but immediately reply with a grin plastered on my face. 'Good morning :) I'm lovely, how are you?'

"Oh," Diana said, furrowing her eyebrows together in confusion. "Well, you'll be happy to know that I have gotten a new boyfriend!" she squealed, giving me a bright smile, her cute little dimples showing. "His name's Tom, he is my dad's co-worker's son. We met last summer, and we've been talking ever since. I have a feeling about this one, Noelle."

Resisting the strong urge to roll my eyes, I gave her a frown. "You said that about, um, every boyfriend you've had in the past year."

"Yes but this one's different!" she protested, squeezing the steering wheel as we neared closer to school. "He makes me smile just by looking at me, he treats me like a princess and I get butterflies in my stomach every time I'm with him."

This time I really did roll my eyes. "How is Ryan reacting to this? Remember I told you when you two started dating that he has attachment issues, and that it's going to take a while for him to get over you," I stressed every syllable, hoping to get my point through to her.

Unfortunately, it didn't work, seeing that she just shrugged and continued driving. My phone buzzed once again when I received Harry's reply. 'Eh, could be better, rough night last night xx.' I briefly wondered if the little 'xx' was his signature or if it was just for me. "Who are you texting?" Diana questioned and I jumped at her voice. Her eyes widened at my reaction. "Is it a boy?"

I quickly shook my head. "No! Of course not! It's just, erm, Jennifer," the lie quickly came out of my mouth, and I soon wished I had come up with a better person.

"Jennifer Andrews?" I nodded my head. "You hate Jennifer Andrews."

"Yeah that's what I umm, that's what I'm telling her," Diana shot me a skeptical look. "That I hate her face."

Diana rolled her eyes, snatching my phone from hands. Damn my slow reaction time. Her blue eyes widened as she read the name. "Harry? Please tell me it's not Harry Styles," I gave her a look of fake confusion, though we both knew perfectly well I knew what she was talking about. "Harry Styles, the boy I specifically told you to stay away from."

"Oh, right! That Harry Styles! Well you see, it's actually a funny story-"

Diana cut me off. "Just don't say I didn't warn you."
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