I stood, next to the mirror, in parallel position, face forward. My bouncy curls tied back, repressed in a plain black hair band. Glancing at the mirror, I perfected my posture. Back straight. I looked from my feet, tied in little pearly pink slippers, the straps crossing one and another, to the wooden bar, which my hand rested upon daintily.

Catching my sad eyes in the mirror, and trying not to look anywhere else. I didn't want to blush at the sight of my body in the tight, terrible tight, leotard.

The introduction started. I drummed my pale fingers on the deep mahogany wood-

-and started.

I was alive again. I did a pirouette. Inhaled. The music is where I then put my trust, now that he's gone. I block thoughts of him from my mind and concentrate on gliding and skipping along the room. A composed conundrum, I sashayed along the mahogany studio floor, my heart soaring. Realization that the music has stopped reached my body before my mind and before I know it, the girls, who I had barely noticed during my piece, applauded. Admiration surged and my head span. Dumbstruck, I nodded and thanked my classmates for their praise.

"Goodness Bella." The stern voice of my instructor cut through the heavy approval of my friends, and my head jerked to meet hers, our eyes in contact. "I'm sure you lie when you say you've never danced before. You are my little mystery."

I cringe inside at the word 'little'. "I… scare myself too. I used to be a clutz."

I remembered how Angela had begged me to join her ballet group, moaning 'You need to take your mind off things.' I had noticed Jess' harsh glare, looking me up and down, which had settled it. 'Alright', I said, as I gave in to Angela's pleading.

Today, she joined the group of gaggling girls.

"I surprise myself; really, I never thought I had it in me."

"Well that was surely a most ridiculous thought. You'd best watch yourself, or you might begin to dance better than your own teacher! Is there anything you'd like to do further with dancing? You'd certainly be excellent..."

I heard the word 'further' and rejected, no, expelled the thought off my mind. To let Ann down gently I proclaimed "For just now, I'm thinking about the present. And worrying about our show!"

"You have nothing, absolutely nothing to worry about. You could walk onto that stage right now and still amaze the crowd. Even in that leotard and... Flimsy" she spoke with disdains and paused, for a half second, "slippers. You'll be on to point very soon. You have nothing to worry about concerning the show however."

"Well, thanks Ann. I'd best be going."

"Of course, and it really was breathtaking to see you dance today. How queer you never knew you could before." She laughed softly to herself. "Best get home, it's getting dark."

I agreed with Ann; it was getting dark outside, but I still asked if she wanted help shutting up for the night, which she declined, as usual. When I turned to leave, I noticed all the girls had filtered out the dingy little studio, meaning I'd have to face them in the changing rooms.

"Hey Bella!" the voice I turned to search for called. Mumbling a heavy "Yes" in reply, the small, lithe girl with champagne hair burst into peals of laughter, her body almost convulsing with hilariosity.

I looked away, face stung and embarrassed. Although I knew what the joke was- definitely me- in this leotard. My whole, ugly body was on display to her, hanging out of the tight elastic confinement. Quickly, I gathered my clothes and headed for the toilets, to change alone as I did every week. No one was allowed to see me... Getting changed.

Sighing, I slid into my soft sweater dress, replacing unflatteringly white tights with grey leggings. Trimmed with a little lace, all in a dark grey, which matched the lighter shade my jumper dress was, although that was marled. Since… Since he had gone, I wore greys. I wasn't in mourning, but colour felt wrong, a violation, and I didn't want to attract any extra attention. Pulling on a pair of beaten steel coloured pumps, I half smiled. At least, despite the grey hues, I dressed decently now.

See? I could improve. Almost esteeming myself, I saw how much I already had.

Taking a step forward, I plunged into the room of mocking girls and exited the studios quickly.

The walk home was long, but not arduous. The only feeling my heart had left to hold was exertion, replacing the love it used to burst with. I tried to imagine it right then. Shrivelled and broken.

Charlie, as I noticed when I walked home, was sitting watching television as always. Sport. Ironically, he never did much sport himself. I wondered why he wasn't at Billy Blacks house; he'd spent more and more time over there, never mentioning why. I didn't need him to tell me however; I knew the air between us was uncomfortable, forced, and that tension threatened to rise and fully break our relationship at any given opportunity.

"Hey Bella. Nice time at ballet?"

"Mm, it was. Prep for the show is going very well." I wore a false smile, suddenly feeling very weary. "How is the football?"

"It's ok thanks. Have you... Do you, err, want me to cook some dinner?" He replied nervously. I wondered where that anxious tone originated.

"Oh, I had something on the way back from ballet. I'd be happy to make you some, though, Dad." I suddenly wished he was at Billy Blacks house, allowing me to collapse onto the sofa and psyche myself to tread the stairs.

"I'll call a pizza." He replied with exasperation, turning back to his television.

I crept up the stairs, cringing at what I knew was next on the agenda. In the comfort of my own room I was truly alone. Alone, and able to cry, my shaking sobs rasping and heaving out of my chest. I sat next to my bed, curl myself into a ball, whimpering noiselessly.

Hours later, I reclaim my control. I wiped off my tears, and picked up my towel, scrambling to the bathroom.

Locked in. I thrust my back stealthily against the inside of the door, and although I was again unaccompanied, I threw my eyes around the room suspiciously. It was, of course, deserted.

I peeled my clothes off, and couldn't face the mirror. Naked, and turning the shower on, I clenched tight in my ball of sobbing Bella again, not bothering to wait until the icy chill of the water faded to peaceful warmth, and not caring when it turned to scorching heat. Feeling no need to suppress my tears now, as Charlie would not hear me over the reverberation of the searing droplets.

I cried for Edward. My Edward. Not the one who decided... No. Correcting myself, I came to the conclusion he had realized who the real monster was, and ran from her. The Edward who I had loved, the one I believed to love me truly back.

The tiny burning droplets, which hurt with every bead, reminded me of my former stupidity. Naivety.

I had put myself in that position.

It was likely he would go. I had made my bed, and I was lying in it.

I rose to the mirror. And faced it.

The lines marred and vision circled; the showers heat spoilied my vision of the damaged girl looking toward me. A tear trickled down my face as I forced myself to look at all my mistakes. To feel them, to tumble them around in my hands.

How could I have ever been stupid enough to believe, even for a split-second, that he could ever love that.

Lying on my bed, I listened with my eyes shut. I had changed into pyjamas that hung comfortably loose upon me and my newly dried hair fanned around my face. I lay there, listening to signs of life downstairs whilst up in my own nothingness, I crossed my arms, pretending and wishing I were dead. Charlie stirred, turned off the television, and headed up the stairs, and when he reached the top he knocked upon my door.

"Bella?" Uneasily, he called out the name that no longer held any meaning to me.

"Mm-hmm?" My reply was as falsely lethargic as my smile was forged. Sleep, like another commonly perceived as a necessity to human life, did not come easily anymore. The ability to tire and to feel hungry had dissipated as my love had disappeared from me.

A small, defeated voice replied, "Goodnight." It was as if he wanted, needed, to say

something else.

"'Night Dad."

I listened to the sounds of him returning to his room, shuffling in his drawers, and retreating to bed, where he almost instantly fell into slumber. We- no, Edwad and I, used to laugh at how deeply he slept.

I crept down the stairs, and met the door which opened to another flight. The musky smell filled my nostrils as I inhaled dust. Wondering, how many dust particles was I inhaling? Was that bad? What could I say about that?

I flicked a light switch, and began the journey down to the attic with caution. The stairs were exceptionally creepy, and perhaps hazardous; the lighting cast huge shadows which meant half the room, if not more, was submerged in shadows.

I felt the darkness swallow me, feet up, as I descended the stairs. The air was welcomingly cool, and as I pressed play on the small tape player, found in one of the dusty boxes piled in the attic, I breathed in the sweet, musky smell of the dusty air deeply. It was almost comforting. I heard my introduction, and without a warm-up, my ballet routine pursued.

With every sharp intake of breath, my capillaries filled with oxygen and my body felt full of life again. I felt the rhythm of the tape running through every limb to the extremities of my body; the tips of my fingers and toes, my neck elongating gracefully. My little escape, no matter how short-lived. Addictive.

I imagined what I looked like at that point. A girl, barefoot, wearing hideously baggy sweat pants and a swimathon tee-shirt, several times too big, dancing to a classical tune madly, as if it were what she survived upon, her eyes red and sad.

Again, the end of the song caught me with surprise. I danced a few steps more, although not without falter, and let the weak giddiness consume me.

Floating across the room, as I heard the music restart, I felt obliged.

It was a total of four times that I practiced my lengthy routine before I collapsed breathlessly. A faint smile traced my lips, and I held my hand on my flailing heart. It used to beat so powerfully for one person and one person alone. Now it fluttered gracefully, as gracefully as I danced, except I was alone. There was no super human to hear my heartbeat.

The emptiness that tore me apart every day overcame me. There was no escape from its dark enfoldment, the replacement of a once tender embrace, and I sunk back into it. Over and over again.