Pretending
Set to Pretending by the cast of Glee.
There were times when she could forget everything. She could so completely immerse herself in whatever choreography the scene called for as to feel nothing other than the music pounding through her body.
There were times when slight feelings came back to her, just little lingering symptoms that she could attribute to some bodily ailment. She'd catch herself behind in the steps, fall doing jumps that a young child wouldn't find difficult, and find it impossible to connect with whatever partner she'd been matched up for the day. The director would sigh and send her home sick, telling her to come back when her act was back together.
There were times when she would see someone on the street that made her look twice. She'd call out his name, but of course no one would answer. That was when everything would flood back in a painful torrent of memories and tears.
His arms wrapped around her. She loved the way he smelled like diesel and leather with just a touch of sawdust. If Chanel sold his scent, she'd buy it in pounds.
She'd already broken break-up rule number one: don't get too close. Just like ripping off a band aid, these things were best done fast.
"Charlie?" she whispered. "This has to end."
His arms tightened around her. She could feel his head resting on her shoulder.
"I just can't do it. I mean, seeing you…seeing anyone…it's just a bad reminder of everything that's ever happened to us all. I don't want to remember this. I want to be normal. I want…"
She cried into his shoulder, and he just held her.
"I know. I know," he kept whispering, stroking her hair.
She wished she could explain better. She wished he would get angry, sad…anything. She wished he would fight for her.
She wished she could pretend she was okay.
Her name was written in the program in size three font. She was a far cry from the star of the show, but everyone had to start somewhere.
Her parents had come to see her a few times – separate occasions, of course. But unless they were in the first few rows, she doubted they were able to distinguish her from the other dancers.
She was usually able to forget everything when she was performing. She had to – messing up would ruin her.
But one day when they were playing in Toronto, her gaze had wandered to the front row, just for a split second.
He was right there, looking right at her.
"Silena?" he mouthed.
She shook her head, almost imperceptibly. "You have the wrong girl," she whispered when her back was to him. She'd make sure to get home quickly after the show ended, rather than risk him coming after her.
Sometimes pretending was easier than tearing down the walls she'd put up.