10. Elanee
10
ELANEE
S ometimes, I think the world is too small. I used to be in awe as to how big I thought it was by the prospect of how many countries I wanted to travel to throughout my ballet career. But I quickly learned that not all things in the world are beautiful, not all serendipitous encounters are a blessing, and fate can upheaval even our wildest expectations.
Seizing control of our lives isn’t as easy as we’re told, and most of us are cheaply bought out. All of these things I’ve learned over time. And then, at some point, I was broken down into this submissive, frightful creature. And I hate it.
What I detest most is that every morning, I wake with these thoughts after a restless night’s sleep because of nightmares induced by things I can’t unsee by a man who has as much evil as he does power.
Despite the chill morning, I find myself walking for longer than I usually would. Last night had especially been one of those nights. I can’t run like I used to; I roll my ankle at the best of times from simply walking, but I still enjoy walking. Sometimes, it feels like it’s the only thing I can do to try and straighten my thoughts. Other times, I feel like an unnoticed phantom drifting through the world.
I admire the grand building and hospital, curious about how people’s lives come and go. Some were mourned, and others just slip away as if they never existed. Quietly, I hope I’m the latter because that way I can guarantee my family’s safety.
A woman in all black leather steps out of the hospital. I make a double take and realize it’s my twin sister, Layla. I freeze. I’m overrun with the urge to run to her and embrace her—another serendipitous encounter. Tears fill my eyes as I think about our memories. Had I not moved to Russia or left her behind, none of this would have happened. But even then, I wasn’t so sure; fate had its own plans. But the thing that holds me back is what always had. Her safety.
She looks exhausted, and I wonder what she’s doing at the hospital. Is she okay? Is it someone we know?
A car honks at me as I absentmindedly step out onto the road to reach her. I take a step back onto the safety of the curb, reprimanding my dazed state. Too much careless reminiscing. When I look up at her, I realize she’s looking in my direction.
No. If Layla sees me, she won’t be able to stop herself. She’ll follow me.
So I do the only thing I can. I run.
I’m grateful for the busy road that comes between us. I can hear her screaming out my name in the distance, but it’s quickly diluted by the honking of cars. I don’t look back. Can’t look back as I awkwardly run as fast as I can to get away from her. Pain erupts from my feet and up my legs from the strain of running when I hadn’t for so long.
The only thing I can do for her and my parents is run away until they never find me or hopefully stop looking.
I look over my shoulder as I round an alleyway. My ankle awkwardly twists, and I’m thrown into the wall. I muffle my cry with the sharp pain that radiates up my leg. When I look around the corner, I realize she’s not on my tail anymore. She most likely got blocked from pursuing me because of the busy road between us. I begin to try and catch my breath when my phone buzzes.
Unknown number.
I gulp and answer because I know better than to not.
“You’re up early this morning.”
My heart and stomach drop.
The Lion.
I haven’t spoken to him directly since he shipped me here over six weeks ago. The only other time was when he called Dmitri in that shitty apartment, and I overheard his threats.
“I couldn’t sleep.” My voice cracks.
“I can get the boys to administer something nice. It’ll help you sleep, I’m sure.” He says it as casually as a friend’s sound advise.
My grip tightens on the phone as I glance in every direction. Is he here? Or is it someone else? Am I being watched right now?
I push off the brick wall I was leaning against and stumble forward with shaky legs. But I need to get as far away from my sister as possible. If he so much as found out we were on the same block, there would be a consequence.
“I don’t need it.” I hate my tones of fearful betrayal. Tears stream down my face, and I want to hole myself up in the apartment like a well-kept pet. I’d become bold with all my recent outings, but the mere sound of his voice has me crumbling back into place.
“Have you made any friends there, my little dove?”
Panic tightens around me like a noose. I hate his endearment. I hate his voice. I hate him.
“No. I don’t need them. Only you.” I concave into myself at the rehearsed line. How stupid of me to think I had a claim to freedom here.
“Do you miss me?” There’s no emotion or endearment in his tone.
“Yes, my Lion,” I whisper. I close my eyes willing, his voice to go away.
“Then perhaps I should come visit sometime. Wouldn’t you like that?”
My legs give way, and I cling to the corner of the brick building in the alleyway where I crawled. I feel exposed. I wish I were in my apartment. Hidden away for no one to see. All I can hear is my pounding heart ring throughout my ears and the repetitive chant that often cripples me on his visits.
Please go away.
Memories of being held in a dark and cold room.
Laughter from the outside as they looked in.
I’m nothing but a pet.
A broken flightless dove.
”Yes,” I lie.
But it’s not a lie because I would rather feign to welcome him in my space than the wrath if I was not.
The line cuts, and I hold the phone to my chest, my body shaking.
I keel over and vomit behind a dumpster.
The Lion’s coming… but when?
And what will he do to me this time?
Tears spill over my cheeks as I think of my family and send out a prayer… please don’t harm them. I’ll do anything you say, just spare them for my recklessness.