Chapter 1 : Ground Hog Day

Dallas POV

When I was little, I’d always imagined what my life would be like when I was older. I wanted the cliché life, white picket fence and all. Maybe a dog or two. I wanted to become a dancer, have a family, be happy. Life doesn’t always go as planned, I guess.

I sighed, looking up at the ceiling. Another day, just like all the others before and all the ones to come. Waking up to the same white ceiling with glow in the dark stars my mom had helped me put up so many years ago. The same four grey walls. The same fist shaped hole in the wall in the hallway.

Shifting onto my side to check my phone for the time, stretching my feet under my old lumpy duvet. 6:37. Pulling my body out of bed is always one of my least favourite things in my morning ritual. The feeling of the cool air hitting my warmed skin, giving me goose bumps. Making my way to the subway tiled bathroom, rolling my shoulders, trying to shake off the lingering feeling of sleep. God, I can’t wait to go back to sleep.

I try to avoid my reflection in the mirror before the small dingy bathroom fills with steam. It was only a partial success. I still manage to see glimpses of the scars along my fore arms and the chub of my hips in my pajama pants. I’d be lying if I said the sight didn’t make me feel disgusted.

Showers help sometimes. The sting of the hot water beating against my flesh. It goes red and raw. The burning makes me feel better. Like I’m still there. A part of me is still here, in this body. I think I forgot if I like the idea of that or not. I don’t really want to be here anymore, in this body. The suds of the lavender scented body wash sting as I rub it over my scabs. I’ve learned to find some sort of sick comfort in the pain.

I stand there for a couple moments, just being under the weight of the water. This little act has become habit to me. Those few minutes that I get to myself to do absolutely nothing. No one expects anything of me, I don’t have to fake a smile or a laugh, I can just simply exist. A state of being that has become increasingly difficult to keep up with.

I like hiding, baggy jeans and sweatshirts have become my best friends. They used to be my brother’s. Sometimes I can still smell his cologne on the fabric if I bring the collar up to my nose and focus really hard. It’s like he’s still giving me hugs just like he used to. He was a big softie like that. I wish I didn’t push him away so often. That never stopped him from trying though. He’d just laugh and rough up my hair as he walked away with a chuckle. I miss the sound.

His denim is too big on me but I don’t care that it gathers in rolls at my ankles, or that I can’t wear them out without a belt. They’re his. Dad was gonna throw his stuff out if I didn’t claim them before it was too late. He threw out a lot of shit that day. Clothes mostly. My wardrobe tripled in size in a matter of two hours. Mom’s old dresses and jewelery are still sitting in the back of my closet.

I sat on my desk chair, waiting. Just waiting. My leg bounced up and down, restless. That voice was bound to travel up the stairs any minute now. A chill ran up my spine at the anticipation. As butterflies settled in my tummy, and not the good kind. The kind that dies off quickly in your stomach acid and give you heart burn and the urge to throw up.

“Dallas, get your ass down here!” There it was, right on schedule. The muscles in my body tighten when I hear it. I grab my bag and close my bedroom door behind me. I glance at the hole in the drywall as I walk past. The art.

I take my seat at the table, taking a sip of my juice, watching my father by the stove as he readies scrambled eggs in the skillet. The artist.

“Morning.” My voice monotone. I hear a gruff hum come from his chest. A handful of seconds goes by before he turns to me plate in hand, setting it in front of me, and his opposite mine on the round table.

We sat and ate in silence for what seems like hours. “Daphne messaged me this morning,” that caught my attention, my gaze turning up to him.

“You didn’t tell me you’d be going to lessons today.” He was angry. He didn’t show it, to anyone else it would’ve seemed like nothing. Not even a blip on their radar. I knew better. The way his brows furrowed and his teeth ground as he chewed.

I was sat up proper now. “I must’ve forgot.” I looked down at my half-finished plate, poking at the yellow curds.

“It seems like you’re always fucking forgetting shit, Dallas.” His fist slammed onto the mahogany wood of the table. It, along with our plates and glasses, shake at the strike of his fist.

“I’m sorry-“ I try to get out but am stopped by my father’s loud and brash vocation. “Don’t give me that sorry bullshit! Stop saying fucking sorry and do what you’re fucking told!”

I look down again. Unmoving and silent.

He scoffs at me. “Get in the car.” He stands, collecting the dishes and delivering them to the sink. I quickly grab my bag and hurry out of the door and to the car. I let out the breath I had unknowingly been keeping hostage in my lungs. Grabbing my phone and headphones from my back pocket, retreating into myself again. Hiding in plain sight.

The car ride was uneventful and tense. I can still feel the tightening of my chest as I hesitate to breath. He comes to a halt in front of the school.

“I didn’t plan to drive you to dance after school so you’ll have to walk.” He says as I’m getting out of the car. I nod in response and offer a short “Bye” in return.

School. From one hell to the next.

I enter the girl’s restroom on the far side of school with haste. Almost no one ever comes in here. They didn’t even bother to revamp it a few years ago, as is the case with the rest of school grounds.

Dropping to my knees in front of the toilet, fingers going to poke at that little skin flap at the back of my throat. I let all of those dead butterfly carcasses spill out of me in droves. I feel a rush of shame; I never really could stomach the feeling of fullness.

Scared I would be weighed down by the calories on my conscience. Like they’d immediately travel to my most hated parts. Fucked if I do. Fucked if I don’t. There isn’t a right answer.

I take a gulp of water from the tap into my mouth, swish it around and expel. I catch myself in the mirror again. My enemy from this morning. I look tired as fuck. Too dead looking to feel alive. My eyes have dark bags, and my hair looks messy in my ponytail. I can’t decide if I have enough energy to care right now. Memories of Hannah and I laughing after we gave each other makeovers in my bedroom come to me unwillingly.

“Get you fucking shit together.” I say to my copy in front of me. We sigh to each other, a silent “I’m trying” exchanged between us. I wipe the runaway tear on my cheek and walk out of the small out of date bathroom and to my locker.

I wouldn’t ever consider myself the smartest person in the room. Far from it. I’m a solid C student, maybe an B here and there. I used to be a really good one. Straight A’s all around. Then it was like a switch flipped inside my head. Suddenly the harder I try, the worse things seem to go. Come to think about it that anecdote can be applied to all areas of my life, safe for a couple exceptions.

I fall asleep sometimes in class. The nightmares usually steal my sleep from me. I’m so tired so often but rest never seems to welcome me into her arms. I have no fucking idea what I did to piss her off so bad. Like they say, karma is a vicious, cold, conniving little bitch.

I’ve started to spend more time thinking about the end of the day. That moment when I get to lay down in bed, under my covers. Just lying there. Afraid of going to sleep. Moments from that night coming back to haunt me. The rain drops running down the car window. The silence that overtook us. The guilt.

the grass feels prickly under me, the slight itchy feeling, and the smell from it being freshly cut this morning. I stare up through the leaves. Following the intruding sun spots that reflect off of my fingers as I reach up, almost like I can reach the sky from my spot under the old oak tree.

I come here whenever I get the chance. The far side of the field, overlooking the desolate soccer field. Thirty minutes go by faster than id like. The screeching school bell brought me out of my little oasis. Signaling the end of my lunch period coming to a close.

The rest of my day goes by in a blur. I have these moments where my body goes on autopilot. My mind is off in the distance, doing god knows what. The rest of me in English, French then Math. I take notes but never seem to actually absorb the lesson.

The walk to Claire’s Place was accompanied by music. I passed by Cream&Cones and the thrift store on my way. The passing cars on the road gave me a kind of peace I haven’t felt in so long.

There was little girl hanging her arm out of the window, feeling the air pass through her eager little fingers. She reminds me so much of myself when I was her age.