#weightcarried

you / me - maybe we were never meant to be! // accepting!

              ‘ chloe and jake broke up last week. ’ even in the summer, i’m never free from my gossip-hungry classmates, every night of the week, i lock every door in my house ( and double check that all shutters are closed, and then make sure the locks are functional. ) and then i leave to party, to drink, to spend time with the people i care about, and the girl i love. it’s just a pity i can’t really keep the girl i love happy. chloe and i argue… about twice a week- no, day, i’d guess. it’s always something i said, or something i did, and then we’d argue. the texts always look the same.

message received!my baby 💖💖💖we’re broken up now don’t talk to me xo

message sent!ok

               i would fight harder, if i could find it in myself to really care. i feel bad about it sometimes- chloe’s a lovely girl, i’m sure of it ( sometimes. ), but it’s just… jeez. i feel bad when i wake up after bad nights with her next to me, and i’m covered in hickeys from a girl i could never really love. i don’t think i could love anyone properly. and even though i know it’s bad, the way i act doesn’t seem to deter anyone. it’s just a fact, my dick rings truer and taller than my reputation as a smart kid, as someone who’s part of a million extra curriculars. as a kid, anything chaste kind of… went rough, so to speak. remember laughing with your friends about kissing some girl at the middle school dance ? i did that too, but then only a month into freshman year and i’ve got my jeans half-undone around my hips, and some girl pressed close up against me in an empty classroom, because that’s where most kids go, if most kids are me. because only i could be so impossibly cool as to have sex in a classroom. of course.

                so chloe and i are rocky, so what? it’s the same thing every few months, and i want to fix it, but also, i don’t care. so. there’s that little thing stopping me. so what do i do after sending that text ? i go out. of course i do. i love going out. it’s midday and the food court in menlo has got to be buzzing at this point, maybe i can catch up with some friends over steaming pizza, maybe i can wave hi to my co-workers, maybe i can get some work done, or-… maybe i can meet another girl. and i do that for a week. and then i meet madeline.

                madeline is a nice girl. she’s french ( ? ) and she talks to me in this weird way, always playing with her hair, or her jewelry, which is cool by me, i’m just sat with my arms over the back of my chair. when the conversation begins to run a little thin, i make the offer to go to the arcade- just to play games. it’s not a date, it’s just a hanging out thing, even though i know the school- if anyone sees us, people would assume otherwise. whatever, right ? chloe and i are broken up.

                so i take madeline to the arcade- she’s funny, she kind of sucks at the games, but most people i know that go here do, because who’s so much of a loser that they just hole up in here ? no offense to the nerds, but the place isn’t that awesome. so we play games, i kick ass at the crane machine and we play a killer game of air hockey, i coerce her onto the electric chair, and snapchat her screaming. chloe’s gonna see, but who cares ? we’re not together, she can’t get mad if we’re not together. because we aren’t. and she’s not talking to me. we’ll get back together when she gives the say-so.

                the arcade games last until maybe five, and then we’re bored, so i take her back to my house. my house isn’t the best place to go, but it’s got a pool table, and i can spend a little longer with someone, at least. i notice the little panic in her eyes when our conversations dry up, because that’s what happens when jake dillinger of all people picks you off his list of adoring fans to hang out with- you want to keep me for as long as possible. i understand. i guess. so i play pool with madeline. we talk, make jokes with each other and flirt. i don’t know what makes me ask- she’s a nice girl, but… god, i’m some unholy incarnation of the world’s worst fuckboy. chloe and i are barely over a week, and i’m already here trying to dig into mads. so i raise my eyebrows and point my pool stick up in the direction of my bedroom- universal code for ‘ hey, wanna fuck ? ’, or at least, as close as it can get. and i wait. i don’t get nervous, but it’s a little awkward for the second that passes between us.

                madeline must have already heard about chloe and me, because she says that she’ll only do it with me if i win at pool. which is a foolish challenge to give to me, because i’m a total boss as pool. and i do go easy on her, but jesus, madeline really sucks at pool. i can’t even be nice about it, because she’s just… bad at it. so i win at pool. which is cool.

                i can’t even say the sex is bad. because it isn’t. like-.. it’s sex. sex is sex, wow. madeline leaves two hickeys, one on my chest, to the right of my sternum, and then the other one is on my collarbone. she’s all.. girl. you know how girls are, with their really pretty hair and their nice mouths, and just… being good. i don’t know. girls, dude. girls.

POINTELESS.

          i tell people often that i do not wholly remember the best night of my life, but that is not quite true. i remember every vibrant detail of it. i still shiver with anticipation when i think of the roaring applause, the stamping of thousands of feet, the dawning realisation that i have the power to fill an auditorium with just my passion. i see the hours play out in full every time i close my eyes.

          i like to keep the memories to myself. i have shared much of my life with people who did not deserve it, and have come to the conclusion that some events are better off living on in my head alone. of course, the audience remembers, but they do not know the perspective of the performer. ruby, beatrice, selene, tina, harry and miles remember, but they do not know the perspective of the princess. no one has ever felt how i felt when i closed my final show in paris, france, on the 28th of august, 2017.

          i sweep the last movement without a tremble, though i know i am on the verge of tears. it is a strange combination of combusting joy and crushing sadness -- the biggest moment of all my eighteen years is coming to a close, and, while it was a success, it is ending. i have been told countless times that all good things come to an end, but that does not make me hate the termination any less. the lights go down, and i manage to get off of the stage before i begin to cry.

          as i sob, my castmates come to comfort and congratulate me. they are all in similar states of disarray; tina is shaking with adrenaline and hiccuping with tears, her thin arms wrapped tightly around my shoulders. i lean against her weakly, scarcely able to breathe as beatrice kisses my cheek, her blonde hair tickling my bare arms. ruby and selene come over hand in hand, smudged makeup and wobbly smiles galore -- this makes me laugh. “ what a mess we are, us girls ! ” i say, my voice warped by my emotion. everyone laughs, but i have failed to catch sight of the boys. they hug each other tightly, white-knuckled grip on opposite shoulders. 

          “ come here, ” we chorus, and the s.wan l.ake cast indulge in a group hug tight enough to create diamonds out of coal. it is impossible for me to tell you how long we stayed that way. time had seemingly stopped existing, all of us spinning in a seperate reality where all that was certain was my ballet shoes, the security of the friends i knew and loved. eventually, we are called to do our final bow, and we must all pull ourselves together.

          as we powder our faces and readjust our wigs, i stare in the mirror at the different scenes around me. ruby kisses selene fiercely, a passionate and emotional embrace that leaves me as an onlooker slightly dizzy. harry and miles toy with their shoes, griping about the holes in the soles that they will now have to replace. beatrice is filming a video for her fan following, waving goodbye to our backstage set, and i sit at my vanity and try to remember how i lived before this.

          the thought of going back to normal does not scare me. i will never be exactly who i was before i was odette ever again. she has lodged herself inside of me, given me a small piece of her heart, of her delicacy, and i carry it with me as i get ready to go onstage for the last time.

          as the princess, i go on last. void of nerves, a fix a genuine grin on my face and twirl into place, falling lightly against harry’s outstretched arm. we pose together, royalty in their finest garbs, playing up our romance for our thousands of spectators. once i am able to bow alone, i turn to the crowd and laugh, a soundless exclamation of delight. i feel their awe in my chest, a great pulsing feeling, a living, breathing, tangible force that rivals gravity. my head hurts, a combination of the glaring light and the thunderous noise, but i am past caring. this is all i have ever wanted, and to have it in front of me so gloriously is worth any amount of pain.

          i bow low, bend my leg gracefully, hold my arms to my sides as if i can catch the applause. when i straighten up, there are hundreds of cameras trained on me to catch my smile, my welled eyes, my rosy cheeks. i will be all over the internet tomorrow morning, my performance under scrutiny of many, and this idea fills me with anticipation. “ thank you ! ” i call, knowing that no one can hear me. “ thank you for everything ! ”

          when i turn to leave the stage, as per every other night, i am stopped by a large bouquet of white lilies. tina carries them, the bunch almost taller than she is, and i laugh in shock and amazement. looking to my left, i see that harry has a matching present, tied with a black bow as opposed to my red. i start to cry again, overwhelmed and overjoyed. 

          there is no way to describe how i felt that night. standing in front of thousands of people who had paid to see me dance is something that i cannot make you understand. the feeling of realising my own potential is not one i can force on someone else. that night, i was able to push aside the gnawing fear of mediocrity and embrace that i, alice dubois, was a part of something huge.