Tamed by love-Book 4 of Untamed Series

Chapter one

Graceful

An elegant way to call a tall and slender ballerina who draws the attention of all. They don’t see the blisters on her feet or the unhealthy diet she follows that only exits of eating empty carbs and have gotten used to the idea to push her fingers down her throat. They don’t see her hard work, the hours she put in to become the lead role, or how she secretly cried her eyes out before every show.

The stage lights cast out all the shadows in her eyes or how she is dying from the inside having her fellow dancers hate her because she is called the perfect version of what they want.

“She’s beautiful,” Because she’s skinny, but barely surviving.

Everyone gasps loudly when she finally loses the battle when her unhealthy habits finally catch up to her. They call it exhaustion and “unable to survive under pressure”, but they don’t see what she’s endured to become the perfect face of what her instructors and mother wanted.

Articles of anorexia follow the pages of her life and people are calling her all kinds of names because she was looking for attention, but they didn’t see that they are the reason for her departure from life and when they stand at her grave, they still spit on it and called her weak.

At a time in my life, I was standing on the edge of that cliff, ready to jump and ready to leave everything behind. I had the one-way ticket to leave this world and never come back. I was already crossing the fine line between worlds when I was brought back to fight this unhealthy, mental urge.

The only way I could save myself was by becoming the mountain and forging the will to pull myself out of that black hole of melancholy.

Memories of my mother’s beatings and harsh words cracked through the surfaces of my heart as her cruel words echo through my mind—you are weak.

If I jump—she wins.

If I lose—she wins.

If I give up—she wins.

Running away from her abuse never fixed anything, it only led me back to her where we stood on opposite sides having nothing to say to each other.

To the world, we seemed fine with our fake smiles, but deep down I was beating the s**t out of her and doing what she’s done to me—making her want to see what a monster she is.

I remember the day when I ran away from home as if happened yesterday. I assumed things would solve themselves and maybe my mom would come to her senses and realize what she was doing to me was wrong.

I was driving through town, skies flashing with thunder and a breeze howling loudly like it was screaming at you to head inside. The rain followed soon after making it hard to see the road, but it didn’t stop me from getting away as far as I could from my mom.

I didn’t want to acknowledge the possibility of hating my mother.

She hated me.

Why can’t I feel the same way?

She called my feet ugly—my form weak and disgraceful. Called me out to eat less and encouraged me to push my finger down my throat more frequently.

I captured my tired and empty eyes in the rearview mirror when I decided to pull up in front of a diner. I couldn’t remember the last time I cried or showed any kind of emotion besides plastering a fake smile to hide the empty dark tunnels of my soul.

I got out my phone and notices all the text messages and missed calls from my brother, Joe—he was just checking up on me and making sure I wasn’t thinking about standing on a cliff. He was the only one in the house aware of what was happening and so far, he has been supporting me all the way. Leaving me snacks in the bedside drawer and checking up on me to make sure I don’t do something reckless.

I wanted to give up and follow the dolor voices in my head and let them take me to a place where I will never have to experience this pain ever again, but by some miracle, I was still fighting them and believing there was a better life waiting for me.

The bell above the door jingled when I entered the diner with a headache and drenched from head to toe from the rain, I wasn’t even bothered by the looks I received when I made my way over to an empty seat.

“Good morning, and welcome to Sunninghill Diner, is there anything I can get you?” A friendly waiter approached my table giving me a smile, but behind the curve corners of her lips, I saw the frown and sensed her questions.

“Just a coffee, please.” I was already breaking the limit of caffeine and sugar, and I was vaguely aware of what my mother’s intentions are if she so much found out. It was a way to keep a person full and drug your mind making it believe you ate something.

“Something to eat?” My stomach growled, but I suppressed my hunger.

I gave her a tight smile and shook my head. “Just coffee,”

“We just took out our famous blueberry pies from the oven. I’m pretty sure it won’t do anything to your skinny form.” She noted giving me a once-over of my tiny form that barely filled a seat.

“I’m lean,” It was a force of habit I’ve used since I can remember my mother teaching them to me. “And, I am really good, thank you,” I was relieved when she dropped the conversation and went to get my coffee.

I remember gazing out that foggy window overlooking the city and I thought my imagination was starting to play tricks on me when there was this bright dance studio sign flickering in the overcast rain.

There was this small uplifting voice that broke started to break through the surface of gloom-ridden opinions I have been listening to for a very long time. My limbs were stuck in this trans while I pondered about what I should do and I don’t remember how I convinced myself to get up from the seat. I headed out in the rain, uncaring of getting soaked, and jogged over to this dance studio.

I entered the dance studio like a scared, wounded animal fearing for its life and expecting the hunter to jump out from behind a wall. My doubt started to evaporate at the beat of high rising music knocking against the entrance of my heart and grabbing hold of my heartstrings transforming me into a puppet tied to a musical chord.

I stood rooted in place as I watched dancers leap over the floor as if they were possessed by magic. I watched their bodies moving to the upbeat and slowly realized I wanted to be part of the high energy, fun dance and wanted to know what it feels like to wear a real smile filled with passion and purpose instead of a mind filled with negative thoughts.

“Hi,” A voice greeted me from behind me pulling me out of my daze.

I thought I overstepped my place when I turned around and found a man standing in front of me giving me an open-minded look. His brown eyes held no judgment as he looked at me and the proof was in his warm, but sincere smile.

I always longed to be able to smile like that with certainty and warmth.

It was the final moment of removing the echoes of my mother’s devilish voice and taking a stand against my mother’s ruling.