Chapter TwoMature

      Lo-lo sat down. She really didn’t feel well. She knew that there were only a few more days left of the season, and then she wouldn’t have to come back to this place for almost a year. She didn’t know if she could leave. Or if she did, if she would come back. What with Lizbeth, the poor dear. Sari had known what she was going through. Had tried to get her help. But the other girls had ignored Lizbeth. And now she was dead. Her bastard husband was probably even going to get away with it. Her empty mirror space screamed at Lo-lo every time she looked at it. Why didn’t you help me? It whispered in her ear. Why didn’t you save me? You didn’t even talk to me. It’s your fault I’m dead. Lo-lo looked away.
  And all she could see was Sari’s empty chair. Sari was one of the shining stars of the company. Her smile was always electric. Everyone knew that she was a stripper, but with that knowledge came the understanding that she hated it. She filled out hundreds of job applications each week. And none of them ever hired her. Lydia had ridden in the ambulance with her. The entire show had to be revamped until they knew how serious it was, when she was coming back, if she was coming back.
    Lo-lo started crying again. She thought that she had it bad. She thought that her problems were so gigantic. And then she looked at the two empty mirrors and realized how lucky she was. She didn’t realize how much she had. She held her stomach and tried to stop crying. She promised herself that she would visit Sari in the morning. Whether or not Sari knew who she was. Maybe she would even sneak her a cigarette. Lo-lo didn’t approve of smoking, but knew how happy that would have made Sari. Would make Sari. She missed her so much. Sari never said much, but even her presence made the entire dressing room light up with laughter. This season was too depressing for everyone. She finished applying her eyeliner and viewed the finished product. A true show girl. Beautiful to a fault on the outside, dying inside. Such was life in the theatre, she’d been told by someone close, long ago. Her stage mom had been such an inspiration to her. She saw the connection between Sari and Lydia. She drew on the happiness she felt from that thought and stood to pulling herself together. She knew that the other dancers would look to her for leadership. As an Assistant Director, she was a leader. And she had to show that she deserved to be there, or before you could say boo someone else would snap up her position. She threw a brilliant smile at the mirror and left.




    She pulled the costumes out of her basket and threw them on the counter. Her anger was too hot to contain any longer. Nothing was wrong with her. And everything was wrong. She took a few deep breaths. Slowly picking up a pair of pants, she carefully hung it on a hangar and placed it on the rack. The music someone was playing only served to irritate. She leaned over and slammed the stop button into the cd player. She yanked out the cord from the outlet and threw it on the floor. The other girls looked at her in slight shock, but nobody said anything. Everyone was under a lot of stress. Between Lizbeth’s murder and Sari in the hospital, still unconscious, rumors were beginning to circulate. The theatre is haunted, someone wants to move up, the company is falling apart. No one knew what the truth was. And everyone was scared to know.
    Lo-lo’s hands shook as she tried to clean up her table. It seemed to take an eon to simply hang her costumes. Sitting in just her leotard she sank into her chair. The cold metal felt like ice on her legs. She stared at her face in the mirror. She thought to herself how many times she had seen Sari do the same thing and wondered what was going through her head. Now she didn’t have to wonder. She pulled her hair down and ran her fingers through it. Tearing up, she watched morbidly as the tears pulled the eyeliner down her face, away from her eyes and smearing it all over her cheeks. The eyeliner pulled the blush with it and soon Lo-lo’s face was a smeary mess of salty color. Wearily, she placed her head down on her arms and let the tears flow freely. I cannot take any more of this. Her thoughts raced against her emotions. I need a vacation, an escape for a while. She picked her head up and sighed. And then she thought, That is never going to happen. It just is unrealistic.
    Pulling her hair back from her face, she breathed a sigh to relax herself. The makeup remover wipes were clear across the room, sitting in a box by the door. She wasn’t sure if she could even make it that far. She dragged herself up out of her chair and looked around. Everyone else was already gone; the room was empty. She grabbed a handful of makeup wipes and headed back to her chair. Her face was pale and cold under her makeup. As the cake of color was rinsed from her skin, the thoughts that ran through her head screamed how ugly she really was. She started crying again, just too weary to try and stop.
      A gleam caught her eye. Pushing aside the boxes and bottles of makeup, she realized the glint was the intense lighting shining off of her razor. She picked it up and stared at it. I cannot stand this pain anymore. I cannot continue like this. She frantically yanked out the razor and started bashing it against the counter. It broke in half eventually, and she proceeded to take it apart. Blood dripped from her fingers as she cut herself, again and again. At last! She had a blade free. The blood continued to flow as she started to slice again and again. Her arms, her face, her stomach, her legs. She couldn’t stop. The pain was enticing and addicting. As she finished each cut, she promised she would stop. But she couldn’t. Rolling her head, the euphoria crept over her head. The airy feeling made her like she could fly. Like there was never an end to anything.

The End

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