The Dancer, part one-ish

She looked in the mirror. A strand of her long hair, the colour of Georgia clay, fell into her face. The face looking back was not one she recognized. She thought to herself, ‘I was supposed to have been somebody!’. She had talent, beauty and brains….the perfect trifecta. But here she was with a fist size bruise on her face. Her face didn’t hurt as much as the words he had spewed right before he slammed the door on his way out.
“You stupid, fucking cunt!”
She didn’t care about the ‘fucking cunt’ part. She had already been thinking herself ‘stupid’. Derek, just delivered the message a little louder than necessary this time. This was one of the many times she was thankful not to have children. She had wanted children. Wanted to be on the PTO and a white picket fence. Life didn’t pan out the way she had envisioned it. She had already started thinking she was stupid for the choices she had made.  She could see no way out now. She knew he would be back and the cycle would continue. She started singing a song from the 80’s. “He spins me right round baby right round like a record baby…” She had changed the words to suit her needs, but her life was like a record with a scratch across it, repeating over and over making her go insane. She had an amazing voice, she belted it as loud as she could.
She reminisced about a happier time in her life, High School, 1988. The thoughts made her feel at ease but also saddened her. Her friend would be ‘sleeping’ over at her house and they would sneak out, drive to Orlando and head to a Rave. They would dance all night long, meeting people, pretending they were older than their respective years, 16 and 17. She and Dana had a great deal of fun together. They thought they would conquer the world.

Putting on her make up getting ready for work she was grateful she worked in a club with dim lights. She was a dancer now.
Not a Prima Ballerina kind.

Samantha, was a good dancer, athletic, attractive and had a body that would shame most women. She was 37 and looked 29. She could wrap her legs around a poll or swing from the rafters with the grace of a member of Cirque Du Soleil, but she did it naked. She knew she was good. She could tell how good she was as the men stinking of bourbon or beer handed her cash, loads of it every night. She had offers, ones she wasn’t proud of, and a couple times a year she would take someone up on their offer. A little more money for the coffers, any way she could get it. She would take the money up front. That Pretty Woman scene never happened. The Knight in Shining Armor never showed up. Samantha had instead gotten trapped by Derek.

Derek, who, when she met him was wearing a silver Members Only jacket. He was a musician and thought himself to be trendy, when actually he was just stuck in 1987. Derek thought the world revolved around him. The world though didn’t even know Derek was on the planet, and he walked around pissed off all the time. The look on his face at most waking moments of his day were, ‘fuck you.’