Page 3 of Divine Violence
The first night that the adrenaline coursed through my veins and the anger I felt was nowhere to be seen.
I rushed to the service elevator, going all the way to the last floor. I had no idea what the purpose of my quest would be, but when I saw the rooftop and the lights of the city flickering in the distance, I could finally breathe again.
Then there washim. The stranger who came every single time, no matter what hour of the night I found myself here. There was something uncanny about the way he just stood there, watching, observing, following my every move with his eyes.
He hid himself in the darkness of the night. That first time, I thought he was a guard, coming here to kick me out of the building.
But he never said a word. He never moved from his spot next to the door leading to this rooftop. Somehow, I didn’t feel alone.
I bared myself to him through every move I made with my body, dancing under the stars to the sorrowful tunes of the music I brought with me. Each time, I expected him to come to me.
Each time, my yearning for this enigma of a man increased, my soul called out to him, but he always disappeared before the last beat of the song would end. Each time, I was left hollow, with a gaping hole inside my chest, waiting to be filled.
Tonight he would come—I knew he would. In the witching hour, under the guise of the night, he would come. The shadow, a man. I couldn’t explain this connection I had to the faceless stranger who only ever came when my mind was crumbling.
I pulled my legs up, folding them to the side of my body, and pushed myself away from the edge of the building. My hair fell on my face, wet from the downpour, and my clothes stuck to my body, but I wanted to feel alive.
I wanted to feel something else tonight.
If this was my last night here on this rooftop, I wanted to remember it forever.
I walked back toward the center of the rooftop, stepping into the shadows. I shook off the thin jacket I had on me, leaving only the black T-shirt that was now completely molded to my body. My phone was going to be destroyed in this rain, but I couldn’t find it in myself to care.
The light from the screen illuminated my face, and as I pressed play, I lowered it down to the floor, not too far from me, and covered it with my jacket, if only to provide a small protection from the rain. The downpour ended half an hour ago, and the storm that felt as if it would sweep us all away turned into a drizzling rain, only enough to remind us that it was still there.
The hushed beats from the song echoed around me—not loud enough to alert anyone of my presence here, but loud enough for me to hear it.
“Dies Irae” by náttúra reverberated around me, awakening my body, calling for my soul. Through the hushed tones, I could feel the ecstasy slowly creeping up my legs, sneaking into my bloodstream.
My body had a mind of its own, moving with the beat. There was no need to count the steps. No need to think of the choreography because this was what I did best—I improvised.
A buzz of excitement shot through me as my feet carried me from left to right, my entire being doing what it was born to do. It danced.
Dance and music were the two things I never lost. Even after everything that happened, they persisted, two faithful companions letting me vent through them.
Pulling my feet together, the first ballet position came naturally to me. Years and years of classical ballet and I could do it now, even in my sleep. My training might have stopped and the ballet I’d learned might have turned into contemporary dance rather than classical ballet, but my body still remembered every single step.
A movement to my right pulled my attention from the song and I saw him, standing there, hugged by the shadows I loved so much. I often wondered if maybe I’d imagined him. Maybe my mind started cracking under the pressure of reality, but each time I saw him, all those doubts faded away, leaving me with a renewed yearning for him.
The tribal drums with the sounds of the oriental music moved me. Slowly, fluidly, I moved in his direction, taking two steps forward, while my arms lifted above my head, floating like the wings of a bird, caressing my body in their wake.
Piercing my heart, the music floated through my body, awakening every nerve ending, every sleeping cell, until the walls I kept erected around me crumbled, leaving me bared to this man. I showed him the pain as my chest pulled inward, bending my back, while my arms hugged my body.
The arabesque to my left released the anger, as if I could kick it to the side, letting it float away from me. My breathing intensified with each new step I took, but I was alive.
I was powerful, floating over the concrete floor on this rooftop, giving it my everything.
Dancing wasn’t about technique. It wasn’t about counting your steps or knowing where you landed. The beauty of dance, any dance, was that you could feel everything. You could allow yourself to become something else, someone else…
There were no restraints, there were no restrictions on what you could and couldn’t do. As my body bent and folded, only to be spread open again, I pushed out the darkness clouding my mind. The haunting voice coming over the speaker of my phone gave me the boost I needed.
I could see him from the corner of my eye as I performed the dance of the damned in this hymn for the dead. I could feel his eyes on my body, on my face, following my every movement.
There was something dangerous, something wild, in the air every time he was around, and I wanted to dance in his madness. I wanted to wrap myself around his soul, around his heart, and somewhere there, hidden inside the dark chest of wonders he kept only for himself, I could finally find home.
As I leaped through the air, doing the ciseaux, my legs split and my arms outstretched, I closed my eyes, transporting myself into the fantasy of my own making. I was loved there, in that other world. I had a home. I had a purpose. I had no secrets eating me alive.
But fantasies were nothing more than dreams that could’ve never been, and just like the song, my fantasy had to end.
