The Final Return

Life is crazy. You don't know what you're doing half the time. And even when you do something right, other people will screw you over. I have been on this earth for twenty-seven years, and I still find new ways to be disappointed. 

The soft, white, and fluffy fleece blankets are wrapped around me. My eyes flutter as I look around my surroundings. My clothes are scattered all around his room. I silently chuckle when I see his shirt hanging from the ceiling lamp. I have my alarms silenced because I must get out of bed before the guy wakes up. With quite purposeful precision, I get out of bed and pick up my clothes from the ground. 

I tiptoe around the room and dress up. The guy groans and moves around his bed. I turn my head and stay still. The panic in me spikes as I see him move. If he wakes up, then I'm screwed. I hate having conversations with one-night stands; it is always so awkward. But the panic subdues when he remains in his bed sleeping. Luckily, he seems to be a deep sleeper, so I continue. I am so happy that I gave him a pseudonym and hopefully, I will never see him again.

Last night's entanglement wasn't too bad. The guy is definitely cute, and I had a great time. He did try asking if he could choke me, but I said no. I'm glad he asked though; other guys haven't. I cringe as I remember storming out from the one-night stands gone wrong. Safety for my body is my top priority, and if they can't accept that, then I'm leaving. 

When I walk up to his side of the bed to grab my jacket, something catches my eye. On the bedside table, a wedding band glistens and gleams. My jaw drops as I make the revelation. I glare at the pathetic loser peacefully sleeping.

This cheating scum! He's married? I would have never guessed from the way he presented himself. I love sleeping around, sex is so much fun. But I absolutely despise cheaters. I think it's logical for me to only want to sleep with single people. I even asked him and he said that he was single.

Now I feel bad for his spouse. It's not fun being cheated on. And that's a fact. He definitely needs to learn a lesson. Who knows how many times he has been unfaithful to this poor woman? 

I pick up his phone and place his thumbprint onto the scanner. Once I have access to his phone, I go to his personal messages. When I find the chat of his other mistresses, I roll my eyes. I then screenshot them and send them to the person under 'Wifey' with the caption:

Your husband is scum. You can do better so much better than him.

Once my work is done, I leave his place. I make sure to slam the door on my way out and speedwalk. Once I turn the corner of the block, I slow my pace and make my way back to Civil Liberties, the best bar in town. 

The morning sun is beating down on me, but the Toronto weather is still chilly. I make my way to the bar so that I can pick up my car. I have my black silhouette heels in my left hand and my purse in my right. I also watch my step because I don’t want cuts on my feet again.

Some people call this the walk of shame; I call it the stride of pride. My back is still a little sore, but it isn't anything I haven't felt before. The walk to the bar was swift and easy, and I didn't mind it. If it was any longer, I'd order a ride to the place. 

I make my way to the parking lot, and I notice my silver baby. I unlock it and get inside the best thing I have. As I am about to turn on the engine, I see a note on my windshield. I step out, take it off, get back inside, close the door, and start the car.

I'll read it when I get home. 

The drive to my house is burned into my memory. I have lost count of how many Sunday morning drives I've made. Once I park in my driveway, I decide to read the note.

'Please be careful, Jessica. My wife and I saw someone attempting to break in. Luckily, we chased them off,'

I pale when I recognize the bar owner's handwriting. She's a lovely woman that allows me to park my car for a small fee. Honestly, it’s a steal. I need to minimize the number of steps to get home.

I hate walking. And I cannot express my disdain for the exercise. I don’t mind a few thousand steps, but long kilometers are my limit. It’s torture for me when I have to do more than five blocks. 

You do not need to know why I don’t like walking. You should only know that I hate it. The only people that know the reason are my best friends: Johnathan and Christine. I have been friends with them for over seven years, and they know everything about me. I don’t regret telling them my secrets or my embarrassing escapades. In fact, Christine loves listening to all my stories.

My favorite story to tell is the time when I got kicked out of a university party.

Let me set the scene. I had gone to a previous party and gotten quite drunk. I then went to another party uninvited. Honestly, I just needed to use the bathroom, but I was mingling and I just stayed. I kept getting offered drinks and drank a bit more. Then, this handsome guy approached me.

Now imagine Aquaman and Peeta Mellark had made a clone, and that was him. He had my eyes, and I couldn't look away from him. We started talking and one thing led to another, we were having sex in someone’s room. I know that it wasn't right to do that. But he was hot as hell, and I was horny.

Get over it.

But it doesn’t stop there. My friend at the time, Francis, unlocked the door. And in front of him, he sees us in the middle of our entanglement. I will never forget the pure horror on his face when Francis saw me naked riding the guy completely exposed.

I even told him to get out. And he replied that it was his room. So, I crashed his party. But, the guy and I continued while Francis closed the door behind him in a huff. After we were done, I was kindly escorted out of the building. Francis and I don’t talk anymore.

I have no idea why.

I go into my bathroom and wash away the previous night. I do not need to wallow in the stench of that asshole and his betrayal. Cheaters are fucking assholes. I would know because I have been cheated on before. And let me tell you, it doesn’t feel nice. I pour a decent amount of shampoo and wash him out of my hair.

Once I am done with my shower, I look at myself in the mirror while drying my hair. I have got to say that I am gorgeous. I toss my dirty blonde hair to the side and pose for the reflection. Man, I am so sexy. Some girls may not like looking in the mirror. And I understand that.

But I honestly can’t relate.

It took years of insecurities and self-deprecation to realize that you are your best version. And in order to have other people love you, you need to love yourself. Too bad that I don't want to be in a relationship anymore, but I like the sentiment.

Plus, when I got lip fillers they gave me the best confidence boost. Highly recommend them. 

Once my hair is adequate, I dress up into my scarlet unitard and pointe I keep in my cupboard. I tie the ribbons around my ankles and make sure that they are tight. Once I am satisfied, I go outside and drive to the dancing studio.

When I notice the familiar building, I smile creeps up my face. I love my job. They are so lenient and allow me (and other dancers) to use the studio outside work hours.

I park and walk inside. With the key card, I gain access to my haven. Clean wax and perfume permeate the hollow hallways. Once I enter the massive dance hall, I connect my phone to the speakers and play ‘Oath thee trough’.

I stretch myself on the beam and warm myself up. As trot to the beam and get into position, I close my eyes and allow the music to flow through me. I reach my arms over me and bring them back. I do this for half of the music and do the other side in the other half. When the song plays again, I get on the floor and stretch my legs; ending it with a mid-split for about two minutes. 

I then change the song to 'Swan Lake' and get into the first position. I allow my body to flow like a river. Every leap, turn and spin is purposeful to make the stress melt away. I feel myself become engrossed in the song as I transform into the Swan. 

I am is elegant, strong, and admired by many. Although my chick phase isn't as graceful, I grow into itself and spread my wings. 

Music and dance is a work of art that needs to be appreciated. Every movement must be done with momentum and skill. Every position, movement, and placement needs to have a purpose. Otherwise, all you are doing is moving. 

This is how I start my week. On Sunday, I wake up in someone's home, walk to my car, drive home, shower, go to the studio, and immerse myself in my dance. And the rest of my week will go by as usual: go to work, call Christine, visit John (once a month) and go home or go out with co-workers. 

But this week doesn't go according to plan.