Friday Night - Jennie

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Jennie goes dancing to get away from it all. But some things you just can't outrun.



The gym where the weekly swing dances were held was full tonight, and the DJ was a good one. Plenty of fast songs to dance to. You, Jennie Stavros, have on thing on your mind tonight. You are going to dance. You are not going to think about Travis or the people back at the mansion. They don't know what's inside your head, or your heart. You could make them understand, but the thought exhausts you. You'd rather they see the evil bitch anyway, you don't want them to see how much pain you are in. It's better that way. It makes you seem stronger. You are barely functioning as it is.

DeSean, one of your favorite leads, catches your eye and strides up with a big smile. He extends his hand, asks you to dance with a grin. You smile and take his hand, and he spins you out on the floor.

Dancing is what makes you feel whole. When you dance, you don't think. The rest of the world fades away. Just a series of movements, and the world spins with you. It doesn't make you sick.

Don't think, Jennie. Just dance.

Don't think.

Don't think about how he made you feel safe.

Don't think about how, just once, he made you feel like you could be loved.

Don't think about watching him sleep next to you, how he looked so young, and feeling like you just wanted to spoil him. Take care of him. You didn't think about the weight that you've carried in your heart for years. For the people you loved who couldn't love you back because they were sick or shallow or dead. Being with Travis made it easy to smile. Easy to laugh. You would have done anything for him because he made you so happy.

Don't think about how much it hurt when he suddenly stopped calling.

Don't think about how much it hurt to have your friends get evasive when you asked about him.

Don't think about when you saw him at Dickey's the other night, deep in a make-out session with Whitney.

Don't think about how you couldn't move. How your throat hurt and tears pricked your eyes, but you didn't cry because you don't do that. Not in public.

Don't think about the expression on his face when he saw you, like a boy with his hand caught in the cookie jar.

Don't think about the hole in your chest, and how you tried to leave. How he wouldn't let you leave. Kept trying to pull you back. To explain himself. To absolve his guilt. He wouldn't let go of your arm, no matter how much you shouted for him to let you go. How he tried to keep you there so everyone could watch him break your heart. You had to make him let you go.

Don't think about how hard you cried afterwards. And no matter how badly you wanted it, you made damn sure he wouldn't have anything to do with you again.

Don't think about how you are three weeks late.

Don't think.

Don't think.

Just dance.