Lavender.

I heard the cold bitter silence flow through my veins as I pace back and forth on the ice cold tiled floor in my room. While my room is silent, the room in my mind is full. Its occupied by a million thoughts, yelling at me, commanding me, instructing me, crying with me. I fall to the ground with my back against the lavender wall. I always liked the colour lavender... It was the rosy feminine pink mixed with the cool calm masculine blue.. Offtrack. Back to thinking. Was I going to do it? No. I can't. Yes. I can. Hold on. Wait. My heart is racing faster than a sprinter trying to break the one hundred meter world record. I'm like the sprinter, I'm so close to my goal but I can't get to it. I simply can't get to the gold and to hold it in my hand, thanking whoever was there as I smile proudly as I whisper... This is who I am. Wait no back on track. But I can't. I can't go back on track. I'm shaking. I'm shivering. I'm as cold as ice. I'm the conductor, the orchestra and my own audience tonight. The blend of pink and blue in the audience, its what's taunting me tonight. The chains that bind me to the piano, playing a broken song as I weep, laugh at me and tighten on me. They tighten on my wounds as I weep more, the song sounding sweet but off key. I wish to get up, and get my grasp on that beautiful blend of a guitar and a piano on the side of the stage, only blocked with more chains. The audience weep as they, I, watch me, myself. They try reach out to me, as they all start to yell similar yet far thoughts, opinions. Do it. Don't do it. Wait. Go. What's the worst that could happen? Be careful. Why should you care what she thinks?
That lavender one. He had a point. My song stops as the world around me freezes, almost as frozen as my ice cold feet back in reality. Why should I care? All she's done to me is hurt me, taunt me, banish me to another realm. I'm just the odd one. I'm no one. What's the worst she could do to me.
The worst you can get.
My ears hear that blue voice in the back, as the frozen audience gains it's heat and melts, turning toward the voice. She had mud brown hair, and dazzling honey eyes, her blue dress falling to her dirty knees.
Pardon?
She can do the worst to you. You're almost there.
But she can't.
Yes. She can.
How?
The audience flicker her honey eyes at me, as the chains around my torso fades, but the chains around my ankles bind me to the piano. They all look like her. Taunting, daring, courageous, frightful, scared, beautiful, caring, kind. They all look like me. She looks like me. I slowly walk toward her, the chains on me creating their own haunting melody with their clashes and clanging. The audience watches me waddle with frightened eyes as I grunt and try and tug the guilt with me. I reach for her hand and she clasps my hand with hers.
You understand my fears.
Yes I do. Don't do it.
But if I don't...
If you don't?
I look at her, shivering before hearing a rosy squeaky voice to my side.
If you don't, then you're not the girl we know.
I think over what the pink one said. She's right. But if I don't do it. I'd be safe. I let go of the blue one's hand, turning to the audience once again. Instead of the randomized blue and pink dresses among them, they turn lavender. I was in a sea of myself. They all give me a nod and I turn back to the blue one. She's gone. She's not there.
Do you desire it?
One of them speaks. I turn my heavy body around, nodding.
I do desire it.
Then do it.
I smirk like a fox, as I look at my feet. The grey chains have faded and I look back up, my honey eyes shining with my own hope. I have no fear today and I shall never have it again. I run through the crowd, my legs shaking and my heart pounding. The sprinter again. And the conductor I become. I stand on the stage, my eyes wide as I look back at my audience, looking straight at me.
Luna. Play your song.
I look at the instrument in the wing, once bound by chains. I run to it, feeling a surreal wind run through my hair as the chills from it run through my grey veins as my hand reaches out for it. I tighten my hand around the bridge of the instrument, feeling relief run through me. I have to come to terms with who I am. And she should too.
How should I do it?
The crowd murmurs, before one yells louder above the rest.
Write it and explain.
Write it? Yeah. Maybe that'll work. My eyes snap wide open as I quickly get off the cold floor in my room, back in reality and away from my head. My shaking hands quickly grab for the pen and a paper. Paper. I need paper. My hands fiddle on the desk, before I touch a light scrap paper, and my pen hits the paper.
I'm bisexual.
Shit. What if she sees this. No. No turning back now. I have to play my guitar and play my piano and she should accept it. My slump back straightens up, surge of red confidence running through it as I fold the paper and stick it in my pocket. My tan hands runs across the lavender wall as I start to walk out of my room, my bare feet colliding with the floor silently. She's sitting there. I clear my throat as my chains sit in the corner of the grey couch.
"I have something to tell you."
Her head turns, her brown eyes piercing mine immediately. No turning back. No more hiding.
"What is it?" Her red lips spit out as I gulp, moving my frozen shaking body toward her. My hands struggle to pull the folded note out of my pocket and her venomous eyes shift to it. I hold it out, my hand turning pale with fright as she snatches it. The audience in my head are on their toes as she opens it. She smiles. She frowns. She has a face of disgust. She then looks with me with her eyes red. Grey fright reaches the tip of my fingers and the corners of my heart.
"Tell me this a joke, bitch." I gulp. The blue girl was right. It was going to go to the worst. I shake my brown head.
"Ma'am. It's not." She growls as she crunches it in her hand, the same sorrowful melody from my chains play as the paper's dream dies. She stands up, slightly taller than me as she glares into my eyes, shivering every fiber of my being with the worst thoughts. She raises her hand fast and it hits the side of my cheek as her other hand throws the paper to the floor and reaches for the belt on the table. The blue one was right. She was right. I bend down and quickly reach for the crumbled paper and make a run for it. The wind of freedom that once ran through my hair is chained and now it's grey and it's full of fear. Her hand gets the belt and she follows me, her heels creating that frightening melody from before. I'm almost to my room, to my lavender wall. Then the lavender turns white. She hit me. She hits me again with the belt, the sharpening pain turning my red confidence into grey fear and white pain. She hits again, taunting me and dragging me back. I need my wall. I scream, but no voice leaves my mouth, she's grabbed it. She throws me to the ground, putting her foot over me as she spits on me. The paper falls out of my hand. I try and breathe. Nothing leaves me. It's white all over again. The audience gasps and shush and turn for their exit. Their desire for acceptance leaves the concert hall and hope has emptied the stage. The conductor nor the orchestra are present. She goes for a final blow. Black. All over again, it's black.