Powerless. Helpless. Fucking useless.
That’s how I feel watching Pen lose herself to the agony her cunt brother has caused.
Tears stream down her face but there’s no relief from them, only pain. Hardship.
She’s hurting and there’s not a damn thing any of us can do for her but let her ride this out. Pen needs to purge herself of everything she feels. Then and only then can she begin to rebuild, to fight back. A pain-filled cry tries to escape from her lips, but she stuffs her fist into her mouth to muffle the sound and collapses to the floor instead, still conscious of Lena even as she suffers her own pain.
“Titch…” York says, his voice cracking with emotion. He moves towards her, but Dax holds out his arm and shakes his head, knowing she needs to do this. She needs to let it go. He keeps his gaze fixed on her, and I see the fierceness of his love and compassion flare in his eyes.
Watching her like this, breaking apart, is gutting. It slices through the toughened outer shell we all wear and spreads us wide open. Her vulnerability is humbling. It takes courage to bear herself like this even if she doesn’t realise it in the moment.
For long minutes, we watch as she slams her fists against the floorboards repeatedly, echoing the dance she performed only a few weeks ago in the theatre at the Academy. Truth be known, Pen has never danced with as much emotion, or as much power as she had in that moment. Not even that night at Tales when she slapped us all in the face with the force of her talent, anger and passion. We’d all watched her from our seats at the back of the theatre and held our motherfucking breath as Pen had looked directly into the camera, into the eyes of her demon, and sent him a message that could only be interpreted one way.
It was a clear fuck you to David, and was the most powerful thing I’ve ever witnessed.
Right now we see that dance in its rawest form, stripped back to its very essence. This is pure emotion, not movement. This is all the broken, ugly darkness, all the debilitating fear, bone-crushing anger and muscle-trembling violence she’s held inside for so long. It pours out of her now, a river of emotion staining the floor with her tears.
Yet, despite the pain she’s exorcising and the loudness of her grief and fury, she barely makes a sound. Amidst it all, there’s still a part of her aware that Lena sits in the other room and that’s how I know that whilst Pen might be breaking apart, she isn’t broken.
She’s so fucking strong.
“She’s going to hurt herself,” Xeno mutters, his face contorting with sympathy, empathy and excruciating pain. It hurts him to see her like this. Now it’s his turn to step forward, wanting to break her out of this storm of emotion that’s shredding her so completely.
“No, Xeno. Don’t,” I warn, shaking my head. “She needs to ride this out. We have to let her. She’s strong enough.”
He glares at me, and I see his need to disagree. Instead, he grits his jaw, nodding sharply. He knows I’m right. Pen is strong enough. She has always maintained an inner core of steel, a thread of strength that has gotten her through every hardship she’s ever suffered. She might be rejecting dance right now, but it’s who she is, and I know she won’t turn her back on it because we won’t fucking let her.
So we watch and we wait.
This haemorrhaging of everything inside of her isn’t just about her brother’s heinous act or her sister’s pain. This is about her mum too. This is about a woman who never loved her, who was cruel and abusive, who allowed her son to beat her. It’s about the unimaginable pain of not feeling loved, of surviving abuse through sheer force of will. This is grief and guilt, abandonment and disappointment, fury. It’s empathy for a woman who doesn’t fucking deserve it. This is all of those emotions rolled up into an inevitable tsunami of pain that only now finds its release. It breaks out of her like the fucking dead clawing out of mud and soil. It shreds her apart and we’re with her, feeling every crack and every tear. We absorb it, take it on. We watch as she battles thin air, as she rages, her teeth bared, her eyes wild until she flips onto her back, crushes her hands over her face, and sobs.
After a while the muffled sobs become silent whimpers and when, eventually, she curls onto her side, I go to her. My gaze flickers to Xeno as I kneel on the floor behind her. He rips his glassy eyes away from Pen and turns to York who’s swiping at his tear-stained face. Lowering his voice, Xeno whispers something under his breath. York nods, flicking his gaze to me before leaving the room. He comes back half a minute later.
“Gray’s got it covered. They’re watching a movie. Lena’s finally eating.”
Xeno nods, closes the door then jerks his chin. York and Dax move towards us whilst Xeno strides over to the surround sound system and places his mobile into the dock. Scrolling through his music, he finds the track he’s looking for and presses play. My throat closes the second Look After You by Aron Wright begins to filter through the speakers.
“Fuck,” Dax says, blowing out a long breath and swiping a hand over his face as he stares at our girl. I know he wants to haul her into his arms just like I do, but he holds back from the urge, understanding like the rest of us that this is a delicate moment.
Turning my attention back to Pen, I rest my hand on her arm as one by one the guys sit down on the floor around her. Xeno places his hand on her hip whilst Dax reaches for her leg, his large hand squeezing gently. York strokes her hair, his fingers sliding over the silky strands. We all need to touch her. We need to connect, need to show her that we’re here, that we always will be.
She lies still, her eyes pressed shut, her face covered in tears as we comfort her with gentle touches, silent but for the music playing.
Around us, the words of the song cloak us with meaning. They’re poignant, they speak for Xeno, for all of us as her men, her Breakers. Music, as much as dance, has always been a form of language between the five of us. As kids we used music to express how we felt when we didn’t know how to do that with words. We would play songs that would reflect our feelings and emotions, listening together, silently understanding what we were incapable of saying. Then we would dance to that music, adding in another layer of communication between us, strengthening our bond. This song choice is Xeno opening the door on that old form of communication, because right now, none of us can bring ourselves to say the words without fucking crumbling. We want Pen to know that she isn’t alone. That she will never, ever, be alone again.
That we will look after her.
We will help her to heal, to grow. Our home is hers now, as it is Lena’s, and we will never abandon them, just like we won’t let her abandon dance. It’s who she is. It’s the very core of Pen. It’s what drives her. It’s what brought her to us, bound us together, what ripped us apart and what, ultimately, brought us back together again. We won’t allow her to turn her back on it through misplaced guilt, crushing grief and an overwhelming need for vengeance.
Right now she’s cast adrift, but we will anchor her. We will guide her, show her the way back to who she is because we know what it’s like to lose ourselves, to lose our passion for dance. We lost it when Pen walked away, and we got it back again because of her. She reignited our love for dance and we’ll be damned if we allow her to turn her back on it.
As the music plays, we continue to soothe her, pressing our fingers over her body. We’re four pairs of hands, four beating hearts with one simple goal: to love her.
To motherfucking love her.
Slowly, she rouses. Her eyelids flicker open as she pushes upwards, our hands falling away as she shifts into a seated position. Pen’s the quiet calm after the storm when there’s nothing left but a desolate landscape, littered with the debris of shattered dreams and broken fucking hearts. She’s at a turning point. I see it, understand it. Either she embraces the devastation and chooses to rebuild back stronger, or she lets it damage her beyond repair.
“Titch?” York says gently, reaching for her, but his hand falls away when he reads her body language.
Pulling her legs up, she rests her chin on top of them, wrapping her arms around herself in comfort. Dax’s nostrils flare as he sucks in a breath at the rejection and York shifts uncomfortably, swiping a shaking hand through his hair. It may seem like nothing to a stranger, but the Pen we know would have reached for one of us instead. She’s cutting herself off, and I realise then what path she’s choosing.
That hurts. It motherfucking hurts.
Xeno, sensing what I do, meets my gaze. His green eyes flash with determination as he hardens his features. I’ve seen that look before. I understand its meaning well enough. This is Xeno ready to fight until he gets what he wants. It’s a look the three of us have experienced at least once before when we’ve fallen into a dark place, only to be pulled back out by Xeno, kicking and screaming, but fighting. He’s saved us from ourselves before, and now he’s going to do the same for Pen.
Dax and York notice. The tension rises.
“We’re here, always,” Xeno says, resting his hands on her feet and ducking his head to meet her gaze. “The four of us are here for you. We will teach you to fight. We will teach you to embrace the darkness…”
She lifts her head from her knees and locks gazes with him. “He has to die.” Her voice is cold, deadly, like the jagged edge of my knife, but there’s fight in it. That gives me hope, because where there is fight, there is passion, and where there is passion, there is always dance.
Xeno grits his teeth. “Yes. He does.”
Pen breathes in deeply, her lungs filling with air. She holds her breath for long moments before letting it out slowly and as she does, the music changes from heartfelt promises to something equally as powerful, invigorating in its meaning. Don’t Cry by Bugzy Malone and Dermot Kennedy plays and, once again, I lock eyes with Xeno over Pen’s shoulder, instantly understanding the message within the song.
“We will be your light when the world gets too dark,” he continues. “We will be the lyrics in every song and the step in every dance. We’ll remind you every fucking day who you are. But know this, Tiny, if you want to learn how to kill a man, then it comes with one condition. You don’t turn your back on dance. Understand?”
She doesn’t respond, stubborn to the end, but here’s the thing, so are we. Pen will keep dancing.
We’ll make sure of it.
