The days go by and still I find myself being inside that room, lying on that be and staring at the wall. I might be in the hospital and far away from there but I can still see the room clearly. It has been so many days since it happened and I have been inside the hospital, inside this room for so long. I refuse to leave for I know that I'm safe here. Here there is a window and I love nothing more than to feel the warm sun rays kiss my skin through the window and I often just stand there with my eyes closed.

Every night I'm back inside that room and I still see his face. Steel had killed him, and he had ended it all but I still see him and I still feel his fingers on me and I can still feel everything that he did to me. I can't forget it. Like if he were still here with me and I can still feel his presence. Sitting on the bed in the hospital doesn't make me feel any better but it's the only place where I'm safe. Out there is the darkness and in here it's not.

Yet I don't think I can do this without Steel. My father made sure that Steel doesn't come near me. I don't know how he's doing and I don't know what happened to him after those police officers took him away. No one tells me about it but then again I do not ask. I don't speak to anyone. I refuse to. The only one that I will speak to is Steel, but he's not here and my mouth remains shut. He can take away the darkness, drive it away like he has done so many times and I also just want him to hold me.

With his arms around me all would go away. I felt it when he held me before. When he took me away from the darkness. All of the pain disappeared and there was only him. He was the only one that can do that and now I don't know if I will ever see him again. My father has taken control over my life, even if I am not a child anymore. He has ordered bodyguards to be with me at all times, and he has security cameras in the hospital, and he has them put up at the ballet studio and at my apartment.

My father has visited me every single day, and he has stayed by my side. He doesn't pressure me to speak nor does he speak to me. All he does is sit on the chair beside the bed and work on his computer. Every so often he leaves the room to take a phone call, but he always comes back. I never understand why he would be with me after all this time and after all the pain that he has caused me, yet I suppose he is trying to be better.

Now as I sit here and hold my pointe shoes in my hands as I can only dream about dancing. I have not been cleared yet to dance as my body is still healing. I had been starved to the point where my body was on the brink of shutting down. That is what they tell me and dancing and burning that amount of energy can be dangerous for me. Though it would not matter to me because dancing is all that I need and it can make me forget. It is the next best thing beside Steel as he's not here but I still need him more than anything else.

These shoes bring back memories which was only about two months ago and yet it seems so far away like if it were years. I look down at them and play with them, just touching them and trying to remember what my life was before all of this took place and in truth my life has always been like this. From my childhood but I always tried to ignore those memories and move on with my life but now that all of those memories are present, I don't think that I will ever forget it.

My father walks through the doors, and he clears his throat, making my eyes run up to meet his eyes. He hands me a paper with a blueprint on a smaller size. A blueprint of a building. I look at it and then at him with a questionable look. "The ballet studio I promised you" He speaks, answering my unasked question. I look back at the paper in my hands and I stare at it with confusion. My mind can still grip that memory from so long ago when my father had wanted me to sign under some document so that he could build a ballet studio.

I thought he was tricking me into signing something that I would not want to but this is real. I look at the name of the studio to see that it has my name on it but I don't want my name to me on it. I take a pen that is on the table that is stuck to the hospital bed, which he often uses to do his work and make some papers that he had printed out. I cross out my name and write the one that I think is much more fitting than having my name on it.

I hand back the paper to my father who looks at what I had written. His face remains emotionless and I can't be sure what he's thinking but I can see that the gears in his head are turning, and he's thinking about. He does not relate to the name as well as I do and even if it does not exactly fit a ballet studio, I would not want any other name to be on that building than this. He nods his head and I find myself giving him a half smile as I remember the two words that I wrote on that paper; The Match.