Her hand flipped through the old magazine, eyes scanning limply over the pictures, not too interested in Hugh Grant, or Ben Affleck, or even Brittany Spears. There were bigger things on her mind than the standard tabloid gossip. The white waiting room made it nearly impossible for her to concentrate, although she would never admit that to anyone. The pictures on the walls did nothing to calm her; even the smile of her black haired mother sitting to the left of her own brown haired self did nothing. Her mind raced, and then slowed, and then raced again- a million and one thoughts all clouding her senses. Her hand rubbed her thigh mindlessly; beneath the folds of worn blue jeans was a bruise the size of an apple, from where she fell. But three months later it still wouldn’t go away. Slowly her chocolate eyes cast up to the doorway, and the woman standing, smiling in white, before lowing shut as she took a breath. It was now or never.

“Will you please come with me?”

And Annabelle dreams she’s dancing. The melody of the music moving her body, held tightly by her boyfriend. The gym is packed with people, all decked out in their finest outfits, and they fit in just fine. Her blonde haired prince, holding her hand tightly as they attempt to waltz across the floor, laughing almost hysterically as their feet get tangled up in another. That’s when a breeze catches her hair, blowing it around as he laughs, wrapping his arms around her waist. And like that, they slowly sway, both watching each other without a care in the world.

For a moment, she wondered if she hadn’t gotten lost in the tabloids, eyes blinking slowly. The red blood cells and the white weren’t getting along. Or that was all she understood from what the doctor had just said as her hands clasped together in her lap. They were going to start her on the strongest therapy they had. She didn’t want therapy though, she suddenly wanted to rewind to this morning- blissfully shopping for graduation dresses with her best friend. She was so scared of what was going to happen next, eyes squeezed shut to try and stop existing, as if that could ever give her that innocence back. And as her parents enquired about the chances, six in ten it wouldn’t come back, her mind drifted away, only half listening to the world going on around her.

“I think we caught it in time.”

And Annabelle dreams she’s dancing. Skirt slowly floating across the polished floor as the lights are dim around her, the only sound in the whole gymnasium that of the music. Around and around she slowly spins, eyes enchantedly locking with those of her love holding her close. They sway slowly, him in a pressed suit, looking more handsome than she ever could have imagined, and her without a care in the world. The wind from an open door gently filters through the room, blowing her curled hair softly around.

Her body shook this time, clasping onto her mother for dear life as the tears consumed her. This morning had been the final proof of what she had been scared about for so long. Her beautiful long hair had been lying on her pillow as she woke up, and now lay in strands over her crossed legs. What used to fall past her shoulders was now something lifeless, something dead and broken. Her hands pushed it away violently, the lengths floating onto the floor, out of sight, and with it taking her prom dreams. Sniffling, she knew she shouldn’t say it, but maybe it would make it easier in the long run. Maybe she could accept it somehow. Slowly, she closed her eyes.

“He won’t take me now.”

And Annabelle dreams she’s dancing. His hands rest on her back, rubbing a small circle as they twirled around the gymnasium, the world watching them. Her in a black halter dress, hair falling around her face in dozens of curls, a red carnation tucked into her hair, instead of resting on her wrist. The decorations sparkled from the rafters, as a path was cut for them through the crowd of students and parents alike, all taking a moment to watch them. Slowly, they near the open door, and with a laugh her hair dances around on its own, gingerly falling to obedience again as his lips press against hers.

Her eyes stared at the clock, the hands reading at a quarter to seven. He was fifteen minutes late, and she knew what that meant. Somehow it didn’t hurt so much now that the moment had finally come, her standing up slowly. Past her mother and father on the couch, skirt gathered in her hands as she began to step up the stairs. But she froze, head whipping around to stare motionless as her father ushered the boy in, a smile spreading to her lips. What came next thought made her breath catch in her throat. The hat that once rested on his head now hung in his hand, the blue-eyed man smiling nervously. Gingerly, she descends the few steps to reach out and touch his head, feeling the smoothness of the skin, as her eyes blinked shut to wash away the tears.

“Your hair.”

And Annabelle goes dancing. Around and around across the floor, him in his suit and her in her black halter, matching red carnations bringing them closer. No one says anything about their hair, but everyone watches as they cut a path across the floor, the hem of her skirt floating across air. Without a care in the world she smiles at her very first true love, and he smiles back. His arms tighten around her body, and her head finds rest on his chest. And for a moment, she isn’t so scared.