The Ballerina & The Devil

Thirty Nine: Part 1. A Night Out on the Town

A/N: Okay, so @FreckledDork very recently wrote a beautiful poem about The Ballerina & The Devil. It was so lovely that I just had to share it!

She danced the night away
And lost herself in movement
For all the pain she had caused
For all the tears she ever cried
For thoughts that made her go insane
They all believed her lies

His anger was a force of nature
And he captured it in paint
For bruises staining tender skin
For ones yet to form
For nights that had him wide awake
Inside him raged a storm

She danced away all the hurt
And yearned for only that
She ran from all the pretty lies
What we want, we can't always get

He fought the man that caused his pain
That had caused it all his life
He would protect what he held dear
Even if that meant he'd die

The ballerina
And the devil
Whose paths then intertwined
Both broken
Torn apart
Can two wrongs make a right?

Honestly, it gave me chills. It's absolute incredible!! I love getting poems and cover art from you guys. It really does make me so incredibly happy. Don't be afraid to share anything you have with me at memoirsoftaylor@gmail.com. I don't know, I might make a little book to display the work I'm getting because everything I'm receiving is just fantastic! Thank you all so much.

I hope you enjoy the following chapter. It was so long I actually had to make it into two parts. Think of it as my way of making it up to you guys for not posting on Friday.

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Half of the car ride to the club was filled with random chit chat, mostly about cars, and the other half was dancing in our seats to the radio.

And by that I mean I danced in my seat to the radio while Aidan went back and forth from shooting me annoyed looks to rolling his eyes at the ridiculous sight. I'm pretty sure he didn't know I caught him smiling a time or two.

When we finally pulled up to the parking lot I had all but hyped myself up for the club and completely forgot about my prior nerves.

"Finally," Aidan sighed, cutting the engine. "I don't know how much longer I would have been able to sit through another one of your horrible renditions of an equally horrible pop song."

"Are you trying to say I'm a bad singer?" I gasped.

"That's exactly what I'm saying," he said before climbing out.

I huffed and stepped out of the car as well. I decided to leave my jacket and just grabbed my purse.

"You are so mean," I complained. "My singing isn't that bad."

"Yes it is."

I slammed the door shut and glared at him as he made his way over to my side. Don't get me wrong, I knew perfectly well I was no Beyoncé, but that didn't mean he could be so tactless.

"Do not slam the door," he scolded me, examining the door as if I was strong enough to actually put a dent in it. "My father will murder me if he see's a scratch on it."