The clothes I've just worn to my dad’s funeral. But all I can do is sit. Shirtless and snivelling. I wipe my snotty nose on my cuff, and realise I'm...not actually wearing a shirt. A snail-trail of snot clumps the fine, dark hairs on my forearm. There's a tentative knock on my door. Thinking it will be my mum, wondering where I've gotten to, I mumble an acknowledgement. The door opens and I stare at my shoes, sparkling from the over-zealous polishing my uncle gave them yesterday. I hear a barely. "Give me a dance, my sweet slut." Once again, I found myself in tow, this time to the dance floor. Tugging on her arm, I spun her back around towards me. "Jayne, I really don't know if I can do this. I mean it." Pleadingly, I looked into her eyes. She understood that I was apprehensive only of the newness of all this. She stepped closer to me and calmingly whispered, "Now hold me close, Tori dear, and dance with me. Just one dance. This is who you really are. This is what you truly desire.. More

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