POV Lucian

I try and fail to resist the urge of googling Akhyra as soon as I come back to my place.

The first article that appears is a summary of the mediatic scandal that happened in London. There's a video linked at the end. I've heard Hannah and Valentino talk about it enough times to have a general idea of the incident, but when I play the footage, I am still shocked to see Akhyra push that little girl. 

I watch the video many times and mostly focus on Akhyra's facial expressions when she realizes what she's done. I'm not sure what to look for but for some reason I can't reconcile the woman I saw today, carelessly playing in the water with her designer clothes, with the cold celebrity who brutally rejects a fan.

As I keep on replaying some parts of the clip, I begin to notice things that previously escaped my attention. For example, the way that the little girl's hands seem to hold Akhyra in a vice grip, not looking like she's ready to let go. An intruding thought begins to play in a loop inside my mind. What if Akhyra hadn't meant to make the girl fall but mistakenly applied too much pressure? 

Another thing I notice is the way Akhyra looks at the child once she's hit the floor. The only word I can think of to describe her expression is petrified. Her eyes appeared vacant as if she saw a ghost. When I zoom in on her hands, it becomes noticeable that they are trembling. Pastor Steve did insinuate earlier that Akhyra had been fighting demons for quite a while. Would it be possible for those demons to be from her childhood?

I open a new tab to do another research about the orphanage. I find a link to their website, and it takes me a while to browse through several pages before I finally find a picture of Akhyra. I probably wouldn't have recognized her if a younger version of Coach Morel wasn't in the photograph as well. The legend under the picture states: "2008, one of our Angels finds a new family." They are both smiling big at the camera, but I notice the distance between them.

Now that I know what Akhyra looked like as a child, I keep on browsing the orphanage's website meticulously. After half an hour of looking at several group pictures of the children from the year 2008 and prior, I am certain that she doesn't appear in any of those. Does that confirm my theory that Akhyra might have hated being close to people since childhood?

When I leave the website, I do new research combining Akhyra's name with the word "adoption". This time, I find a link to a podcast named, "The Obstacle is The Way". The host interviewed Akhyra in an episode that was released about a year ago. The description indicates: "Akhyra Morel shares some challenges she faced in the ballet industry and how being adopted has changed her life for the best." 

I groan out loud when I realize that the episode is one hour long. I initially intend to skip some parts, but before I know it, I'm already halfway through. There are some shocking revelations throughout the episode, like the fact that Akhyra got pushed off a stage when she was a student of a prestigious dance academy in France. Her calm voice recounts the event as if sharing an ordinary anecdote. 

"Back then, the girls in Elite 10, the best dancers of the academy, were assigned different schedules to rehearse solo in the auditorium. Naturally, we all knew each other's schedules to avoid showing up when the place would be occupied. One time, I was in there doing my usual routine when a fabric fell over my face. As silly as it sounds, my first thought was that the stage curtain had fallen on me. But pretty soon, I realized I was wrong when it tied around my neck. Someone had put a sack over my face and made sure I couldn't easily remove it. Then I felt two people drag me forward by each of my arms while a third one pushed my back, bringing me closer to the edge. I tried to fight with no success because I was outnumbered. When I fell off the stage, I gave them time to go before trying to get back up. That day confirmed something I had already learned earlier in life. When people get close to you, they will eventually betray you or harm you."

By that point, I have to pause the podcast to go walk some miles on the treadmill in my workout room, feeling a sudden urge to get into action. How sick did those girls have to be to do something like that? I understand better now code #2 from Hannah's powerpoint presentation about not walking at Akhyra's side or behind her. There was a reason for that, after all. But there's still one enigma left to be resolved. What happened in her childhood that triggered her hatred of human contact?

The next morning, as I'm chauffeuring Akhyra, I am still thinking about the information that I gathered about her yesterday on the internet. 

Today is also off for Hannah and Valentino. They were nowhere to be seen when I arrived at Coach Morel's house this morning, which I find peculiar, but I ask no questions about it. 

It's still dawn when we arrive at our destination, a seafood market by the beach. Most of the vendors are getting their stalls ready, and there are barely a few clients at this early hour. That's probably the reason why Akhyra insisted on coming here around that time. 

We begin to visit the different stalls. There's a variety of anything you could think of: fish, crabs, lobsters, shrimps, you name it, they have it. I'm walking ahead with the task to carry the ice chest in which we will store the seafood that she buys. Before we came here, I'd suggested that we could simply buy the same in a mart, but Akhyra looked at me as if I was crazy.

"Do you smell this natural seafood air?" Akhyra probes in a satisfied voice. "No frozen copycat from the mart can compare to that."

So this girl will think twice before getting inside an obviously clean car, but she has no problem walking around in this stinking environment? Go figure. Akhyra Morel is full of contradictions.

Because there aren't many people around, she seems more relaxed. Whenever we stop by a stall, she greets the merchants warmly and converses with them before inquiring about their products. 

I notice for the first time that her Creole has an accent, a side effect of growing up abroad. Usually, I can't help but cringe to hear people speak my maternal tongue with the wrong intonation. However, Akhyra's is not heavy; it almost seems like she sings in falsetto whenever she asks "Konbyen sa ye?" How much is this?

We end up buying a little bit of everything, getting the cooler looking like a morbid scene of the Little Mermaid.

As we make our way back, Akhyra insists on cutting through the beach because she wants to feel the sand in her toes. Of course, what her Royal Highness wants, she gets.

It takes me a few seconds to realize that she doesn't immediately follow me. When I turn around, I notice that she looks instantly at a merchant of coconuts quite far away. There are several people waiting in line. For a second, I think Akhyra is going to ask us to take a detour, but she looks back at me and continues to walk, which I'm grateful for. It would have been a pain to walk with this cooler all the way over there. Except I don't have to. I suddenly stop and put the cooler down. 

"Why are you stopping?" Akhyra asks.

"I'm craving coconuts," I respond. "I'll be right back."

I walk away before she can argue, and a few minutes later, I'm back with two green coconuts to find Akhyra sitting in the sand while scrolling through her phone. I place one coconut on top of the cooler and then retreat a few steps before sitting down as well.

"This is for you," I tell Akhyra to get her attention.

She looks up at me, intrigued. "I didn't ask for one."

I simply shrug. "Thought you did."

I feel kind of ridiculous with my ass in the sand, sipping coconut juice from a tiny straw, but luckily, I don't have to suffer from being embarrassed because Akhyra stands up and takes hers. The sun begins to rise on the horizon, coloring the skyline in a vibrant yellow. 

"So I Googled you," I say before I can stop myself. 

"You're telling me this so I can give you a medal?"

I choose to ignore her jab. "I have a few questions about what happened at your dance academy. If that's alright."

"I talked about it in a podcast. Just check it out."

Crap. If I want her to answer my questions, I'll have to admit I already listened to the podcast. She's probably going to think I'm becoming a fan. Here goes nothing.

"I listened to it, but there are some things you didn't mention."

For a moment, she doesn't say anything. I'm preparing myself for a cold dismissal when unexpectedly asks, "What do you want to know?

"What happened to the girls who pushed you?"

"Nothing," she answers, her voice devoid of emotions. "I didn't see their faces."

Just like yesterday, once again, my pulse starts racing in response to the blatant injustice. 

"Surely the school must have had a way of tracking down who was behind it?"

"They really didn't care much. It would've been bad publicity for their image if word got out that students attempted to harm each other in the name of competition. The fact that I didn't see any faces didn't play in my favor either. They even tried to gaslight me by suggesting that I might have tripped. I quickly realized there was no need to try to find who did it."

"Was it safe for you to keep staying in the same school after what happened?

"My father wanted to send me somewhere else but I insisted on staying because leaving would make these bitches win. They tried to intimidate me but their plan backfired. If they went to the trouble of pushing me off the stage, clearly they felt threatened by how I could outshine them on it. After my recovery, I went back, but this time with protection. My father threatened to sue if they didn't allow me to have a personal bodyguard, and they agreed."

"Is that bodyguard the same big guy who shows up in most of your pictures?"

Damn it. Now, she will definitely think that I was cyberstalking her.

"That's Carper, yes."

"Why didn't he come here with you?"

"Important family matters."

A comfortable silence falls between us, only interrupted by the sound of the waves crashing against the shore.

"I didn't realize it while I was away, but I missed being home," Akhyra whispers.

Her confession takes me by surprise. However, she doesn't seem to be talking to me, more like admitting something herself. 

I decide to answer anyway in a familiar creole idiom, "Lakay se lakay". Home is home.

Akhyra turns her face toward me, and I am shocked to see her smiling as she answers, "Pa gen tankou lakay." There's no place like home.