Laney’s Collection [STORY]

The buzz from the doorbell rattles the house as you push it for the third time. This isn’t your first time at Laney’s house. In fact, you have started to lose count of the times you’ve received a late night booty call just in this past month. 
You had met the ditzy blonde at the diner she works at. Frankly, she was a terrible server who treated every customer as if they were a great burden to her life, but- you never could stay mad at a pretty face. And when she dropped a napkin with a sloppily written phone number onto your table… well, that was that. 
You squint as a light from the neighbour’s porch is switched on. Suddenly becoming conscious of the late hour, you decide to just let yourself in. Laney hardly ever locks her doors anyway. It’s a combination of forgetfulness and being too lazy to pull herself out of her nest of blankets when she finally does remember.

You look around for your friend as you take a tentative step inside. Standing in the dark, it is clear to you that no one is downstairs. The only light in the house is a single small glow from upstairs. You peer, from the bottom of the stairs, around the corner to look into Laney’s bedroom. But the light isn’t coming from her room. It’s dim, as though it’s just a small lamp, but it appears to be coming from the room that usually stays shut, tucked up into the corner of the upper floor. 
You turn back to the door, turning the key that was left in the keyhole. You wonder if the only time the door gets locked is when you come over. You even start to consider whether or not you should go around the house to secure all the other doors and windows, because you know full well Laney will never do it. But your moment of contemplation is broken by a sound emanating from upstairs. It sounds like music. It’s faint, but it doesn’t sound like Laney’s usual tastes.

You make a start up the stairs, taking care to be as light-footed as possible. You skip the creaky step, not wanting to startle the poor girl. As you get closer, you can start to make out the gentle melody. You can’t quite put a finger on the instrument: is it piano? No, it’s softer than that. And is that- was that a hum? Is Laney singing? Does Laney sing?  
You pause as you reach the landing. The situation is now dawning on you and you begin to feel guilty about intruding. Here you are, letting yourself into the house of a girl you only recently met. But you’re too deep into this now. Surely it would be weirder if she were to find you trying to run back out of the house.  
Brushing off your nerves, you edge closer towards the open door. You can hear much clearer now. The sweet sounds of, what you think is, Swan Lake. You linger on the threshold, sinking into Laney’s soft voice. You poke your head around the door.

And there you find Laney; kneeling on the floor as she caresses a small music box. In fact, the whole room is covered in music boxes of various shapes and sizes. It's quite the impressive collection.

Laney is wearing a sheer pink lingerie set you’ve never seen before. Usually you feel like Laney looks about ten feet tall in her beautiful clothes. It’s one of the things you felt drawn to from the start: the confidence in owning her own body and knowing she looks good. But here, in this room, sat on the floor; she looks like you’ve never seen her before. Small. Fragile. You’d never say it to her face, but for the first time, you were seeing a vulnerable side of Laney Di. 
You lean back on your heel, just as the music begins to fade away. The creak from the floorboard immediately gives you away.

Laney spins her head towards you; her expression unreadable. It’s not obvious if she’s startled or angry at the intrusion. 
“I’m sorry!” you scramble to explain yourself, 
“I tried to get your atten- I didn’t know if you’d- uhh…. Sorry.”

Laney is quiet for a scarily long time. Just as you think you’ve ruined everything, she puts her head in her hands and groans. 
“This is so embarrassing!”

“Oh,” You are a little lost for words.
 “For a moment I thought you’d be more mad about me breaking in.” You run the back of your neck sheepishly, “Although- you can hardly call it breaking and entering when you leave the place unlocked for anyone to walk in!” 
The girl sighs.
 "It's fine, I invited you. Honestly it’s easier for me if you just make yourself at home.” 
That last statement makes you fumble and you search desperately for the right words to say.

“So. This room is-“ 
“Sorry. I know it’s- odd.” 
“A little.” you shrug.  
 “But, like, it’s an eccentric odd. Not an -I’m concerned about the potential bodies under your floorboards- odd.”

 You study the girl’s face, but all you can discern is that your jokes might not be landing right now.
 You take a hesitant step into the room, around Laney to avoid it feeling so confrontational. You instead head towards the many shelves that line the back wall housing the decorative instruments. You turn back to Laney, who hasn’t moved.   
 "It’s pretty.” 

You watch her back as her shoulders release a little bit of the tension they were holding.   
Gently, you lower yourself into the spot next to her, running your fingers through the pink fur of the rug. Laney plays with the bow on her shorts, lowering herself from her knees to sit at an equal level to you. Craning your neck around her to see the music box that has been hurriedly hidden away, you point.
“Who’s that then?”

“Oh,” she breathily laughs,
 “She's my favourite.”
 She brings the box up to the two of you so you can finally see the details. Laney twists the key, and the same melody begins to play.  
Perched on top of the ornately decorated white box is a ballerina, her blonde hair and ears cleanly secured in a bun as the figure twirls in a pirouette. 
Your eyes are drawn to Laney’s as you notice that her features seem softer in this room.  
“She looks like you.”  

She lets out a half-hearted laugh, turning away from your gaze.  
“Does she?” she murmurs sarcastically to the floor.

There is quiet between the two of you. The little box continues to chime, until it begins to slow and then fades out in the middle of a note. The room is held in silence, but it doesn’t feel uncomfortable.

You almost jump as Laney takes a breath to speak,
“That’s what I wanted to do, you know.” 

“What? Twirl around on a little box?”

She rolls her eyes at you, but doesn’t bother to conceal the smile on the corners of her lips.
 “Ballet,” she draws out the word, 
 “I was gonna be a ballerina.”

“Why didn’t you?”

She looks to the floor again.  
“I took lessons but… Well, the teachers…” 
 She pulls a thread from her shorts, wrapping it tight around her finger.

“They called me a lazy dancer. Said that it was obvious I didn’t want to be there.”  
She pulls the other end of the thread tight, snapping it.“But that’s the thing. I tried. I really, really tried."

"Well, I figured- if that’s what hard work gets me…” she trails off, unable to finish the thought. 
“I don’t think I ever put that much effort into anything since. Then my horns came in," 
She gestures up to her short, rounded horns.
 “That kinda cemented it.”

She slumps down onto your shoulder.
 “Sorry. Tonight was supposed to be fun.”

“Hey, don’t apologise.”
 You pull her into a side-hug,
 “I think you’d be a great dancer.”

“Hmm. I think my dancing days are behind me.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” you look down to Laney, her eyes shining up at you,
“You can still wear the tutu for me.”

She lets out a half-snort as she fails to hold back a laugh. You playfully wince as she throws a limp punch to your shoulder.
 You break down in laughter with her, 
“I’m just saying! No complaints from me.”