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Teddy
IT’S NOT WORKING.
I can’t do it.
I need to practice with someone and the one person who knew about this, who I could practice with, has gone, is no longer here. Taryn sent Victoria away. She’s trying to ruin everything.
Distantly, there’s a voice telling me that that deduction is wrong.
That I’m not thinking properly. That joining Roseheart isn’t even my goal now. But I ignore that voice because what does it know? I am in control. I know what’s going on, and I can’t do this routine. I’m not good enough.
Frustration builds up inside me.
“Do it again,” I tell myself.
But I’m useless at it now. I can’t... It feels like I’m not myself. I’ve let all those doctors’ warnings get in my head, and now their words are stopping me. I’m stopping me.
“Do it again!” I growl. “Do it better.”
I wipe the back of my hand across my forehead, trying to swipe the sweat away. It’s too hot in here. Why the hell have they got the heating on at the end of August? Utterly ridiculous.
“Right.” I start the routine again. I count in my head, keeping time. It’s the pas de deux, but I have to dance on my own.
I stretch my arms out, but my chest feels tight. I look in the mirror. My lines are all wrong. And I look awful. I look unprofessional. My face is red, and sweat is dripping off me.
And it’s not good enough. I’m not good enough.
I start the routine again. I push myself harder and harder, imagining all the ballet teachers are looking at me, watching me, judging me. I need to do this. I need to prove to them that I deserve this. I deserve to dance.
I should be dancing with Taryn. Not him!
No, that’s not right. Taryn’s not who she said she was...
But my head’s foggy, and I can’t think... What was it she said? Or did? And aren’t I aiming for New York now?
I rub my chest. It still feels tight. And my neck feels strained. I must’ve pulled something. Did I warm up sufficiently today?
God, I can’t remember.
I look around the studio, but it’s all blurring, all of a sudden. Like I’m looking at a photograph but there’s water on it. Shapes are moving. The barre wobbles toward me. Was this the studio I was always in? Earlier? I... It doesn’t look right.
Start again!
I try to lift my arms up, to start another pirouette. But my arms are heavy. They’re stone. They’re weighing me down. The room tilts around me. I break formation, throw my arms out, to grab something, but my hands bat at empty air. There’s nothing here.
I breathe deeply, dark spots hovering in front of me. My skin’s tacky. My shirt is sticking to me. I’m sweating so much.
A window. I need to open a window.
I turn around, and...
Darkness swirls toward me, sweeping over my skin, engulfing me.
And then there’s nothing.