Since there wasn’t, I forced my feet to move across the floor, up the stairs, and onto the stage.
Warm-ups.
I could do that. I’ve warmed up before.
My heart crowded my throat. My excitement over getting the understudy role all those weeks ago melted beneath the lights and the sideways glances from the rest of the staff.
They knew about my past. Were they waiting for me to mess up? Did they think my fall from principal dancer to understudy was pathetic?
Stop being paranoid. No one’s judging you.
I took a deep breath, focused on the sliver of floor around me, and started stretching.
One. Two. Three. The silent, measured counts steadied my breathing and calmed my heart rate. By the time I finished, the churn of anxiety had slowed to a crawl.
Tamara clapped her hands. “Okay, let’s start from the top!” she said when everyone was in place.
The music started, and I didn’t have time to overthink anymore.
It was move or die, so I moved.
The good thing about
Lorena was that its choreography played to my strengths as a dancer. I hadn’t performed in five years, but I’d lived and breathed ballet for sixteen years before that. My body remembered what it felt like.
After a hesitant start, I gradually flowed into the movements. Pirouettes, arabesques, grand battements…it was like saying hello to old friends I hadn’t seen in a long time.
If I closed my eyes, I could almost imagine I was at Westbury, dancing for an opening-night audience.
This isn’t so bad. You can do this. You
?-
The sudden screech of the auditorium doors opening pierced through the music. It sounded like metal screaming.
Metal. Blood. Smoke.
My veins flooded with adrenaline. My head instinctively snapped toward the entrance, ruining my choreography, but instead of the newcomer, my vision swarmed with snippets from the past.
Punctured lungs, broken ribs, shattered pelvis…
With long-term, consistent physical therapy, she’ll regain normal use of her legs, but I’m afraid professional ballet is no longer a viable option…
I strongly encourage surgery. Without it, she might never dance again. Not even recreationally.
I stumbled. Sweat beaded my forehead, and the air thinned in my lungs. The stage lights were so hot, I couldn’t think properly.
What was the next part of the choreography? Was I supposed to go left or right? How long until this damn dance was over?
My temples pounded with tension.
“Scarlett? Scarlett!”
I lifted my head, my breaths shallow.
Shit. The rest of the cast had stopped rehearsing and were staring at me, their faces painted with varying shades of concern, annoyance, and judgment.
Humiliation crawled over my skin like fire ants over broken soil.
“Are you okay?” Tamara asked. She was the one who’d called my name, and her brow pinched with worry as she ran her eyes over me. “If you’re not feeling well?-“
“No. I’m fine.” I straightened and swallowed the bile in my throat. “I didn’t hydrate enough and got dizzy, but I can finish rehearsals. I promise.”
I was not going to quit practice. I refused to run away with my tail tucked between my legs after one misstep, and I’d never willingly quit anything I’d committed to in my life. I wasn’t going to start now.
Tamara appeared dubious, but she didn’t argue. We were already behind, and the other staff members looked restless.
The music started again. Thankfully, the choreography came back to me, but I never recovered from my first mistake. I either missed my cues or I was off by half a count, which threw the others off their counts. It was a disaster, and by the time rehearsals ended, I wanted to cry.
I slunk off the stage, my head down, but I caught snippets of my colleagues’ whispered conversations.
“What a waste of an afternoon.”
“I hope Yvette doesn’t get injured before the showcase, or the performance will be a nightmare.”
“Why did Lavinia make her an understudy? She didn’t even audition.”
Tears clogged my throat. I didn’t blame them for being skeptical. If I were them, I’d be irritated with me too.
I was so wrapped up in my mortification, I forgot about the person who’d entered mid-rehearsal until I heard his voice.
“Scarlett.”
My feet stilled.
One blink peeled the shadows away from the seats and carpet, revealing a familiar muscled frame and sculpted cheekbones. A pleat of concern creased his brow, but his eyes were soft when they landed on me.
Asher.
The auditorium had emptied out, so it was just the two of us, and the echo of my name lingered.
Scarlett.
That was all it took.
The tears climbed up my throat and tore loose with a small sob. Once the first broke free, the rest followed, filling the cavernous space with the humiliating sound of my failure.
I hated crying in public, but my threads of control had frayed with each minute of rehearsal. I’d reached the end of my restraint, and all it took was finding one safe shelter before I broke down.
Asher was by my side in an instant, his arms encircling me as I pressed my tear-dampened face into his chest. He didn’t say a word. He just held me, his embrace so strong and steady, I was sure it could withstand even the most devastating of storms.
“I screwed up,” I sobbed. “The rehearsal. I screwed it all up. I forgot the choreography, I threw everyone off, I…” A hiccup split my self-loathing in half. “I can’t do it. I’m not even the principal, and I’m already making a mess of things.”
Past me would’ve slapped present me over the words leaving my mouth. I’d believed anyone could do anything if they tried hard enough, but I was tired of having to try so hard.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.