23. Thirty-Two Fouettés
Thirty-Two Fouettés
Nikolai
There’s only three days until opening night. Three.
Just when I think things can’t get any worse… they do. I barely recognize Eleanor. The girl in the reels, the one I first saw dancing with such promise, seems like a stranger compared to the one I watch now. And I’m devastated.
In my gut, I know I’ll have to let Paloma dance Odette and Odile. But my heart—gosh, my heart—cries out for some miracle that will let Eleanor dance the part. Somehow, some way.
I don’t care what Kasper thinks anymore. This isn’t about approval or politics; this is about Eleanor. I want to believe she’s okay, that every day I see her isn’t a lie. But deep down, I know it was. I can’t ignore the drastic change in her weight over these last few weeks.
Ever since I found her in the bathroom on Lily’s birthday, she’s spiraled further and further, all while convincing herself she’s getting better. But I know what I see, and this isn’t healing.
She’s pushing herself too hard, each effort more fragile than the last. In rare bursts of energy, her dancing is passable, but the crashes are inevitable, and when they come, it’s like watching a castle crumble.
I sink into the edge of the empty studio, hands pressed to my face. God, I pray silently, I don’t know what to do. How do I help someone who won’t let themselves be helped?
It isn’t just worry. It’s fear. Fear that opening night will come, and I’ll watch her break, either onstage or off. Fear that my heart will shatter along with hers. Fear that my role as her coach, as someone who cares for her, isn’t enough.
Even in that fear, I cling to the truth I’ve been taught all my life: God has a plan, even when I can’t see it. I pray for guidance, for the wisdom to know when to push and when to hold back.
But I also pray for strength for myself. Because no matter how much faith I have, no matter how much I want to trust in His timing, I can’t stand by and watch her destroy herself without feeling it in my own chest.
The studio is quiet, the silence pressing against me like the weight of the world. I breathe slowly, counting each inhale and exhale. I have to trust Him. I have to trust Eleanor. And I have to pray that somehow, she can find the strength to trust herself too.
Ever since I confessed my feelings for her, everything with Eleanor feels too raw, too exposed. It’s like I have an opened wound I can’t close, and now everything that touches her seems to cut me, too.
The studio door creaks open, and the fluorescent light flickers on.
“Nik?” Kasper’s voice echoes against the empty walls. His gaze sweeps the room until it lands on me near the window. “What are you doing?”
I straighten, trying to mask the storm inside me. “Thinking.”
Kasper arches a brow, stepping farther in. “About Eleanor, I’m guessing?”
I swallow my words along with my rage.
“You wear it on your face, you know,” he continues, his tone sharpening. “Ever since she came here, you’re wound up tighter than the strings on a violin. And lately you look like you’re about to snap.”
I redirect my attention to the window, but Kasper doesn’t let the subject die.
“Tell me something,” he presses, crossing the floor until he’s standing a few feet from me. “Are you coaching her or are you protecting her? Because those are not the same thing. And if you can’t separate your feelings from your judgment, then you’re putting both her and this production at risk.”
A shiver races down my spine.
Kasper’s eyes pin me in place. “Three days before opening, Nik. You can’t afford to be her savior. You need to decide if you’re her coach—or her downfall.”
I get to my feet. “You don’t know a thing.”
Kasper steps closer, his voice low but sharp. “Maybe not. But I do know this—I trusted your judgment when it came to her. I trusted you not to let your infatuation cloud your coaching. And yet…” He waves around the empty studio. “Here we are.”
My arms fold across my chest, holding back the conflict threatening to split me open.
Kasper’s eyes narrow. “When the dancers rehearse today—with Russell and me in the room—she better be worth it, Nik.”
My throat goes dry, and I force myself to nod.
For a moment, he holds my gaze, unflinching, before breaking it to drag the freestanding barres across the floor. The scrape echoes in the tense silence.
Today we’re running the entire variation, tightening the seams, making adjustments where needed.
Apprehension gnaws at me. Kasper’s right about one thing—I’m not Eleanor’s savior.
And I know how this rehearsal will go: she’ll falter, he’ll see it, and I’ll be left with his ‘I told you so’ ringing in my ears.
But this isn’t about pride or even my job. A fragile girl is standing at the edge of a cliff, and my decisions could tip her either way.
The doors open and dancers trickle in, chatter dying as they see Kasper already arranging the room. Costumes half-draped over their bodies, hair pinned tight, faces focused. Tomorrow, we’ll take the stage and run the variation in full.
Today decides Eleanor’s future.
“Come in, come in,” Kasper says to the dancers. “Don’t mind me.”
They spill into the room, stretching at the barres, finishing bites of breakfast, the air buzzing with energy. Every one of them looks refreshed, ready to dance like failure isn’t an option.
Then Lily and Eleanor walk in.
My stomach turns at the sight of Eleanor. Her eyes are ringed with shadows, her skin pale, almost translucent. She looks like she’s been wrung dry. I fight the urge to turn away. It makes me sick to see her like this.
These last few days have ground her down to nothing. She’s pushed herself to the brink, and it shows in every line of her body.
The guilt climbs up my spine. Maybe I should’ve taken her out sooner.
Maybe giving her Odette and Odile was the beginning of her undoing.
At first, she resisted the role, but then she surprised me, giving the parts a chance.
Until now. Until these last two weeks. Now I can’t shake the question burning through me… What if I am her downfall?
Lily catches my eye, and the worry etched across her face confirms I’m not the only one who sees it. She leans into Eleanor, whispers something I can’t catch, then strides straight toward me with a look that could cut glass.
“Lily,” I greet, though it comes out flat.
She crosses her arms, jaw tight, fire in her eyes. “You have some explaining to do.”
“And what would that be?” I ask, crossing my arms to mirror her stance.
Her nostrils flare. “What is going on with Eleanor?” She casts a glance over her shoulder at the barre where Eleanor is stretching, then pins me again with her stare. “And don’t even think about lying. I know something is wrong.”
I release a long breath, my gaze falling to the floor. “Why do you think I’d know?” I challenge.
“Don’t you dare deflect, Nik. I know you know.” She doesn’t let up.
I lift my eyes to hers, my voice dropping. “She… has an eating disorder, Lily. Alright?”
Lily gasps, her hand flying to her chest. “No, I didn’t want to be right.”
My brows knit together. “What do you mean?”
She bites the inside of her lip, hesitating. “This weekend… we were hanging out, and…” she trails off, shaking her head like she can’t bring herself to say it.
“And?” I press.
Tears well in her eyes. “We grabbed lunch, and right after, she bolted to the bathroom. It felt… off. So I followed her.” She squeezes her eyes shut.
“Nik, I heard her throwing up.” Her voice cracks.
“She didn’t seem sick. She came out smiling, like nothing happened.
And I thought maybe—” She sniffles. “Maybe she was doing it to herself. And now you’ve just confirmed it. ”
Her words land like a blow to the chest, though deep down I know nothing I’ve done to help worked. Nothing I’ve tried has been enough to pull Eleanor back.
“Lily, let’s just—” I try to steady her.
“What do we do, Nik?” She cuts me off, tears streaking her cheeks.
I glance around, panic prickling the back of my neck. This isn’t the time or place. If Kasper, or worse, Eleanor overhears—
I pull Lily further into the corner, lowering my voice. “Lily, listen to me. You’ve got to pull yourself together. Right now we have to run the variation. We cannot talk about this here.”
She wipes at her tears, still trembling but nodding. “Fine. But I’m not letting this go.”
“Good,” I say quietly, the weight of it pressing into me. “Neither am I.”
She nods again, turns and slowly makes her way back to the barre beside Eleanor, stretching with stiff movements.
This is spiraling faster than I ever imagined. It’s one thing for me to uncover Eleanor’s disordered eating, but Lily? She isn’t the most perceptive person in the world. If she’s noticed, that means Eleanor has been doing this so often it’s become her normal.
Russell walks into the studio and heads straight to Kasper, who claps his hands with authority. “Attention, please.”
The room stills instantly. Every dancer turns toward them at the front.
“Today we’ll be running Swan Lake in full,” Kasper announces, scanning the room with sharp eyes.
“If there are any issues with your costumes, tell one of us.” He gestures toward himself, Russell, and me.
“Remember—today is just a run-through. Tomorrow, we rehearse as though it’s opening night. Places.”
I move aside, watching the room shift into focus. My gaze snags on Lily, who—shockingly—is trying to smile through the heaviness on her face. Gabriel and Dillon whisper to her, but she ignores them. I’ve never seen her like this.
Then there’s Eleanor. Her costume hangs just loose enough to betray the weight she’s lost. Her face is set in determination, but all I can see is the exhaustion beneath it.
Without the sleeves of her leotard, her bones stand out sharper than ever.
She looks like she’s dancing on the edge of collapse.
Act I begins, and Eleanor keeps pace. Technically, she dances well, but her face betrays her. She isn’t channeling Odette’s grief or fragility. It’s her own pain.