Chapter 6
Harper’s bedroom had become a museum of her past, a place both comforting in its familiarity and suffocating in its stillness.
Dust motes danced in the weak afternoon light slicing through the gaps in her blinds, each particle a tiny reminder of time slipping away.
The mood was as stagnant as the air, mirroring the inertia that had taken root in her bones.
She was propped up on her bed, her injured leg elevated on a stack of pillows, the familiar ache a constant companion.
Her phone was open, the screen casting a pale glow on her face as she scrolled through Instagram, a parade of perfect bodies and triumphant smiles.
Each post was a tiny pinprick to her already wounded pride.
Then, a burst of noise and color erupted as Mila barreled into the room, a whirlwind of energy that instantly felt out of sync with the room’s muted atmosphere.
Mila carried a crumpled paper bag from their favorite candy shop, the sweet scent of sugar and chocolate momentarily cutting through Harper’s gloom.
“Surprise!” Mila announced, her voice bubbling with excitement. “I brought reinforcements.”
Mila tossed the bag onto the nightstand, narrowly missing a stack of ballet magazines. Harper managed a weak smile. It was good to see Mila, a brief respite from the endless loop of her own thoughts.
“What’s the occasion?” Harper asked, her voice a little rough from disuse.
Mila perched on the edge of the bed, bouncing slightly, her dark curls bobbing around her face. “Does a girl need an occasion to visit her best friend and bring obscene amounts of junk food?”
Harper managed a chuckle. “Knowing you? Probably not.”
For a moment, they fell into their old, easy rhythm.
Mila launched into a story about a disastrous attempt to dye her hair a new shade of red, complete with dramatic reenactments and exaggerated facial expressions.
Harper found herself laughing, a genuine, unguarded sound that felt foreign to her ears.
It was like stepping back into a familiar dance, the steps ingrained in muscle memory.
For a brief, flickering moment, she felt a glimmer of her old self, the girl who moved through the world with lightness and joy.
But the feeling was fleeting.
Mila paused, taking a deep breath, her expression shifting from playful to something more…fraught. “Okay, so, I have… news.”
Harper’s stomach clenched. She braced herself, a familiar knot of anxiety tightening in her chest.
Mila fidgeted with the hem of her t-shirt, avoiding Harper’s gaze. “I know this is probably weird to hear, especially now, but… I got the lead.”
The words hung in the air, each syllable a small, sharp stone thrown at Harper’s heart.
The lead. The spring recital. The role. It was all code for the one thing Harper had dreamed of, the one thing she had worked towards her entire life, the one thing that had been ripped away from her in an instant.
She forced herself to meet Mila’s eyes, searching for any sign of malice, any hint of gloating. But all she saw was a mixture of excitement and…guilt?
“The lead in…?” Harper asked, already knowing the answer, the question a desperate attempt to delay the inevitable.
“Giselle,” Mila whispered, her voice barely audible. “They cast me as Giselle.”
The name of the ballet echoed in Harper’s mind, a haunting melody of what could have been. Giselle. A tragic love story, a dance of ethereal beauty and heartbreaking loss. It was the role every ballerina dreamed of, the role Harper had been practically guaranteed before…
Before.
The word was a chasm in her mind, a dark abyss that threatened to swallow her whole.
Mila rushed to fill the silence. “I know, I know, it’s crazy, right? I didn’t even think I had a shot. But Ms. Petrov said she liked my interpretation, and… and she said I had the right kind of fragility for the role.”
Fragility. The word stung. It was meant as a compliment for Mila, but to Harper, it felt like a confirmation of her own brokenness.
Mila continued, oblivious to the storm brewing inside Harper. She launched into a detailed description of the choreography, the costumes, the rehearsals, her words painting a vivid picture of the world Harper had lost.
“The second act is going to be amazing,” Mila gushed. “We’re all going to be wearing these incredible white tutus, and we’ll be floating across the stage like spirits…”
Each word was a fresh wave of pain, a reminder of the effortless grace Harper could no longer achieve. She could practically feel the phantom sensation of her own pointe shoes, the weightless feeling of leaping across the stage, the roar of the applause.
But those sensations were just ghosts now, echoes of a life that was gone.
As Mila spoke, Harper felt herself withdrawing, her body stiffening, her replies becoming short and clipped. The vibrant energy that had briefly filled the room began to dissipate, replaced by a heavy, suffocating silence.
“That’s… great, Mila,” Harper managed to say, her voice flat.
Mila’s excitement faltered, her smile wavering. She finally seemed to notice the change in Harper’s demeanor.
“Harper? Are you okay?”
“Fine,” Harper snapped, the word sharper than she intended. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
The air crackled with unspoken tension. Mila shifted uncomfortably on the bed, her eyes searching Harper’s face.
“I just… I thought you’d be happy for me,” Mila said, her voice tinged with hurt.
Harper scoffed. “Happy? Must be nice. To be able to dance.”
The words were laced with bitterness, a subtle accusation that hung heavy in the air. It was a low blow, a deliberate attempt to wound. And it worked.
Mila flinched, her eyes narrowing. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” Harper said, turning away, refusing to meet Mila’s gaze. “Just… nothing.”
But it was a lie. It meant everything. It meant that Harper was drowning in her own grief, that she couldn’t bear to see her best friend living the life she had been denied. It meant that she was jealous, resentful, and ashamed of her own weakness.
Mila’s voice rose, a defensive edge creeping into her tone. “So, I’m supposed to apologize for getting the part? Should I have turned it down just so you wouldn’t feel bad?”
“I didn’t say that,” Harper said, her voice cold.
“You didn’t have to,” Mila retorted. “You’re making it pretty clear.”
The argument escalated quickly, fueled by unspoken resentments and years of shared history. Mila accused Harper of being self-centered and bitter, of only caring about herself and her own problems. Harper accused Mila of being insensitive and thoughtless, of rubbing her success in Harper’s face.
Neither of them were willing to back down, to offer the other the grace and understanding they both desperately needed.
“You know what, Harper?” Mila said, her voice trembling with anger. “I came here to share something with you, to celebrate with my best friend. But all you can do is be jealous and mean. I’m done.”
Mila stood up abruptly, grabbing her purse and heading for the door.
“Fine,” Harper said, her voice barely a whisper. “Go.”
Mila paused at the doorway, her back to Harper. “I really thought you’d be different,” she said, her voice choked with emotion. “I thought you’d be stronger than this.”
Then, she was gone, leaving Harper alone in the suffocating silence of her room.
The vibrant energy Mila had brought with her had vanished, leaving a vacuum. The air felt heavy and stale, thick with unspoken words and bitter regrets.
Harper’s eyes landed on the untouched bag of snacks on the nightstand. She reached out and picked it up, the crinkling paper a sharp, intrusive sound in the quiet room. She stared at the bag for a long moment, then tossed it onto the floor, a wave of disgust washing over her.
Her gaze drifted to a framed photo on her dresser.
It was a picture of her and Mila in costume after a previous performance, their faces flushed with excitement, their smiles radiant and victorious.
They were younger then, carefree and full of hope.
The future stretched out before them, limitless and bright.
Now, the image was a source of profound pain. It was a reminder of everything she had lost, of the dreams that had been shattered, of the friendship that was now fractured.
Harper felt a tear trickle down her cheek, then another, and another. Soon, she was sobbing uncontrollably, her body wracked with grief and regret. She was alone, utterly and completely alone, trapped in the suffocating confines of her own broken body and broken heart.