17. Plagued with Perfection
Plagued with Perfection
Eleanor
I can’t dance Odette and Odile. I just can’t.
My confidence has been steadily eroding over the past two agonizing weeks. Every morning when I wake, my empty fridge and bare kitchen cabinets mock me, reminding me of what I have to give up for failing to be excellent. My punishment.
Rehearsals are a disaster, and I know Nik notices, even if he doesn’t say anything. So I up my green tea intake and add energy drinks into my routine, hoping for some kind of boost. But they only carry me so far.
I try swallowing my pride, I really do. Last Thursday, I even practiced the pas de deux with Gabriel.
But mid-lift, his shoulder gave out, and I crashed to the floor.
The heat of embarrassment burned through me so fiercely, I was shocked the studio didn’t ignite.
He swore it was from an old injury, but in my head I heard Soren’s voice.
It was almost like watching a whale up there.
So I cut back more. An extra half mile in the mornings. Skipped dinners, and just a handful of snacks and drinks to get me through the day.
It’s getting to me. My body is weaker, slower, the edges of exhaustion sharper.
But I love the control more. I can’t erase the disappointment on Nik’s face, or the confusion in Lily’s when I decline lunch, or magically earn my mother’s approval.
But this—this one thing—I can master. And that is enough.
Though there are times when I catch Nik just watching me… and his words from a couple of days ago echo in my head. I trust God with what I can’t control.
They linger beneath my skin like an itch I can’t scratch. I hate the part of me that even wonders what it feels like to do the same.
Theoretically, I can’t justify that there’s someone out there for me—let alone a God. Because if there is, then why am I here? Why am I stuck in this body that will never be perfect and in a life that feels like punishment more than purpose?
Plus, I haven’t even done anything in my life that’d make God want to love me.
If anything, I’m convinced He won’t even want to like me.
I’m plagued with perfectionism, chained to standards I wasn’t sure I can achieve, but stubborn enough to drive myself into the ground trying.
No one—and I mean no one—will want to love someone like that.
As I struggle through bourrées en pointe, glissades, and assemblés, I silently thank anyone who might be listening—even the big Man upstairs—when Nik finally calls for a lunch break.
I started off this morning strong, but with every passing combination, I unraveled.
My legs are heavier and my focus is starting to thin out.
All I can think about is the energy drink waiting in my bag, promising a hollow surge of strength to drag me through the rest of rehearsal.
Nik’s gaze never left me: steady, disappointed, and almost annoyed. Somehow his stare cut deeper than failing my épaulement. Somewhere between rehearsals and those quiet drives home, I realize his approval matters to me more than I want to admit.
Nik claps his hands once, sharp enough to gather everyone’s attention. “I know I just called for lunch, but before you all go, Lily has something she wants to share.”
Almost on cue, Lily strides into the studio, balancing two large cases of cupcakes piled high with pink frosting and sprinkles. A glittering golden headband sits crookedly on her head, declaring in bold letters: birthday girl.
My breath hitches, anxiety bubbling hot and fast in my chest. Without thinking, my fingers move to my wrists, searching for the comfort of my shawl, a sleeve, anything to hide in. But it isn’t there. I’m exposed, and have to swallow it down.
Lily wobbles toward the front of the room, grinning, while Gabriel helps steady one of the cupcake cases in her arms.
“It’s Lily’s birthday,” Nik announces warmly. “Let’s sing and have a small celebration together.”
The room breaks into cheerful voices. I only mouth the words, my throat tight, the sound refusing to come out.
Somehow, that silence stings more than if I stayed quiet on purpose.
Lily deserves more than empty lips on her birthday.
She’s my friend—probably my best friend—and I can’t even give her that.
What kind of friend does that make me? A horrible one, clearly.
When the melody fades, Lily beams, and she, Gabriel, and Dillon begin handing out cupcakes.
Frosting swirls, sprinkles glitter, and laughter overflows.
Naturally, I stay near the back, praying for the first time in my life that I’ll vanish into thin air.
Like a groundhog burrowing deep underground, unseen, unreachable. But reality is rarely accommodating.
“Eleanor!” Lily exclaims, her golden headband bobbing as she bounces toward me. “Here, have one.” She holds out a cupcake.
I have no choice. If I don’t accept it, I’ll be letting Lily down. On her birthday, of all days. My hand trembles as I reach out, apprehension flooding my chest like water rising in a glass, filling me to the brim.
“Thank you, Lily. Happy birthday,” I manage, forcing the words through the tightness in my throat.
She nods, still beaming, and skips off to the next person, the picture of joy.
Meanwhile, I’m drowning in a tank of sharks, my flimsy body the only thing between their teeth. I clutch the cupcake between my fingers, indenting the soft cake. I’m exposed and waiting to explode. And worse—the weight of a dozen stares presses in on me, waiting to see if I’ll cave, if I’ll fail.
I stare down at the cake. Everyone else eats and laughs, celebrating, while I wage war with my own mind. I’ve done absolutely nothing to deserve this. But if I don’t eat it, it’d look suspicious. The pressure around me is suffocating.
When I look up from the tiny bomb in my hand, I catch Nik staring at me again. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s remembering the café incident. His stare felt like a test. Would you eat it?
I swallow my pride for the hundredth time and take a bite.
The first taste of sugar makes me want to cry.
I’m never allowed such luxuries without ‘earning’ them—and even then, my successes are never enough to justify a cupcake.
At the end of the day, I’m still a ballerina.
My body is a tool, never mine, and never enough.
By the third bite, Nik looks away, like he didn’t expect me to actually eat it.
But by the fourth and fifth, the panic claws at my chest reminding me who I am and what I have to do.
The feeling surges like a wave, and I bolt out of the studio, ignoring everyone’s stares.
I rush to the bathroom, and slip into a stall, getting rid of the rest of the cupcake.
I sink to my knees, grip the toilet bowl, and gape at my reflection beneath me, disbelief twisting in my chest. I squeeze my eyes shut and stick my finger down my throat far enough to make myself sick. And it works. I heave up the remnants of the cupcake, hating every part of myself.
As the cupcake spills from me, a gentle hand settles on my lower back, another brushing stray strands of hair from my forehead.
“Shhh, it’s okay. You’re okay,” Nik murmurs softly beside me.
I don’t think I can feel more embarrassment and shame if I try. The fact that Nik is here watching me purge by my own hand makes me feel impossibly small.
He keeps rubbing slow circles on my back, brushing the fallen pieces of hair from my face with careful tenderness. I don’t deserve his gentleness, his patience, his… anything.
Once my body finishes rejecting the cupcake, panic flares. I need an excuse. “I— ” I start, pressing my back to the stall wall. “I’m sorry… I’m just not feeling well,” I spit out a panicked fabrication, hoping he believes me.
Nik’s eyes bore into mine. He shakes his head, his voice firm but calm. “Don’t you dare lie to me, Eleanor.”
“What?” I stammer. “What do you mean? I’m not—”
“You’re a bad liar,” Nik interrupts, standing with an outstretched hand.
I take it reluctantly.
When we step out of the stall, Nik rubs his hands down his face, his back to me. My mind races. He can’t tell Kasper. I’ll be out of the company faster than I can say no.
“You’re not going to tell Kasper… are you?” I ask, my voice small.
Nik spins around, disbelief etched across his face. “Is that seriously what you’re worried about right now?”
I shrug, nodding mutely. Not confident enough to speak aloud.
As if being caught wasn’t nightmare enough.
He crosses his arms, fixing me with a dubious gaze. “I don’t understand you.” He steps closer. “I’m sending you home for the rest of the day.”
Panic courses through my veins. “What? No—please— ”
“No,” Nik states bluntly. “You’re going home. Lily’s mother is here. I’ll ask her to drop you off.”
I gasp for mercy, but he shuts me down with a single look.
“Nothing you could say right now will change my mind, Eleanor. Go home.”
Then he spins on his heel and leaves me frozen in the bathroom. My blood runs cold, thick with shame and panic. What just happened?
When I exit the bathroom, a group of girls are huddled off to the side, whispering to one another. Deep in my bones, I know they’re talking about me. Every stolen glance in my direction and down the hallway where Nik’s disappeared confirms it.
My stomach drops. It’s like the Soren situation all over again.
My coach has just been seen leaving the girls’ bathroom, and I came out right behind him.
What did I just do?
I round the corner to the dressing rooms to gather my bag and see Lily and her mother talking. Both perk up when they hear my footsteps.
A quiet shadow passes over Lily’s face. “Hey, Nik said you weren’t feeling well and that you were going home?” she asks tentatively.
I dip my head. “Yeah… hopefully it’s not a stomach bug.” I try to laugh, though it rings hollow.
Her smile is sympathetic, and she steps in for a hug. “I’m sorry. Feel better, okay?”
I return the hug, startled by how fiercely I don’t want to let go. “Thank you. Happy birthday.”