Chapter 9
Nine
Denise
Ever since I arrived at Kingswell at the beginning of the semester, I’ve avoided the campus dance studio. Which has felt strange because studios used to be my sanctuary.
My safe space.
It’s where I went when everything I was feeling was too much and the only way I knew how to deal with it was by getting lost in the movements of ballet.
I tried to avoid the nagging in my brain that practically begged me to come here, but then I got a call from my mother, basically guilt tripping me into going to her and Brian’s house for dinner tonight.
Instead of telling her I didn’t want to pretend to play house with her and Brian, I fought with her.
I’m happy for her and Brian. I just…I don’t want to be disappointed if their relationship ends too. Sure, both of my parents are still around. I have a stepdad who actively tries to be in my life but good things tend to be followed by something bad happening.
Amiyah being born made my parents realize they simply just existed around each other. They were roommates more than anything.
Their divorce pushed me toward dancing, needing an escape from the reality of having two homes now.
Then after years of feeling I had it together, I no longer have ballet.
I know I’m fortunate enough to still have both of my parents around after their divorce.
I understand that they were able to put me through ballet.
I see how good Brian is to my mom and sister. Even me. I get how lucky I am.
But I’m not a good person to be around. Not anymore.
I don’t want to be angry all the time. I just don’t know how to explain to people that ideally my life is perfect. I shouldn’t have anything to complain about but I’d give up my car. My clothes. My apartment. Just to be able to dance. Just to feel alive again.
The music from the French horns and clarinets reverberates off the walls. I feel it pulse against my skin, vibrating underneath my pointe shoes.
My body aches to complete the familiar movements of “Waltz of the Flowers” but my hip is on fire. I try to push through the reminder of the life I lost. I don’t want it to have any more power over me than it already has.
Most days I don’t even seem to bring myself to look in the mirror because as the months go by, the further away I get from that bright-eyed girl full of stupid hope and ambition.
Everything I have ever wanted finally neared the palm of my hand but deciding to push through an injury caused all of that to vanish into thin air. My own stubbornness caused me to lose my first love.
Ballet.
I just don’t know why I can’t seem to let it go.
My entire body screams in retaliation as I set my body up for a grand allegro, thinking maybe it was all in my head. The injury. The surgery. The pain.
Grand Jeté. Grand Jeté En Tournant. Jeté Alonce.
All moves I perfected and could do in my sleep, once upon a time. Front leg high, hands flicked up to create the illusion of a higher leap.
I feel like I’m a little kid again, head full of dreams and heart not so heavy. I feel more real than I have in months instead of like I’m floating outside of my body, just going through the motions of life. I exist again.
But the moment is ripped away from me because I don’t know how to quit while I’m ahead. I never have.
I fall out of my leap. My hip locks, causing me to trip and hit the maple floor with a thud.
I don’t cry. Not at first.
I pound the side of my fist against the floor as I grit my teeth, burying my face into the crook of my arm, and scream. The noise echoes in the room and I’m sure other people in the building can hear me but I don’t give a shit.
The ache runs deep, settling in the joint. I roll onto my back, gripping at my hip and begging for the burning pain to stop.
The aching in my chest to go away.
But it doesn’t and I finally allow myself to cry.
◆◆◆
By the time I finally force myself out of my car and into my apartment complex, I’m utterly exhausted. My body feels too heavy to carry, and I’m thinking I should’ve left my gym bag in the car instead of trying to lug it up to my apartment.
I’m even considering to just drop the bag on the steps leading up to the apartment complex and hope it’s still here in the morning. I decide against it after punching in the code to the lobby door and pushing my shoulder against the glass.
I sigh when the air conditioning hits my slick skin, shoulders sagging as my sneakers slap against the marble flooring. I give a half-assed wave to Peter, the front desk guy.
He waves back. “Long night?”
“You can say that.”
I give him a fist bump as I walk by but he quickly calls out to me. “Hate to be the one to break the news but the elevators are down.”
My steps come to a halt and I turn slowly to face Peter. His blond hair is neatly slicked back but his white button-down is slightly wrinkled and his badge is crooked.
He’s not much older than me but he likes to pretend he’s wise beyond his years. Sometimes I entertain him. Other times I call him out on the bullshit that likes to come out of his mouth because I’m pretty sure half the life lessons he tries to teach came from his drug dealer or something.
Or is he the drug dealer?
I forgot.
Peter chuckles, not bothered by my sharpened gaze pointed in his direction. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger.”
How the hell are both elevators in this godforsaken building out of order? I pay good money to be here. Okay, technically Brian does but I’m still going to complain about this to the owner tomorrow. Right now, however, I just want to take a hot bath and climb into bed.
I sigh. “You’re lucky I like you.”
“You only like me because I put up with your shit,” he counters.
“Exactly,” I agree. “Why else would I keep your little secret?”
I pretend as if I’m smoking a cigarette, earning me a middle finger. We both laugh, knowing the landlord’s strict no-smoking policy—the one that Peter seems to think is optional. I guess that’s the least concerning thing he could do on the property.
“Night, Pete.” I throw my head back, groaning just at the thought of my journey up seven flights of stairs.
He chuckles, going back to whatever he was watching on his phone. “Night, Denise.”
I begrudgingly pass the elevators and move toward the door that leads to the staircase. The air is colder here, lighting darker and the shuffle of my feet echoes up the concrete stairs and walls. My grip against the railing tightens before I even take a step up.
Maybe I should just set up camp and sleep in the stairwell.
My foot hovers in the air, wincing at the weight on my hip but I repeat the motion, slower than it usually takes me but I do successfully make it up two flights of stairs before having to come to a complete stop and grit my teeth for a second.
The heavy door below me opens and shuts. Footsteps moving at a much faster pace than mine echo. I straighten my back and quickly pull out my phone, planning to purposely stand in the middle of the stairwell because something on my phone was far too important to wait.
“Denise?” I turn around and look up from my phone to see Lucas standing at the bottom of the set of stairs, his head tilted and brows furrowed. “You okay?”
He walks up the steps, eyes scanning over my body, probably looking for a reason as to why I’m standing like an idiot in a stairwell.
So far, I’ve done a pretty good job at not running into Lucas despite us living in the same building, but that luck was meant to run out at some point, I guess. I just would’ve preferred if it was during a moment where I wasn’t fighting for my life to make it up five more flights of stairs.
“Yup,” I exaggerate the word, head nodding frantically. “All good. My bag is just kind of heavy, so you know I’m just pacing myself.”
“Oh.” He steps closer. “Need some help?”
Before I can decline, Lucas is already reaching for my bag. Our hands brush, the calluses on his fingers sending tingles across my palm.
“Why ask if you’re just going to do it anyway?” I roll my eyes as he hooks my bag strap onto his shoulder.
He grins. “Because I forgot who I was talking to for a second. If I give you a chance to say yes or no, you’ll most likely choose no.”
“I mean…” I shrug. “You’re not wrong.”
“Trust me. I know.”
He starts to continue his climb up the stairs and I force my body to do the same without sucking in a breath when I put a little too much pressure on my bad side.
I think I’m doing a pretty good job at faking it until I make it but after two more flights of stairs, Lucas’s pace slows down when he realizes I’m a little further behind him.
He looks over his shoulder, steps faltering. “You sure it’s just the bag that’s bothering you?”
I scoff. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh come on, Denise.” Lucas sighs, turning and stepping down so now he’s standing right above me, my eyes in direct line of sight with his abdomen. I force myself to look up at his face.
Lucas continues. “I like to think I know when a fellow athlete is struggling.”
“I’m not an athlete.” The words spill out faster than I intend.
He tilts his head to the side, eyes studying me like he’ll find the answer to why that’s the part of what he said that I’m stuck on. His features soften, making me feel sick to my stomach. I don’t need pity. I just need to get up these fucking stairs and into my bed.
“You used to be.”
My breath hitches and it’s now too hot to be wearing a jacket, despite how thin the fabric is. I don’t take it off, though. I play with the zipper instead, my eyes not meeting Lucas’s, focusing on his sneakers. “How would you know?”
He lifts my chin up with his fingers and I don’t fight him. I don’t know why but I don’t. “I heard Amiyah mention it a few times. Ballet, right? She said you were amazing.”
Was amazing.
Did have a future ahead of me.
“Yeah well, I don’t anymore.” I pull away and step to the side, gripping on the opposite railing and walking past Lucas, more determined to ignore the now annoying ache of my hip.