I let go, and do what I have been training for during the past six months. My body knows exactly what to do as I work the floor. The comforting sounds of my ripped satin pointes gliding across the stage, and the thuds of my boxes only add to the peace I feel when I am on this stage. I know I don't have to concentrate on my turnouts and port a bras, my body does it for me.
One haunting beat after another, I feel it pouring out of me: the pain, the darkness, the weakness; it's all there on the smooth black floor beneath my feet. My spots hit hard and sharp, and I know my lines are perfection when I feel the pinching in my back. My ankles are warm and loose when I move into my fouettè combination during the peak of the music. When I flow out of it, naturally leading with my heel to further push my turnout, I progress through the piece. The return of the staccato brushes of the violin pushes the music to its drop into silence.
The spotlight thumps off, and I can finally see the panel of instructors as they are taking notes. There are nine of them. I've been with them for the past four years, dancing in their classes and learning from them.
None of them look at me, and when I hear the voice of Sergej through the speakers announcing the next dancer, I walk off the stage and hope it isn't the last time I will grace it alone.
My heart races the whole drive back to Ryan's. I can't get out of the car fast enough when I pull into his driveway. I run up the stairs and burst through the door, throwing my bag on the wooden floor. When I see Ryan walking down the hall from his office, I run like a child and jump into his arms, wrapping my legs around his waist.
"I take it you kicked ass?" he asks through his laughs.
I can't wipe the cheesy smile off my face. "I totally kicked ass. It was amazing!"
My legs are strong around his waist when he takes his hands off of my hips, places them on my cheeks, and kisses me. I slam my mouth onto his as he pushes me up against the hallway wall, but we don't stay connected for long because I cannot stop talking and laughing, telling him each detail when I know he has no clue what the hell I'm saying, but I don't care and I know he doesn't either. He just watches me in my excitement with his beautiful smile.
He never moves me from the wall, and I keep my lock around his waist as he lets me ramble on.
"I'm so proud of you, babe. I wish I could have seen you," he says when I finally stop talking.
"I know. I'm sorry. Auditions are always closed," I say as I run my fingers through his hair.
"When will you find out?"
"March first."
"Next week?"
"Yeah, Friday."
Pulling his head in, I kiss him again, and he begins to mumble over my lips that don't want to stop. "I've got news too."
Still not willing to break my lips from his, I mutter, "What's that?"
"Thinkspace Gallery called."
I snap my head back as a new wave of excitement begins to flow through me. "And...?"
"They accepted your photo."
"Your photo?!"
"No, your photo, babe," he says softly and he rests his head against mine.
I smile at his words. I can't help myself. He knows how tense I was when he took that picture that he refuses to take credit for it.
"Congratulations," I say when he changes our pace and slowly presses tighter against me, tenderly pressing his lips over mine. I rake my fingers through his hair, and I am overcome with happiness. Happy about having a great audition, happy that Ryan's photograph will be displayed in an art gallery, and happy that I am sharing this moment with him. Everything about Ryan floods my being, and I want no one else.
He pulls back and looks into my eyes and when he does, I see it all. I see it clearly; he loves me, and I know I'm safe.
"What is it, babe?"
Brushing my hand down the side of his face, I give him a part of me that I've been holding tightly to.
"I love you."
I know he's been waiting a long time for me to get here, but I know it's okay when I look into his clear eyes and see the lines appear at the corners when his smile grows.
"You'll never know what those words just did to me," he says and he carries me over to the couch, where we proceed to make out like a couple of kids. This might not be typical for anyone else our age, but it's us, and I love us.
I'm not sure where I am when I wake up. I try to sit up, but I'm paralyzed. Looking up, I see the dark sky filled with tiny sparkling specks of stars.
"Ryan?"
There's no answer in the stillness. When I roll my head to the side, I see a rust covered wheel and lock. It's familiar. I inhale the damp summer air.
Wait. It's supposed to be winter.
"Ryan?"
Where is he?
I focus my attention back on the rust, and when I finally realize why it looks so familiar, I jerk my head back to the stars, but they're gone, and my heart stops.
His taunting laughs fill the silent night as his devilish eyes peer into mine.
"Ryan!"
Leaning in, his hot breath on my face, his voice a quiet firm growl, "Shut the f**k up."
He strikes my cheek with the back of his knuckles, and my face burns when the tears begin to prick out. Trying with everything I have in me, I can't move. I'm frozen on the rough concrete as he stares down at me—laughing. He starts to unbutton his pants, and I begin to lose control and shriek for Ryan, but no one is here to help me. My heart is pounding in my chest so hard my ribs ache. The terror singes through my veins, and I scream, "Please, not again."