“I know. They’ll keep getting higher, but your experience and resilience will grow alongside them.”
“Growth, not stagnation.”
“Exactly.”
“Thank you, Ms. DuBois.” She shifted her weight again, looking embarrassed. “I’m sorry I keep bothering you after class, but this was really helpful. Truly. I’m glad I’m not alone in feeling those things.”
“Trust me, you’re never alone, and you aren’t bothering me.” I meant it. I’d been in her shoes, and I understood that pressure. “I’m always here if you want to talk, whether it’s about the performance or business aspect of ballet.”
Emma beamed her thanks, her face positively glowing.
After she left, I cleaned up the studio, my mind scattered across a dozen different topics.
We were less than two months away from both the student and staff showcases. I hadn’t joined the latter expecting it to affect my views of the former, but it had.
Sometime between getting my understudy role and my conversation with Emma today, my jealousy toward her star turn in The Nutcracker had gradually faded. Maybe it was because my own rehearsals reminded me of how physically and mentally taxing the lead role could be, or maybe it was because I finally had an outlet for the restlessness that’d plagued me since my accident. Whatever it was, it was liberating to be free from those particular ugly feelings.
It helped that practice had gone smoothly since my hospitalization. I took care of myself the best I could, both at home and at work. Tamara and I also collaborated on a modified rehearsal process that included time limits, frequent breaks, and a more moderate pace. Thankfully, the rest of the staff were fully on board, and I hadn’t had any major flare-ups since the modifications were made.
Looking back, I was embarrassed that I’d pushed myself to the point where I had to go to the hospital. My desire for perfection and the unrealistic standard I held myself to nearly destroyed me. I’d been too reckless with my body, and I—
I froze as the words reverberated through my head.
Too reckless.
My heart twisted.
I’d done such a good job of not thinking about Asher today. Since I woke up that morning, he’d only crossed my mind five times, which was leagues better than the days when he consumed my thoughts entirely from dawn until dusk.
However, the echo of my earlier self-reflection yanked him back to the forefront of my mind—the sight of him standing in the studio doorway, the torment in his voice when I broke up with him, the sound of his footsteps disappearing into the distance.
The memories tugged on the knot in my chest, yanking it tighter.
Too reckless.
I’d accused Asher of being too reckless and endangering himself, but hadn’t I done the same when I refused to listen to my body’s demands? Granted, my situation was less likely to culminate in an immediate, fiery death, but the principle was the same.
Unease filtered through my veins.
Was I being a hypocrite and punishing him for something that I myself was guilty of?
It’s not really the same, a pragmatic voice in my head reasoned. You didn’t make any promises to him regarding dance. You don’t have a history of endangering yourself or others. You pushed yourself too hard, that’s all.
Maybe the situations aren’t the same, but the principle is, another voice countered.
Oh, shut up.
You shut up.
My head pounded from the internal squabble raging inside me. Hearing voices was a bad sign, and hearing them bicker was even worse.
I really needed to call my old therapist again. I’d already been contemplating it after my hospitalization, but the past few weeks had cinched the decision for me. I thought I’d gotten to a good place after years of weekly sessions with her, but obviously, I still had work to do—for both my professional life and personal life.
Two weeks had passed since my breakup with Asher. I thought the bruising ache of his absence would fade, but it only strengthened by the day. I couldn’t turn on the TV or pass by a newsstand without seeing photos of his face plastered everywhere. I couldn’t even walk through my flat without seeing his face or hearing his laugh.
In the short time I’d known him, he’d ingrained himself into my life so thoroughly that I couldn’t imagine living it without him. Trying to do so had been…difficult. And my new concerns about whether I’d unfairly set him up on a pedestal even I couldn’t reach didn’t make it easier.
I finished wiping down the barre and tossed the used wipes into the rubbish bin.
Did it matter if I was being hypocritical? That didn’t change the reality of our situation. It wouldn’t make Asher any less self-destructive or susceptible to danger. Unless he—
“Scarlett.” Carina poked her head into the studio, interrupting my rambling thoughts. Her face was flushed, and her eyes glittered with excitement. “You need to get downstairs right now.”
“Why? Is it the paps again?” They hadn’t caught wind of my breakup with Asher yet, but it was only a matter of time.
Carina shook her head, looking almost awed. “You have to see it for yourself.”
CHAPTER 53SCARLETT
“I saw them on the security cameras,” Carina said breathlessly as we exited the building. “I had to tell you.”
“Saw who…” My question trailed off when we reached the car park.
I stopped.
Inhaled.
