Pointe of Breaking (20 page)

No one moved. No one blinked. No one breathed. Tears formed, blurred and fell from my eyes without any coaxing from my lids. A quiet sob from someone behind me echoed in the distance.

Adeline had just collapsed over Ivan’s body, clinging to him. She shook uncontrollably as she let out a hoarse battle cry in the deafening silence of the great hall. A cry of mourning. Of loss. Of heartbreak. Of everything that had no words in the world we lived in.

That cry—that guttural anguish she uttered had everyone’s hairs on the back of their necks standing in pure, dreadful anticipation.

Her cry was an admission.

It was a screaming admission of everything I’d been lying to myself about over the past several weeks. Adeline wasn’t dancing with Ivan up there. I didn’t even see Ivan. All I saw was her and our love.

Love!

I loved Adeline Parker. I’d been telling myself that what I felt for her wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. I swore I wasn’t falling for her after I watched her climb into that cab with Blake. Because no one could fall that hard in such a short time. Watching her body crumpled and wracked with sobs as the dancers eyed each other nervously, pummeled all the lies I’d been screaming at my heart.

This was why Ivan wanted me here. He wanted me to see this. He wanted me to see all of it.

Coming here tonight was a mistake. I couldn’t take this. I couldn’t watch her perform like this and not want to run up there, pull her into my arms, and kiss all the pain away. Pain that I had caused. I wanted to scream at her from the audience and tell her I loved her…that I was sorry. But this wasn’t about me.

It was about her.

A trumpet sounded and the dancers nervously moved towards Adeline’s languid frame. They pried her clinging fingertips off of Ivan’s still body. She held her head down low, casting a curtain of chestnut hair over her face, hiding her emotions, covering her expression.

The dancers turned her to face the audience and the lights on the stage went to black while the trumpet continued it’s sorrowful tune. A warm, yellow light suddenly shone behind her, illuminating her beautiful silhouette. The dancers fluttered gracefully away, carrying Ivan’s body with them into the darkness.

Adeline’s head remained downcast, but as the music shifted, she lifted her chin to the audience, her chest shuddering with the aftershock of her breakdown. Fuzzy strands of hair clung to her wet cheeks as tears continued streaming down her newly determined face.

She was alone. Alone on the stage and the audience clung to every flicker of movement she gave us. Finally, after exhaling a shaky breath, her body began to stir again. Her motions were delicate and controlled, but her face was raw and overcome.

She kissed her hand and held it to her heart, slowly pulling it up to her eyes where she wiped her tears away and offered them up to the heavens as a gift. Both hands alternated wiping and offering as a choreographed thank you for their service.

Her tears were the survivors. Her pain was their tribute.

She shied away from nothing. Every emotion that came to her, she gifted to the audience. She moved as if she would never be able to dance again.

Where everyone in the audience was seeing all of her movements as this impossibly beautiful emotion, I only saw heartbreak.

All of a sudden, a quartet of male danseurs appeared into the light, and she free fell backwards into their arms. They lifted her up and carried her on her back to the front of the stage, where they set her down gracefully. She knelt and motioned to the ground with another painful look of mourning.

A gravesite.

She kissed the floor and laid her cheek alongside it, smiling and happy. The music finished and the lights faded to black. I could see the shadow of her body trembling in the darkness as she continued to weep. The audience erupted into applause.

Everyone around me stood. My legs trembled as adrenaline surged through me. I couldn’t watch her crumpled on the floor a second longer. If I didn’t leave right this minute, I was going to rush the stage alone with the dozens of photographers. I had to get out of here.

I made my way out of my row as quickly as possible, jostling several distraught patrons. I paused in the aisle, willing myself to turn around and leave and not rush up onto the stage. Clenching my fists, I turned and jogged toward the exit. I needed space. I needed air. But more than anything, I just needed to give her this moment.

As I reached the exit, I looked back one last time. The lights on stage came back on and Adeline crawled her way back onto her feet—a look of stunned disbelief on her face as the entire audience rose into a standing ovation.

A moment of pride swelled in my chest at the deafening cheers. Adeline smiled and cried into her hands at the audience’s display of appreciation. In that incredibly special moment, she couldn’t see me. But I could see her.

I could see all of her.

Love grieved. It had many forms, not all of them beautiful in the traditional sense of the word, but moving nevertheless. I prayed the people in the audience understood the way everyone showed it in our performance tonight. Whether it was through the grace a widow carried as she said goodbye in a graveyard; showing that a soldier was not less of a man because of his valiant sacrifice; even the hope a family carried, waiting for a prisoner of war to be returned to them; a gentle touch that showed strength when no one could protect our loved ones from the horror of tragedy.

That hopelessness was a battle each and every one of us faced at some point. In war. In love. In life. To know what love truly meant was to know what life felt like in its absence.

My chest heaved when the lights lit up the auditorium. What I saw was so humbling and unexpected that my legs nearly gave out. I hoped to move them. The finished result of their appreciation moved
me.
The entire audience jumped onto their feet, clapping wildly. Their cheers drowned out all self-doubt that I had harbored in myself for years.

My lip quivered. I touched my hand to my heart. I closed my eyes and just memorized their cheers, so I didn’t see Ivan come up behind me, but I felt his presence. I spun around and leapt into his arms. He held me like I would break if he stopped.

“They love you, Addy girl.”

“It still hurts,” I said, hoping that he understood the deeper meaning behind my words for his grip tightened.

“I know,” he whispered in my ear and kissed my cheek. He set me down and pulled me away from him. “Do me a favor and just live in this moment. It’s okay to be happy.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He simply gave me a peck on the tip of my nose and kept his hand on mine. That I had someone in my life I could count on was immeasurable.

***

After showering and removing the layers of makeup, I slipped on a hoodie and a pair of black yoga pants. My hair was still very much wet from my shower when I slipped out of Focal Pointe’s back door. Ivan, Mr. Scott, and the producers were still being mauled by reporters and journalists. Their questions were unrelenting.

I had had enough attention from the press; I didn’t need to seek it out. Pulling my hoodie over my head, I kept my gaze down and decided to walk home since the night was still in its infancy. Walking the streets at night helped clear my head. The city of New York was beautiful at night. A city that had survived so much—a nation that endured more than most could have imagined—was a sight to behold.

Even though the resounding cheers still echoed in my mind, I didn’t know how many more times I could just put it all out there. I didn’t know how many more stances I could endure, playing out my heartbreak. I didn’t know how many more times I could convince myself that being on stage was worth everything I’d given up. I was at a crossroads, caught in the middle of what I used to want and…

I glanced over my shoulder. Was someone following me? No one walking by me appeared suspicious. I tried to shake the feeling, but I hoped it wasn’t that
Rotten Apples
reporter again. I turned back around and walked into a man who was old enough to be my father.

“Excuse me, miss.” He moved past me but then abruptly turned around and called back to me. “Are you Miss Parker? The ballerina?”

“Do I know you, sir?”

He smiled warmly. “I’m just a fan of the arts. My wife and I have been dragging my son to the ballet for years,” he said. “Exemplary performance tonight. You’ll make marketing for Focal Pointe Studio quite easy.”

All night I dreamt of pointe shoes wrapped around my hips. Nails scraping down my back. Tutu scratching my abs. Then hoarse, heartbreaking cries screaming in my ears. Sobs of pleasure echoing off the walls. Moans of agony. Lust radiating through me.

I woke suddenly to the thundering ruckus of my fraternity mates shouting somewhere downstairs. Fuck. Me.

I looked down at my massive erection, pitching a tent fit for an army. Jesus. I sat up trying to shake the sexy, yet sad dream of Adeline dancing for me and me alone. I had to fall for a ballerina.

I rubbed my eyes, attempting to clear myself of the achy fog of sleep. Why did I have to live in a fraternity house? I could have stayed in that dream for much longer. With Adeline that much longer. The painful ache of being sexually frustrated and emotionally distraught was not pleasant. I wanted to finish that dream and turn it into a happy ending.

I looked at the clock and was surprised to see it was eleven already.
Shit. It’s Friday
. I’d missed my only class today. I got up and made my way out of my room, tucking myself up into my waist band so I didn’t put on a damn show for anyone lingering in the hallway.

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, I stared at myself closely for the first time since saying goodbye to Adeline. Marge was right. I did look different. My cheeks were sunken in and my dark eyes seemed lifeless. My shaggy brown hair was in serious need of a trim, and my whiskers were well on their way to becoming a full-blown beard. I slapped my bare stomach and noticed that my abs were more chiseled than I’d ever seen them. Not a bad look, but I knew it was because of all the emotional torment I’d been feeling. After watching Adeline’s performance last night and the past few weeks of heartbreak, I was emotionally spent. My body was showing major signs of frustration.

I honored Ivan’s request. I watched. I didn’t let her see me, but it nearly killed me. Watching my girl pour her fucking heart and soul onto that stage broke my own heart into a million tiny pieces. But it wasn’t about me. If she had laid eyes on me, everything in that beautifully tragic performance would have evaporated. Every clap. Every pat on the back. Every look of adoration. Every flash of the camera. It would have all been lost. She fought like hell for it, and she deserved to experience it on her own. But today, I had a fight of my own.

Because I fucking loved her.

I tossed and turned most of the night, wrapping my brain around the idea of loving someone so quickly, but it was there. It was true. And I had to tell her. Now was the time to make things right.

I showered, shaved, and even fucking moisturized with some expensive face cream that Chase used. I made a mental note to give him shit about that later, but damn if it didn’t make me look a million times better. A knock on the bathroom door interrupted my moisturizing.

“Hey, Leo. Can you open up man? I gotta show you something,” Chase said.

I set down the cream and opened the door. Chase’s eyes instantly zeroed in on the jar.

“What the fuck man? That’s my moisturizer!”

He snatched the jar off the counter like I’d just stolen his skateboard. I rolled my eyes as he mumbled something about how much it cost.

“Have you seen this?” he asked as I tightened the white towel around my waist and looked down onto the bathroom counter where he laid a copy of today’s
New York Times
.

It was a stunning photo of Adeline reaching up to the skies with tears glistening down her face and heartache stricken over her entire stance. I grabbed the paper for a closer look and read the caption below the photo.

Broken Ballerina Prodigy stuns hundreds into silence with the most emotionally moving performance NYC has seen in years. Adeline Parker, former Joffrey Ballet student, brings the audience to tears before bringing them to their feet in a poignant performance depicting survivor tragedies of 9/11. Parker is a principal dancer at the new, modern infusion dance company, Focal Pointe.

My pulsed raced as chills spread over my entire body.
Yes, baby! Fuck yes! This is everything she’s ever worked for.

Tickets for the show are completely sold out and Focal Pointe Dance Company is in the process of adding more show dates into the schedule.

Everything had become urgent at that point. I slammed the paper against Chase’s chest and blew past him into my room to get dressed. I quickly threw on some clothes and slid on my leather jacket as I rushed out the front door. My jacket was just starting to lose the scent of her.

It was time to get that scent back.

Minutes later, I rolled up on my Ducati and parked in front of Adeline’s building just as Ivan stepped out of the entryway with ear buds in.

“Ivan,” I yelled, trying to draw his attention as I pushed the kickstand down and hopped off my bike. Still not hearing me, I jogged over and stopped in front of him. A look of surprise flitted over his face as he pulled his ear buds out.

“Leo, hi,” he said, briefly glancing around.

“Hey…I’m looking for Adeline,” I said, getting straight to the point.

Ivan’s face cringed. “I’m not sure I should—”

“Ivan, I was there. I saw her dance last night. I need to see her.”

He sighed heavily. “Are you sure this is all a good idea? She’s in deep with Blake still, Leo. None of that has gone away.”

He gestured for me to follow him over to the steps so we could move out of the way of a group of teenagers walking by. I glared at them in annoyance as I waited for Ivan to continue.

“I know I came to you yesterday, but I’m just not sure anymore. I hated seeing her like she was last night. She’s…she’s just in so much pain. It’s not just because of the stuff between you two.” He paused and looked at me seriously as I felt my heart plunge to my gut. “She’s lost right now, Leo. She’s lost, and she needs a damn friend. Not a fuck buddy.”

I stepped forward out of breath and so overcome with anxiety that I wanted to grab Ivan by the collar and shake the shit out of him. “I am not
ever
going to be just her fuck buddy. It’s not like that!”

He skeptically raised his eyebrow. “She’s never performed this well her whole life. The papers are all calling her
The Broken Ballerina Prodigy
.”

“I know, I saw.” I rubbed the top of my head in frustration. God damn it, I was going to lose it right now if he didn’t tell me where she was!

“Maybe what you need to give her is space.”

“She’ll perform better with me, Ivan!” I cried, standing mere inches from his face. “If she’s lost, she needs to be found, not given space. Friend or not, I am what she needs. I’ll make her happy.”

My voice cracked at the end and he pressed his lips together, deep in thought, and then finally replied, “But Leo, if you mess with her again. If you even think about—”

“Not a fucking chance,” I said, cutting him off before he finished. “Where is she?”

He paused. “She’s at Focal Pointe clearing her head. The headlines and pressure is making her nervous as fuck.”

In a flash, I was back on my Ducati and racing toward Focal Pointe practice studio. My hope was that it wasn’t the papers that made her nervous. My hope was that I had finally figured out her secret from our first full night together. The secret she whispered against my ear after telling me all the things she wanted from me. My hope was that she still wanted that secret…just as must as I did.