Page 70 of Pages of Amber

The tears gathered in her eyes, blurring the room around her. She spun, out of rhythm with the music that was swallowed up by the taunts, the doubts, the fears in her mind. She raised her hands and went for an assemblé, gasping in pain when her balance shifted and she landed hard. She stumbled again, almost slipping on the floors. The tears made it hard to see. Lifting her chin, she imagined her mother seated in the chair by the corner, watching her every move. Fear coursed through her. Sweat beaded her forehead. Tears blinded her.

A strangled sob left her as she started to spin. One miserable dégagé turn after the other. It was inevitable that she would return to the one thing that had been a priority all her life because her mother said so. The one thing that had dictated everything about her. The one thing that made her bow to her mother, to the cutting words, the grueling pain without saying a word in protest. She was back to the very root of her ruin. Ballet.

The irony wasn’t easily lost on her. What ballet didn’t end in some tragedy? Unfortunately for Amber, she was the lost soul in this dance. Her hair whipped against her face as she spun from one end of the room to another, every part of her on fire. The aging was almost too much to bear, only overshadowed by the hurt in her chest. One more, she coached herself. It never happened.

Her feet fell out from beneath her as she slipped, unable to save herself. In a second, she was on her feet. The next, she slammed hard into the ground, a silent scream leaving her patched throat as her injured ankle bounced against the floor. This was what she had been asking for, wasn’t it? More pain and hurt. The vicious cycle she had never escaped.

Curling in on herself, she peered down through the tears that dripped out of her eyes and into her hair. The sight she met made the tears flow harder. Crimson red contrasted against pale pink. The mark of life staining the symbol of her gift. It dotted across the room where her feet had been, trailing after her as she struggled to dance. Her chest tightened, the urge to call for help lodged in her throat.

But would anyone want to save her? When she had failed to save herself?

A faint echo rang in her eyes. Someone was calling for her. The sound came again, as if from far away. Amber felt as though she’d been dunked underwater, the current rushing past her ears and blinding her. Her bones felt heavy, her head swam and pain throbbed up both feet.

“Amber?”

The voice was closer and so familiar. Amber opened her eyes. She blinked when she saw nothing. Another blink, slow and lethargic, before realizing the room was pitch dark. The air seemed to press in on her at the realization. The darkness she had been lost to moments ago now frightened her. A cry left her throat, low and pained. By some grace she would never understand, it was heard. The door pushed open, light from the corridor spilling in behind two figures, momentarily stinging her eyes.

“Oh my god, Amber!”

“We’ve been looking everywhere for you.” A gasp rent the air. “Dottie, she’s bleeding. We need a first aid kit.”

“Bathroom in the hall. The top cabinet.” Footsteps rushed back through the hallway. The whisper of clothes dragging against the floor turned her head. “Hold still, dear. We’ll get you upstairs.”

We? Dottie moved her hands underneath her shoulder, pushing her up. Her head forward, her vision swimming. She felt sick but knew her stomach was empty. Another touch at her shoulder jolted her. The silhouette moved beside her, raising Amber’s arm onto her shoulders. The light from the hallway fell onto her face and Amber’s eyes prickled at the familiar face that stared at her in concern. Evelyn.

They supported her, their arms around her as they made their way to her room. Amber fell limp in their arms, aching all over. Evelyn’s grip tightened on her arm as they crossed the threshold into the mess of her room, her feet barely sweeping the floor. Dottie directed them to the bathroom where they sat her on the toilet lid with Evelyn standing at her side. Dottie rushed over to the tub and began to fill it as Evelyn bent to untie her pointes.

A pained hiss left her when Evelyn touched her ankle. “Sorry,” her friend’s voice was soft and sympathetic. Her hands skirted around her ribbons and Amber bit her lip. It throbbed even more than her toes did. Evelyn didn’t need to apologize. She had done this to herself. No doubt she had stupidly set back her recovery. Tiny pinpricks stung the back of her eyes and she hung her head.

A collective gasp left them as Evelyn peeled off her pointes. She had forgotten to add any protective layer on her feet. Her toes were mangled, with open blisters and blood everywhere.

A sob caught in her throat at her recklessness. Her mother was right. She had been right about all of it. Amber was thoughtless, she was undeserving, she was selfish. How could anyone love the disaster that was her? How could she have expected such a thing from her mother who had always seen her for the mistake she was?

Her cries tore from her, an agonizing sound that echoed in the tiled bathroom with Evelyn and Dottie as her witnesses. A horrible rattling filled her chest and she pressed her hand against it, drawing into herself. Stuck in her head, Amber could barely feel the arms that wrapped around her, Dottie and Evelyn’s grip tight as though trying to hold the pieces of her together. She didn’t see the tears that ran down Dottie’s cheeks. She didn’t hear Evelyn offer comforts in a quivering voice.

She didn’t see Beverly standing at the bathroom door, the first aid kit clutched in her trembling fingers as she watched her best friend who had always been the one to pull others from the darkness, succumb to it instead.

“Here you go.”

The steaming mug of hot chocolate was placed in her hands. Amber held back a sniffle, her hands wrapping around the offering.

“Thank you, Dottie.” Her scratchy voice made her wince.

Dottie patted her hair, a sad smile gracing her face. She tucked Amber further into the blanket and left her to the company of her friends. Her room was silent, Evelyn pacing the floor and Beverly hunched at the study desk, her expression withdrawn.

Amber swallowed thickly, wondering what to say, how to fill the air. She wanted to tell Beverly how glad she was to see her, she wanted to thank Evelyn for coming when she didn’t have the courage to call her friend, she wanted to ask them about so many things. What tumbled from her instead was an apology. “I’m sorry you had to see that. I’m so–”

“Stop,” Beverly interrupted, her voice sharp. “You need to stop doing this, Amber. Stop apologizing for every little thing, even when it makes you miserable. No one is perfect, but you were. All the time.” Her voice broke, her eyes turning down as tears filled them. “I should have realized what it took from you to be like that. I’ve been a terrible friend.”

Another apology sprang to her mind and Amber pursed her lips to keep it in.

Beverly’s teary gaze fell on hers knowingly. She sighed in exasperation. “You’re about to apologize again, aren’t you?”

She couldn’t deny it. Amber sniffled, her palms slick against the mug’s heat. “But it’s because you really deserve this one,” she started. “Beverly, I am unbelievably sorry for everything. I shouldn’t have made you out to be the bad guy. I shouldn’t have accused you. I shouldn’t have pushed you away. I keep saying you’re my best friend but at the first sign of doubt, I treated you like a traitor. I’m so sorry for doing that to you. I completely understand if you hate me. I understand if you want nothing to do with me anymore.”

Beverly scoffed amidst the tears streaming down her cheeks. “Of course I don’t want that. I’m here, right?”

Evelyn finally spoke up from across the room. “What Beverly means to say is, we’re here because we were worried about you. I bumped into her in school and asked if she’d had any luck contacting you, but when she said none of her messages and calls had gone through either, we decided to come over today. We got talking on the drive and found out it was all a huge misunderstanding.”

---