Page 15 of The Bloke

“I—umm…” I couldn’t breathe. I felt like all the air had been squeezed out of my lungs. What the hell do I say? “My mother. She was a prestigious ballet dancer when she was my age and wanted the same for me—she graduated with honors from Aurelia. I wanted to follow in her footsteps. Aspire to dance in her footsteps.” A half-truth. I didn’t give two shits about her previous dance career.

“A yes… Evaline Carter. She was a magnificent dancer.” Arietta paused. “I don’t know how to say this so I will be blunt. At this time, we do not have a slot available for you at our school.”

“But I—” I felt as though my leotard was tightening against my skin, suffocating me and squeezing the life out of me as she continued, not even pausing as I attempted to cut her off.

“You are more than welcome to audition a fourth time next year, but if I may be honest with you,Sienna.” Dropping the formalities, I see… “Perhaps this isn’t the right path for you. While you are a wonderful dancer—there is no denying that—you aren’t exactly what Aurelia is searching—”

Click.

I ended the call just as abruptly as she’d ended my life.

I didn’t need to hear the end of her speech; I didn’t want to.

I was done.

Chapter 7

Sienna

FIVE YEARS LATER.

“Good morning, ladies; let’s begin with two red springs and your leg circles,” I called out as I lay down on one of the empty Pilates reformers and slid my feet into the straps to join the class warm-up.

It had been five years since I dropped everything… leaving my entire life back in New York and escaping to Las Vegas. A lot can happen in five years, and it has.

The first year was rough. I managed to move all of what was left of my bank account into a new one that my parents couldn’t touch. I packed a small bag and bought a one-way ticket for the next flight out to Vegas.

When I arrived here, the first thing I did was search for a cheap place to stay. There weren’t many options, but I founda small, affordable apartment just west of the Strip. By my estimation, I had enough in my account to last me at least six months before I would have to crawl back to my parents, begging for forgiveness that I knew they wouldn’t give.

I left everything behind—my parents, Lily, and the old me.

When I stepped off that plane, I told myself I would not be the Sienna Carter of New York. I would be a new me, rebranded into the image I had always dreamed of being. Who I was deep down, and the new me didn’t give a fuck about anyone but herself.

Within the first two weeks here, I snagged a waitressing job at a small bar near my apartment complex. I made a couple of friends there, and after working tireless hours and saving every penny I made, I started my dream job.

After two years of saving, I had enough for a down payment on a small space where I could own and operate a Pilates studio.

The studio was big enough to hold twelve reformers, with a small private dance room around the corner—my sanctuary after a long day. I still danced, but no longer ballet; I was more of a freestyle dancer now, and it was just for fun, to scratch the itch. I had no intention of dancing professionally ever again.

“Five more, and switch direction,” I instructed, drawing my legs down together, then moving them out into a straddle before meeting them at the top and repeating the movement.

I’ve been running this studio for just under three years and have built a pretty decent client base over that time. The friends I made while waitressing made a big difference. One of them, a bartender, was one of my first customers, and she still stops in frequently when she isn’t busy working or stuck in classes at LVU.

“Continue with your frogs.”

I wouldn’t say my life was complete; it was far from it, but the life I started building here was more than anything I could have dreamed of having. It was fun to move to a new city where noone knows who the fuck you are, and you could be whoever you want.

I am happy to say that I am no longer the people-pleaser I left back in New York—and never will be.

The bell on the front door dinged, and I removed the reformer straps from my feet, replaced them on the pegs, and sprinted to the front of the studio.

“Switch to Peter Pans,” I called out as I approached the front desk and saw—said friend—standing there with a grin on her face.

“Chyler!” I beamed, stepping around the desk and wrapping my arms around her in a tight hug. “Good to see you, girl.”

“Got a spare spot this morning?” She asked, returning the hug.

“For you? Always. Come on in.” I gestured to the open reformer and stood at the front of the room. “Grip the handles behind the shoulder rests and start moving into your towers.” I continued with instructing the class. “The harder you pull, the higher you can go, then release your spine, one vertebra at a time, keeping your legs straight as you move them down, then bend them into a tabletop position and repeat.”

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