Page 154 of The Breaking Pointe
to leave,” he says, sounding dedicated—promising even. “Juststay.Bequiet,”Itellhim,shuttingmyeyesand
focusing on the sound of the water hitting the cement and pebble design below us.
He hums inacknowledgment before silencinghimself.
He’s becoming too wondrous of what I’m feeling. This is what I wanted to avoid.From the beginning, I knew that ifI allowed myself, I could fall into the trap that is love.He makes love feel real, but what if it’s a hoax?Why does he care when he could have a normal life? He could leave me behind and have anything he wants, with trauma and complications sold separately.
Just because I saved him, doesn’t make it okay for him to save me. I can do it all myself. I have with everything else.
Because,ultimately,beingaloneisbetter.
39
new year, old me
NOELLE
My arm extends out, feeling the space beside me and finding nothing.I don’t even want to open my eyes to look at the proof that he left me here in bed. I didn’t realize how much of an early bird he is when he’s not grieving or feeling distraught. Painfully, I open my eyes to a squint, enough to see the digital clock on the dresser beside the bed.
9:22
I groan the second that my brain processes the time, then push myself up from the bed to study my surroundings as if it’s my first time in his bedroom.Everything is neat and tidy,anditalwayssmellslikehim.Everywhere.Iwish I didn’t have to leave it.Ballet is always my number one. Before any man, or any friend, and before any other priority comes dancing. That’s something that has never changed since I was a little girl, yet the feeling is vastly different this morning.
My mind has changed. Everything about how I see ballet seems so far from my reach. My insides are trembling at the thought of going to rehearse.Being that it’s New Year’s Day, I’m even more opposed. I don’t feel brand new, nor do I feel like I get to start all over. In fact, each of my limbs feels like it might fizzle and burst violently as soon as I show myself to the public eye.
Last night, Colton made everything feel like a dream— the way he always does. Before I could realize it, he altered my shitty day from a cold, nasty black cloud with bad news, into delicious homemade pot roast, an outdoor heater, and watching the ball drop on the patio together. In all the time I’ve spent here in the city, that was the closest I had ever felttotheballdrop.It’sjustaslargeandsparklyasitis on TV as it is from afar.He was unfazed, but I, of course, was mesmerized. When I’m with him, there’s no such thing as wrong or not good enough. He’s motivated to make me smile, and when he does, it gives him a high. I can tell.
I should be happy, but I’m not. What if I’m a bad person for being ungrateful?
Wouldthisbeconsideredungrateful?
Moving the blankets, I get out of the bed and search for my slippers with my feet while rubbing my eyes and embarking on my small excursion to the art room.It’s possible he’s not in there at all—but I know him.
He’s been waiting for the new year since Trey forced him into a break. It’s a quiet, peaceful morning, and it’s his last day before getting back into training for the new season. If he’s going to do anything, it’s gonna be spending time on being creative while he still has a chance. Not like he isn’t constantly doing that, anyway.Icouldn’t channel the same
artsy ideas as him even if my life depended on it. In another life, he is an architect, and I’m sure of that.
Pushing the door open, softly, I step into the art room and see Colton’s bare back facing me as he hunches over his pottery wheel, wiping his forehead with his forearm and advertising his muddy, clay-ridden hands. My feet insist on staying in place so that I can watch him be himself for a little longer, without knowing I’m here. He’s in his most natural state, in his best element, and all the tension that he tends to carry around with him rolls off of his shoulders and gives him a break. When it’s him in this room, nothing can stand in his way. Demons don’t exist. Only he does.
That’s how putting on a pointe shoe feels to me.I know he knows that because he gifted them to me.We both know what makes each other feel the most authentic, but better than that—we both adore the authentic versions of ourselves.
I think we’re the first ones to do that for each other, and that’s beautiful.
Still pondering those thoughts, I take them with me while walking toward him and resting my hands on his shoulders. He freezes up and peeks over one shoulder, examines my fingers, then looks up at me, flashing a grin that holds a boyish charm to it.
“Don’t stop for me,” I tell him, placing a hand over his head and noticing the dampness, his freshly lined up facial hair.
“Why not?Now that you’re here, I wanna pay attention to you,” he says, kissing my hand. “Happy New Year, love of my life,” he adds, kissing it in different places now. “How do you feel? I thought you might sleep in longer.”
“I’m better,” I say, looking at the pottery wheel, as I lie, aimlessly. “I can’t believe it’s a new year already…”
His eyes tell me they know that deep down, I have a laundry list of things I want to say, but zero confidence to say them all.“C’mere,” he says, patting his lap as he swings his bottom half around for me to sit.
Taking his offer, I sit on his lap, disregarding any clay in the midst for the sake of being closer to him.He rests his hands away from me and brushes his cheek against my arm. “Talk to me.You have more to say, and it’s written all over
your face.Something is off.”He calls me out.
Sighing, I shove some hair behind my ears and bring my hands together on my lap.“I wish I didn’t have to go to rehearsal.It makes me feel guilty that I feel that way,” I confess.
