Page 36 of This Is Love
Oh, fuck. She’s losing it. Her chin wobbles as she stammers out, “Y-you don’t trust me anymore, and I don’t know what I did.” Her chest rises and falls with jerking motions as she tries to hold herself back from crying in earnest. More tears slip down her cheeks, but she doesn’t move to wipe them away as she stares at me with heartbroken eyes.
I’m forced to dampen the roof of my mouth as it’s gone bone-dry. I never expected her to be so upset. She’s right. We haven’tbeen ourselves with each other lately, but I truly didn’t think she cared.
The sadness in her eyes has me near breaking down right alongside her. “Haze, this discussion should wait until after auditions. If we start talking things through now, we’ll both be snotty, blotchy-faced messes on stage.” I wince. “I promise we can sort through things later.” Reaching out, I gently brush the tears from her cheek.
She clamps her lips together, squeezing her eyes shut. “I-I guess you’re right,” she whispers. “You promise?”
“Yeah. For sure.” I sniffle because, damn. This uncharacteristic display of upset coming from my friend is getting to me. She’s never like this. It’s always me who is in need of comfort. “I’m really sorry this all came out now.” I’m acutely aware of several other pairs of eyes on me and the whispering that’s commenced.
A moment later, Sarah, one of the teaching assistants, pokes her head in. “Hazel. You’re up, honey.”
I take my friend’s hand and squeeze. “Merde.”
Sucking in a steadying breath, she nods, then throws herself at me, engulfing me in a tight embrace. “Oui. That never gets old.”
“It’s better than ‘break a leg’ like they say in the theater.” I shrug. “You’re gonna crush your tutu.”
“Don’t care,” she murmurs, hugging me harder before pulling back. “I hope your audition goes well, too.” She releases me, spinning away to follow Sarah out to the stage.
Exhaling hard, I shake my head, blinking back tears. Yep, I definitely feel shitty for not knowing how awful I was making my best friend feel. Just the fact that she wished me well rather than the traditionalmerdetells me a lot about where our friendship stands. I take several deep breaths, finally going back to my warm-up.
Fifteen minutes later,I take my position, center stage, trying to breathe past the knot of nerves in my stomach. There’s nothing much that’s going to help, unfortunately. It’s simply preperformance anxiety. I’m no stranger to it, but damn, it’s hitting hard this time around. My palms sweat in anticipation.It’s okay. I’m fine. This is what I’ve trained for. I can do it.
The bright lights in my face make me overly warm, so I regulate each pass of air into and out of my lungs. Without moving my head out of position, I allow my gaze to sweep over the shadows beyond the lights of the stage. Something has my chest tightening, but I can’t pinpoint what. I have no way of knowing who is watching.
My music selection begins, soft notes at first, and my body responds easily. I’ve been practicing so hard and so long for this, I can’t let anything stop me. Not the too-worn-in shoes or any of the things clogging my mind.
As I move, I try to make sure every bit of what I’m doing is perfect—from the extension of my arms and legs to proper alignment, the precision of each movement, my turnout, the fluidity of every transition, and even the control of my breath. It’s been beaten into my head for many years now that ballet is supposed to look effortless. For a while, all is well. I execute each step with precision and grace—the way I’ve approached ballet all my life—letting emotion ebb and flow through my limbs.
But the farther into the choreo I go, the more it’s apparent I’m a little off. It’s unclear to me whether what’s affecting me is physical, mental, or… external. As seconds tick slowly by,I become convinced something around me isn’t quite right. Whatever it is has my heart alternately racing like a prize-winning thoroughbred, then fluttering like a mad hummingbird in my chest.
My eyes dart once again to the faceless sea of onlookers. There’s a tingle of awareness. Am I being crazy or is this simply all the bullshit finally taking its toll on my mental state? What I do know is that this is the first time in all my years of dance that not being able to see the audience has made me feel wary. Not knowing who is out there makes my skin prickle with unease and my stomach lurch inside me. In the end, all I can do is breathe through it. I’m not alone. The judges are out there. Other students. Possibly even Logan and Jaxon. They’d mentioned they wanted to be here.
So why the fuck does it feel like I’m trapped inside a snow globe that someone is violently shaking? Someone who is definitely acting with malice.
When the music finally comes to a close, the spotlight dims, immediately bringing the temperature on stage down with it. Without the lights in my eyes, I can see the judges at their table eight rows back and the smattering of people littered across the auditorium. About midway up, I spot Logan and, as my gaze travels, I locate Jaxon a short distance away, only a few rows behind him. Letting my awareness settle on the back row of the auditorium, my stomach pitches. Bile rises to the back of my throat, goose bumps raising on my flesh.
“Miss Monroe? Are you all right?”
I blink, blood roaring in my ears, then blink again, focusing on Millie. “Y-yes, ma’am. Just need some water. I’m fine.”
“Very well. Thank you.”
Another of the dance instructors, Mr. Goode nods, scratching the side of his head with his pen. “Yes, that was delightful.Thank you. Decisions will be posted later this week—probably Wednesday.”
I nod, hardly hearing him as I get my wits about me enough to curtsy before hurrying off the stage. Racing through the dark space, I’m aware of other dancers eyeing me with mild curiosity. They probably think I completely fucked up my audition. The reality is I don’t care what they think. I need out of here, need?—
Bursting through a side door into a well-lit corridor, I run headlong into someone on the other side. A startled shriek tears from my lungs as I’m thrown off balance.
Strong arms band around me, and my chest shudders against them, ready to let loose with a second scream. “Whoa, pretty girl.” Concern oozes from Jaxon’s voice.
Jaxon. I exhale hard. Always here to catch me when I’m spiraling. “Oh my god.” I ease back, looking up at him.
His dark eyes study my every feature before he gestures with his chin. “Logan’s here, too. When we saw the way you left the stage, I went one way, he went the other, hoping to find you.”
My lip trembles. They’re both here. And they knew something wasn’t right. I nod. “He’s probably just?—”
The door bursts open behind us, and Logan appears. His eyes light on the both of us and he exhales hard, then runs a hand through his hair. “There you are.”
