Pirouette [h.s.]

chapter 4

// you came out of nowhere //

// and you cut through all the noise //

Ease My Mind  -Ben Platt

tw: sexual harassment/implied intent of assault

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After the adrenaline wore off from talking with Lacey, Claudette's warning about the fall opener lingered in my mind. I knew I had to make sure my solo was flawless in order to make my mark at the show. It was officially go-time. No more taking it easy. I felt the desperation spread across me, pouring into every crevice of my body like it was inside of my blood.

I need this so badly.

I don't manage to leave the studio until well after 4, the music of my solo on a record-scratching loop in my head. Sweat is pouring off of me in buckets, a waterfall all but covering the ground underfoot like a slimy snail trail.

My arches are screaming with every step I take, and I can tell I overworked myself when I have to walk a little lopsided to compensate for the dull ache in my ankles. My bike welcomes me, the chipping blue paint on the handlebars glinting in the sunshine. With a sigh, I hop on, silently apologizing to the burning muscles in my legs.

It's nearly 5:30 when I step foot inside of my apartment, giving me exactly 10 minutes to change and head to Dino's for the night.

Grabbing a pair of leggings and a Dino's t-shirt from my dresser, I get ready in record time. I pull my hair out from its ponytail, shaking out the ends with my fingers, and then cover my head with my Dino's hat. My stomach rumbles a little in protest, but I have no choice but to ignore it as I throw a granola bar in my bag and run out to my bike.

Once I relieve the high schoolers of their shift and I'm successfully alone, I sit down onto the stool behind the register, dropping my head into my hands. I can feel my muscles seizing up at finally being able to relax and I grind my teeth together a little knowing I'll regret how hard I practiced tomorrow morning.

This was always the worst part about having a physically demanding job. When I finally had the chance to let my muscles relax, they retaliated. It's a never-ending cycle of angry muscles, angry joints, angry tendons.

Sunday can't come soon enough.

My only day of peace in the week. I truly lived and breathed for Sundays; when I didn't have to go to the studio, and I didn't have to come to the hellhole that is Dino's. Saturday nights were a close second place.

Once I finish at the studio on Saturdays, I'm free from any sort of work until Monday morning. I can sleep in and let myself be lazy and binge out on sweets and junk food, and drink too much red wine, and just truly act like a 23-year-old. The thought of relaxing this Sunday with a hot bath and an entire bottle of wine – maybe two – was enough to make me salivate.

Unfortunately, the sound of a car horn from the parking lot informs me that it is, in fact, only Tuesday, causing a groan to slip out of my mouth as I stand up to start restocking the gas station.

Around midnight, I finally decide to just sit down and relax a little. Only a handful of customers had come through, so trying to restock would be pointless and, besides, I'm due for a few quiet moments to myself. I grab a cup from behind the counter and fill it up with a watermelon slushie, before straddling a stool that sits near the slushie machine. My cheek nestles into my palm as I scroll through Instagram, lightly sucking on the straw while my feet, which don't quite reach the ground, kick in the air.