Take One More Step

🩰Thirty-Five🩰

POV Akhyra 

Someone had the terrible idea of making a sing-off of old bangers from the 70s, and now we all have to suffer through an off-key rendition of "I Will Survive." 

Many of the girls in the room are joining in support of the poor ballerina who's straining her vocal chords on the notes, and I blame the alcohol in my veins for joining the chaotic chorus. I can't deny that it's quite liberating to scream about an ex walking out the door because they're not welcome anymore. My girl Gloria Gaynor made a song that transcends generations. 

The amount of estrogen in the room is at its paroxysm. Valentino is the only man here in a sea of sixteen women in various stages of inebriation. Hannah is yelling the lyrics at him as if they're on the verge of a break-up but they're holding onto each other with a grin splitting their face and it's so adorable that I have to look away because my eyes are watering and I miss him but fuck him. 

Somewhere around midnight when the euphoria dies down and we're all gathered in the living room for a Twilight marathon I venture in the kitchen to refill two large bowls with the variety of chips that I had bought in anticipation of tonight. Most of the shopping bags are now empty, and both the kitchen island and the table are covered under layers upon layers of empty snack packages, piles of pizza boxes, and beer cans.

The bin is already full, so I open a cabinet to pick a big plastic bag to start tossing the trash inside.

"Need some help?" A voice asks behind me. I turn around to find Brittany standing awkwardly with her cheeks flush and her auburn hair in disarray.  

It's a safe bet to say that she might be more than just a little tipsy.

"Sure."

We clean in silence and then wash our hands at the sink before moving on to the remaining snacks. I slide one of the bowls toward Brittany and hand her two familize packs of Doritos and Cheetos. As she begins to pour the chips down, I can tell that she's trying to build up the courage to speak. 

"Are you having a good time?" I decide to engage in conversation to make it easy if she has something to say.

"I am. I can't remember the last time I had so much fun. You know how it is. Our lives are basically rehearsals, gym, and physical therapy."

"You forgot the constant struggle to reach our quota of lean proteins and carbohydrates," I remind her, and she laughs. 

"I apologize for how I treated you when we were at the academy," Brittany blurts out. "I realize now that my behavior back then was horrible, and even though it won't erase the things I did, I still thought you deserved an apology."

"Just so we're clear, is this you admitting that you were one of the girls who pushed me off the stage?"

"I was one of them," she confirms. "If it makes you feel better, the other two girls ended up quitting ballet. One of them suffered a rupture of her Achilles tendon, and the other stopped getting hired due to substance abuse."

I set my bowl aside to look at Brittany straight in the eyes because I need my point to hit home. 

"I want you to understand that having their own misfortunes to deal with will never alleviate the pain that the three of you caused. Did you know that for years after you pushed me off that stage, I couldn't walk close to anyone except for my bodyguard? I was already afraid of contact, but this made it worse. I was constantly on edge, scared that someone might jump out of nowhere to attack me. It has been exhausting."