The Ballerina & The Devil

Forty Two. The Ballerina, The Devil, and His Maker

"One more time."

I couldn't suppress the loud groan that ripped through my throat at the insistent request of my dance instructor. My face was slick with sweat, and my breaths were coming out in short pants as I attempted not to drop to the floor and die.

For the past week Michelle and I had been partaking in intense ballet sessions. Some of the most intense sessions I've been put through by her, and that was saying a lot considering Michelle's motto in life was "Push yourself until you break".

Immediately after regular practice would end we would spend three to four additional hours going over the routine I would be performing for my Juilliard audition. Michelle would push me beyond my limit and then some, making me repeat specific dance sequences she felt could be better. Her words of criticism were harsh, cutting, and would reduce anybody else to tears, but I found the criticism motivated me. It made me determined not only to perfect every twirl, launch, and leap, but also to shut her up. Which, for the most part, it did.

Overall, our private sessions were unpleasant, painful, slightly traumatic, and hopelessly exhausting, but they did what they were supposed to do, and with the end of each of them I felt better about myself.

I just had to keep reminding myself that.

"One more time," Michelle repeated insistently.

I placed my hands on my waist and tilted my head back so I was staring at the ceiling. I responded with gritted teeth. "Can I have a minute?"

"No, you cannot have a minute," she snapped. "You're in the zone, and you're not getting out of the zone until I tell you you can. Grand jeté. One more time."

"I can't," I sighed in defeat, allowing a little bit of whine to make its way into my tone. "Michelle, that's honestly the best I can do."

"If that's the best you can do than that's pretty damn pathetic, Demetria. It's actually beyond pathetic. It's miserably sad."

My shoulders slumped, and I chewed on my lower lip. I didn't even bother snapping at her for calling me by my detested full name. I felt too low to bother.

"You and I both know that's not the best you can do," she said briskly, walking over to stand behind me. "Get in position."

The last thing I wanted to do was fail at the jump again. My ego had taken enough hits for the day, but I humored her. I moved my right leg so that it was supporting me and flattened my foot on the floor. I pointed my toe outward and extended my left leg in front so it was straight with the same pointed toe touching the floor.

I shifted my weight onto my left leg keeping my knee bent outward, and then shifted my right foot along the floor to the front.

"Okay, so I see what your main problem is. You need to regain more balance," Michelle noted. "You're wobbly. You look like you're gonna fall over at any minute."

As if to prove a point she shoved me from behind, causing me to topple over.

"Ow!" I glared up at her. "Michelle."

"See?" She raised her eyebrows, looking completely unbothered. "Unbalanced. Stand up."

I thought about refusing childishly, but she would probably hit me with her shoe or something so I grudgingly stood up.