The Pressure to be Perfect.

2.6K 24 2
                                    

Chloe POV:

The hot spotlights pierced through my skin, making my eyes burn. I watched as the dancer before me gracefully leaped through the air, her silhouette apparent on the stage. I ran through my dance like I had a million times before, trying to remember Miss Abby’s corrections from last nights rehearsal. Ten girls stared at me backstage, and I looked away from their curious eyes. ”Up next, in our Junior Solo division, Chloe, with Sunbeams.”  The announcer said my name and it sent shivers up my spine. I prepared to walk on stage, tucking my hands behind my back and forcing a smile onto my face. I waited for the music to start. In a flash, the sullen and dark melody rang through my ears and muscle memory kicked in. I was floating on the stage, with every leap and turn I did I got more into the dance. Suddenly, as if my breath was taken away from me, the music stopped. I looked around, confused. I tried to continue dancing, but it was impossible. I forgot where I was. The once comforting lights turned blinding, making me shield my eyes with my shaking hands. I looked around, and I saw my mom staring at me with shock. I caught a glimpse of Miss Abby, with disappointment fresh on her face. I couldn’t take it anymore. I ran off stage, my feet clunking on the Marley Floor. I got behind the curtains and began to break down. Everything was falling apart. I couldn’t think. Maddie tried to hug me, but I panicked and pushed her away. I tried to fan myself with my hands, but nothing was helping. I ran away from the backstage area and near the competition lobby. I wanted to run, as fast as I could. But I was trapped. All of these months of torture, Abby telling me I wasn’t good enough, Me always losing, Getting called a sneak, it wore me down to the bone. I felt myself getting numb, and I fell to the carpeted floor. I began to black out.

3 weeks earlier..

Chloes POV:

Point your toes! Miss Abby’s squeaky voice panged in my ears, causing me to wince. I had a duet with Maddie this week, and Miss Abby kept telling me I had to match up to Maddie’s skill level. It hurt me so much, that Abby thought I wasn’t as skilled as Maddie. Some nights I would cry myself to sleep, and stay up until 1 am trying to fix corrections. I snapped out of my daze when Abby screamed at me to start doing the dance. I stumbled on my own feet, falling to the studio floor. Abby called me stupid and starting going off on me about listening. “Maddie always listens. Why can’t you do that?” Abby said, her voice going haywire. Tears started forming in my eyes. Why does it always have to be a comparison of me and Maddie? We are different people. She dismissed us for a break and I grabbed my plastic water bottle from the bench in the den and plopped down. I tucked my head in my knees and sat there. “Chlo?” Maddie said, her baby voice echoing in the studio. I took a deep breath and looked up. “Yeah?” I said, plastering a smile on my face. “Are you okay?” She asked, her voice shaky. “I’m fine,” I say, giving her a quick squeeze and opening the door back into Studio A. We rehearsed for 3 and a half more hours, finally getting to go home at 9:30. I said goodbye to everyone, and got in my car with my mom. 

“How was rehearsal?” My mom asked, sounding worn down and tired. “fine,” I said, focusing on the dim streetlights that lined the road. My mom started to talk about costumes for the competition this weekend, but I zoned out, thinking about Abby’s words and Maddie’s flawless turns. Tears threatened as I took out my phone and checked my texts. My moms voice came back into my head as I scrolled down my messages. “Chlo, are you okay?” She pondered with a hint of worry in her voice. “Mom, I’m fine,” I say and start to reply to one of Paige’s messages. We pull into my small driveway and I gather my dance bag and open the car door, fleeing into the warm house. I run up to my room, lock the door and start crying. I cannot take it anymore. I need to be perfect, I think. I go over to my full body mirror and stare. I pinch my stomach. This needs to go, I think and start to think of ways to lose weight.

The Pressure to be Perfect.Where stories live. Discover now