𝒓𝒉𝒚𝒔
As we walk to rehearsal, I can't stop thinking about the stage, that damn fucking stage. It's a huge one. Standing on it and looking out over the audience makes you feel small but powerful. You're blinded by the red and gold but it's such an amazing feeling to stand there, and I bet dancing there is even better. All those people, eyes drawn to you, applauds, appreciation.
I'm only 21. This isn't even the first time I'm on a bigger stage like this, doing more meaningful things than a solo in a competition. People are paying to come see us. People are reading my name online or on advertisements around the city. People will remember my face and a few years from now they'll tell people about how they saw me before I became famous.
But there's one thing that bothers me about it.
I glance over to Noah. He's kicking a rock. It keeps colliding with my foot, and it's annoying me but I clench my teeth and keep the frustration in. I can't be like my father.
"My mom danced on that stage," I say. I don't know I say it, I guess I just need it out there, I need him to know so I can stop dwelling. Eli's not here and we're not we anymore, so I have to get used to doing that to Noah.
He leaves the rock and adjusts the strap of his bag. "She did?"
"Yeah."
The dance studio we rehearse at is in sight, people we dance with are getting out of their cars and catching up on how the evening was or something. Not much else to catch up on when it hasn't even been 24 hours.
Them being there is probably why Noah grabs my arm and stops us both a bit away. He cups my face and bores his blue eyes into mine. Despite mine being blue too, that's our biggest difference. Our eyes. His are dark blue and warm, mine are fairly bright and cold.
"You dance better than her, alright?" he says. "No one will remember she ever danced there once you have."
My body's focused on dancing. My ears focus on the music. It's live. It's piano. It's amazing.
My brain is somewhere else, though. My brain is focused on those words, repeating them, reading into them too much. Sure, I'll dance better than her. I'll dance so much fucking better than her.
The sourness in those words, however. How I wish she was right here so I could scream them in her face. I have to clench my jaw and swallow every harsh thing I've ever wanted to tell her to not blurt them out right here and now. I'd look like I'm crazy but I barely care anymore. I need relief. These things are all burning inside me.
That scares me, that I feel and think that. I thrive off revenge and hatred. Apparently it's clear enough that Noah knows it.
I watch myself in the mirror for a couple of seconds. Noah always hated that I did that. When we were alone, he'd tell me to focus on dancing and not what my body looked like. Internally, I'd spite him for that and I'd fantasize about telling him he was wrong. He never was, though.
My legs hurt. My arms barely lift. My heart aches.
It's just this constant pain of knowing I was never enough for anyone. My mom never cared enough to stay. I was apparently so easy to hate that my own father felt like abusing me. I could never be what Eli needed and deserved. To Noah, I'm just an ass.
