Dancing with the Badboy

Chapter 6

Mila's POV

"Jeez, you're sweating buckets," was the first thing Lena said to me as I hurried up the steps to my room, my thighs burning.

"Great, no need to shower then since I'm already wet," I retorted sarcastically.

"Disgusting," she muttered, scrunching her nose.

"I went for a run," I informed, pulling out my keys from the side pocket.

"I could never," she sighed dramatically, making me chuckle.

"I'm going to shower," I said quickly, waving bye to her as she headed out to meet up with the group for lunch.

Ajax's treat of course. Meaning I wasn't invited. Not that it mattered but Lena's sympathetic looks made it feel worse.

3 weeks had passed since I landed in Germany and there was one day till Regional competition. All the pressure was on me this time, I had to nail the dance. Not for me, but for Ajax. I wasn't going to let him lose on my account. Granted he wasn't the nicest person, it wasn't his fault Anna was injured.

I took a nice warm shower, letting the water loosen my cramped muscles. I refrained from spending longer than 15 minutes in the shower. That's when I started to overthink because there was just too much, nothingness. Just you, the soap, and the water.

I got out, wrapping myself in a warm towel and changed into a pair of black skinny jeans and long sleeved body suit. The weather was transitioning to fall, cold morning and hot afternoons. I would of course wear a jacket of some sort over it. It was something usually I couldn't step out without, but I was trying to kick the habit.

After I found out I had scoliosis, the imbalance in my waist was something I was embarrassed about. The right side was rigid straight while the left had a nice curve. Not many people noticed it unless they paid attention which, unfortunately, the male species couldn't refrain from doing.

The odd thing was that when I danced I sometimes wore skin tight clothing, but it didn't bother me as much then. Maybe it was because he thought my scoliosis made me unique.

TW: mentions of anxiety and suicide - please value your mental health - I love my readers and I want you all to be safe :)

Carson. Carson Thatcher.

My old dance partner.

We met when we were 9 years old at the dance studio. He'd moved from Vancouver to Montreal. Tall, light brown hair and swirling chocolate eyes. Definitely a chick magnet. I remember the first time we were partnered up as if it happened yesterday. We both went to the same schools and lived 5 minutes away from each other. All throughout middle and highschool we were together. Hanging with the same friend groups during school, and dancing together in the studios in the evenings.

When we were 17 we entered regional competition and won before moving on to nationals. Nationals came and went and we came in first, qualifying for international championships.

The following year of International Championships, we both turned 18. Both of us fully immersed ourselves in preparation. Competing in the Cabaret/Acro Ballroom division, we were going to win. No matter what. The entire town knew about the two of us and encouragement and congrats poured in left and right.

Carson and I were the perfect pair. My background in gymnastics helped immensely and his incredible upper body strength balanced the equation. The lifts, they were so fun. The thrill I felt when he lifted me above him, spinning me around before bringing me back to the floor. It was something magical.