Reverence - Book 2

- 5 -

The bruises on my neck had been gone for two weeks. 

But I still felt the burn of his fingertips on my flesh. 

Yanyah had gotten over her petty quall over my part. 

But I still felt the burn of her eyes in my back any time I turned it to her. 

The soft mutter of the suite movement was stifled by sterile beige doors. I felt the closeness of the toilet stall clenching around me. 

I couldn't focus on my trembling hands, all I could follow was that thrumming burn pulling through my chest. 

There was a pause in the music, a sharp bite of frustrated obscenities'. Silence. And then once more, gentle hammering of tired pointe on scuffed tile floors. A sweat set on my brow. I had to hurry now, for my absence would be soon noticed.  

I rolled the pale pink tights down, exposing mottled red skin, thighs bruised from the exasperous torture of 14 hour rehearsals. 

Day in. Day out. 

My nails carefully scraped over nearly healed scabs, catching on the tightened swell of my new skin. 

Just as carefully as my nails had, I slipped the warming steel over those scabs, watching them turn freshly over once more. A sting of pain uncurled in my skin, the tremble in my fingers worsening now. 

One for Yanyah's bitterness. 

One for Jakob's abusiveness. 

One for my foolishness. 

Over and over again, carving tidy lines into my flesh like a farmer sowing his fields. Each pass of the hurt drew a question to my lips, and every roll of dark red banished it once more. 

That familiar voice crept up in my mind, hot fingers closing on my neck. 

That dangerous voice that softened only to become just as sharp as the razor within my fingers. 

The first curtain would rise in a mere two weeks, and I felt confident but apprehensive still. I held my breath as I pirouetted, squeezed my eyes tightly at every penche and 1st position slipped messily into 2nd. 

Waiting on the precipice to fall clumsily into that girl in the old pointe shoes stumbling around in that perfect ballroom only to be inter-

"YELENA!" 

 Came a screeching voice. Startled, I dropped the razor at my feet, a sickening chime as it bounced slippery around. I quickly scuffled it away with the toe of my shoe, the pale pink quickly blooming crimson. 

I gathered tissue and blotted the streams of blood that cascaded down my thighs. I feigned a sniffle and piqued up carefully. 

"I'm coming now." 

I hastily wrapped my wounds and yanked up my tights, knowing my pitiful triage wouldn't hold. But I settled my shoulders and pensively unlocked the door. 

As I shuttled from the darkness, I wiped the last tear from my face.