Let's Tango

7 | A U R O R A

The days blur. Besides our ice cream excursion, most of the week is monotonous and drags by. The act of dancing itself serves as individual bright points to light up my otherwise dull day-to-day routine of teaching classes and trying to pay attention through our practices.

Usually, I love teaching. I like kids of all ages; the innocent way they view the world and look at new experiences with open eyes. I enjoy creating routines and instructing students on various techniques. I have fun sharing my own passion and pushing them to find their own—even if that's not in dance, I believe it's important to give it a heartfelt try.

Recently though, it's lost it's sparkle. I still smile while I teach, I'm enthusiastic, and outwardly I think I'm displaying all those positive things I usually do. Inside though... it's just not there. I want it to be, but the little energy I do muster is surface level and more routine than genuine. It's hard to be excited about teaching my routines when they aren't my routines. They are so polluted with Reese's suggestions, I can't even encourage or guide them the way I'd like to because, as he puts it, I "need to be firmer with them. Even if they're young, their parents and I expect to see progress. I'd hate for you to not meet my expectations." And considering he's the studio manager as well as the captain of our dance crew... well, my position with both are almost solely up to him.

Friday night couldn't come soon enough. Our family dinner was cancelled because our parents are going out with some of their mutual friends (it's weird to think our parents even have other friends). I had planned on using the opportunity to have a chill night at home with Quinn, but I couldn't pass up Prisha's invitation for a night out. I could do with letting my hair down and losing myself in an endless cycle of drinks and dancing. Maybe later I'll find someone to rail me hard enough to forget about it for awhile. Healthy coping? Not really. Self-care? Close enough.

After a shower, I stare back at my haggard reflection in the bathroom mirror. The only thing I can focus on is the dark circles framing my dimmed eyes and the way the corner of my flaking lips are turned down.

I hate this. Dance has always been such a core part of my life. Like Quinn said, it's my sanctuary, and now it feels like there's this tiny decaying seed planted there, slowly spreading it's rotten roots to the rest of my life.

No. No. That's ridiculous and it's not going to happen. Reese may have some influence at the studio but I won't let him rule my whole life, that's for damn sure. So I go all in, spending a solid two hours curling my hair and making sure both of my eyes look good (because it is a fucking struggle to get them to look the same, seriously). I choose a dress I feel good in, a gold little bodycon with a high-neck collar. It works wonders with my warm coloring and is the perfect, enticing mix of covering but hugging all my full curves. After a dab of my favorite perfume on my neck and ankles, I throw on some simple heels. A last look in my mirror and an Uber ride in which the driver kept stealing glances at me, has me feeling capital "C" type of Confident when I finally strut into the entrance of the nightclub where we're meeting.

The last little breeze of cold night air brushes the hair off my bare shoulders as I pull them strong and square, then I plunge down the steps and into the crowd. Warm, sticky air quickly replaces the chill and I take a few deep breaths as I gaze around, collecting myself and taking it all in as I keep an eye out for my friends.

While the outside appears as an unassuming warehouse, the inside is anything but. The place is swarming with activity. Full booths and high top tables are clustered between the exposed metal beams, and both bars (because apparently one isn't enough) are packed. As I weave my way through the throng, the balcony overhead ends and opens up to the second story and dark rafters high above. A giant, neon pink sign with the club's name, EveRave, is perched up there, but I follow one of the other countless light-up signs for the upper level where Prisha said they had a table.