Farah Dowling WRITOBER 2O22

Trust me, you can dance / Tequila [THE WORLD BEYOND THE CURTAINS #2]

The following days you go to rehearsals and keep you head down, avoiding Farah Dowling more carefully than you've done the whole year. You're the last to arrive and the first to leave, you keep your mouth shut, don't give anyone reason to talk to you.
Truth is you're scared as shit. You're not sure you aren't going insane or at least having maniac episodes. After that evening you kept dreaming the same scene, the same battle, every night; you kept seeing yourself throwing your body between Farah and danger and you have no idea why.
The only thing that doesn't feel so out of place is how your heart races when you see her. You shouldn't be surprised, really; you've always known that all your annoyance at her was partly caused by an attraction. And yet, this is not a mere attraction; it's something deeper, scarier, a fire that starts in your chest and takes possession of all your blood vessels, making you feel like you could do impossible things when you're in her presence.
It's difficult to explain it, but what you feel is undeniable.
So, you avoid her, keeping as far away from her as possible.
But you haven't forgotten her words. And every night, after everyone has left, when all the lights are down and you are sure no one is in the building anymore, instead of going to the dormitory you go back to a studio and dance some more. It's the only moment of the day you get to feel truly safe.
Until one night, while you're in the middle of repeating a difficult passage for the seventh time, you almost scream when a voice speaks from the doorway.
"If you let go of your center," Farah's is saying softly, "it will just happen, naturally."
You stare at her, unsure of what you feel. "I thought everyone had left."
She doesn't reply. The music is still playing, so instead of speaking you decide to ignore her and keep on dancing. Maybe she will leave. She is not stupid, she has surely understood that you have been avoiding her.
You resume your movements, trying to forget about her, but when you arrive at the first critical passage she murmurs: "Now release the neck."
Without thinking, you do as she says and, just like that, the move is perfect.
"Lovely" she says, and you can hear a smile in her voice. "Do you wanna show me again?" she asks then, delicately.
You brusquely turn your head to tell her to leave you alone, but when you see the soft fondness in her expression the words get stuck in your throat, and instead you find yourself saying: "You wouldn't mind?"
"Not in the least" she says, stepping forward.
You pause, losing yourself for a moment in her eyes; then you shake yourself, go back to the center and begin again.
Right before you arrive at the second moment you were trying to fix she whispers: "Stop."
You do it, and she comes closer. She brushes her fingers on your side, lightly tracing your external oblique through the leotard's fabric. "From here" she says, and steps backwards to let you continue. You do as she said, and once again the move is perfect.
"Beautiful" she whispers.
You look at her, at a loss. "You're a great teacher."
"Thank you" she says. "And you could be a prima in a couple years. If you weren't so stubborn and-"
"It's no use talking about it" you interrupt, turning and walking towards the stereo to stop the music. "Rosalind hates me anyway."
"I'm trying to make her see" she replies in a soft voice. "And if that didn't work... there are other companies in the world."
You are about to reply "Yeah, but you are here" when you realize how that would sound and manage to bite your tongue.
"Is that what you came to tell me?" you ask instead, as you gather your stuff without looking at her.
"No" she says, suddenly more serious. "I needed to see you."
"Well, I'm here" you say, putting your bag on your shoulder and showing a smugness that you don't feel. "Now what?"
"The other night" she begins, her voice hesitant, "when I touched your hand..."
You are beyond tense, and your hands are gripping the strap of your bag so tightly that you can almost feel your nails marking the skin.
"What did you feel?"
You knew the question was coming. It's what you've dreaded and have been trying to avoid so industriously all this time. You can't tell her the truth, or she will think you are insane. You can't show weakness. They would throw you out of the company and call a neurological hospital. So you do the only thing you think it's going to work, and flash her your cockiest smile.
"What did you feel, miss Dowling?"
She looks a bit taken aback, but her cheeks are turning slightly rosy.
She closes her eyes as if what you just said distracts her and she needs to recollect her thoughts.
"It was only me then."
"What?" you ask before you can help yourself, because she's so serious that for a moment you wonder whether she too experienced something just as strange as you did.
"Before I explain," she says, clearly conflicted, "would you mind if I tried something?"
"What do you want to... try?" you ask, starting to be scared. What the hell is happening?
"Can I touch you?" she asks quietly, and your heart skips a beat.
You try to hide your emotion by saying "You just did" as you point at your side, where her fingers brushed a few minutes ago. "You had a taste and now you can't get enough, is that it?"
"Stop it" she says, hard. "I meant to ask if I can touch your skin. Directly. Like I did the other night."
Stop it? You're not in her classroom, she has no right speaking to you like that. And also - what's this story about your skin? You refuse to show confusion, you refuse to be afraid. You refuse to look weak.
"Why, Farah," you say, with a fake smile meant to cover your anxiety, "you only had to ask."
And before she can reply you take a step forward and kiss her, weeks of pent-up sexual tension and anger and fear finally running riot.
You can feel her faint taste of vanilla, you can feel her kissing you back, you can feel her hands in your hair, but all you can see are the images of the battle and all you can hear are the screams which tell you to stay down, take cover, please, don't!
And then you pull away and you can see in Farah Dowling's eyes the same shock and the same arousal that you know are playing in yours.
"Months of unsuccessfully trying to break through your perfect ballerina facade, and all it took was a kiss" you try to joke.
"What do you see?" she presses, ignoring your attempt at humor. "Do you see the battle?"
"You see it too?" you ask, speechless. You put your hands on your face and fall on your knees. "Oh Jesus" you say, so relieved, "I thought I was going crazy!"
"I thought so too" she murmurs, kneeling in front of you. "Between my feelings, and what I saw that night-"
"Your feelings?"
This time she is definitely blushing. "I noticed you since the first day. I- You- It was like I already knew you. Your face... you awoke all these feelings in me that had no sense, no logical explanation."
You are about to ask what exactly is the nature of her feelings when she continues: "But that's not important now." She pauses. "I need to show you something."
Next second her eyes are lighting up in a silvery brilliance and on her hands there's a small flame. It lasts less than a minute, and afterwards she looks exhausted. She sways on a side and you catch her.
"Sweet Lord" you whisper, astounded. "That was...?"
"Magic" she confirms, breathing heavily after the effort.