Snowflake - Maxley

CHAPTER 3

The next day was a pain in the ass. Tank didn't want to talk to me, my stomach had a big bruise across it, and I had practice. In addition to that, I had to start preparing for my first courses that would take place tomorrow. I really didn't want to do this.

The morning was horrible. I woke up after only a few hours of sleep, my whole body aching and sore. I didn't want to wake up, but my practice was starting pretty early: precisely at eleven o'clock. So I got up and went to the bathroom to wash up. I took off my shirt and looked at the mirror above the sink. I gulped. The bruise was enormous. It had the outline of Tank's fist which brought back some unwanted memories. But I only ignored them, pushing them to the back of my mind, not allowing them to return.

I stepped into the shower, the warm water hurting the place where the bruise had formed. I quickly showered, every move hurting me. I dried myself up, reaching for the medical kit. I took some bandages out of there, hoping it would keep my skin from stretching too much, risking more pain.

After eating breakfast and almost crying because of the pain, I made a decision: I would not skip practice. I needed this, even if only the theoretical part. I still had some time before my practice started, so I called Tank, wanting to apologize for my outburst yesterday and basically kicking him out.

The phone rang. With each passing ring, my anxiety grew, me not knowing how he would respond. Was he still mad? Would he scream at me? What if he wants to break up?!

My thoughts didn't get the chance to evolve more, thus the line on the other side went silent. "Hello?" I said, not knowing if Tank took my call or not. After a while of no answer, I look at the display of my phone - disconnected. He was mad. He wouldn't even answer my call. I tried a few more times, just in case. But each of them got disconnected, always faster than the last one.

I eventually gave up and slowly made my way to the hall ready for practice.

When I got there, mocha was nowhere in sight, so I went into the changing room, changing as quickly as my body allowed it. Once I changed, I went over to the skating rink. My hand was still cut, but I didn't need bandages anymore, so I took them off, flexing my fingers. I felt a little better - less wounded.

I got to the edge, putting my skates on, the movements causing me extreme pain. I had tears in my eyes. But I gritted my teeth, putting the stupid skates on. It took me way longer than anticipated, but I eventually got them on, proud of myself.

I got on the ice, warming up and testing my limits.

... I couldn't do anything. Almost all of the jumps were out of the question, and pirouettes were not better. With my every move, I felt like someone was cutting a hole in my stomach. So I stopped skating, breathing heavily, and grabbing my water bottle.

Just then, Mocha came in, ready to skate. Should I tell her about the bruise? She is my manager, and she definitely should know. Should I tell her who did it to me? Well, she would get mad at Tank, who might get mad at me afterward for telling her about our private life. So I guess it's a no.

"Hey Brad, you good? You look a little gloomy. But I can't see the bandages from yesterday, so I am glad you are feeling better." Yeah, better. "Come on, we're gonna start with the program. I came up with some choreos for your first semester. Now we will focus on the nearest competition. I called this dance - the ocean." She started the music, dancing the choreography for me.

The dance was quite impressive. The music went beautifully with it, and the way Mocha danced it, it actually resembled an ocean wave. By the middle of the dance the music dropped, showing now depths of the ocean, Mocha's movements getting more frantic, and way more jumps were implied. Afterward, the music soothed again, and Mocha turned into ocean foam, her movements just accompanied by a few light jumps that made her seem as if she was floating in the air.