Desire

III.

Isabel

I look down to where the pitter-patter noise is coming from, and see Lea's left hand wrapped up in a red-stained bandage, her blood dripping onto the floor. She hadn't said a word about it, and was still acting like everything's fine.

For a second, I felt this strange tightness in my chest. I pushed it down, keeping my expression icy.

"What the hell, Lea?" I snapped, my voice coming out harsher than I intended as I pointed toward her hand. "Are you seriously bleeding everywhere?"

She glanced down at her hand, her face momentarily going pale. "It's nothing. I just—"

"Don't give me that. You're bleeding all over the place," I interrupted, trying to ignore the tiny flicker of concern creeping up inside me. This was Lea. I didn't care if she was hurt. She could take care of herself. Still, I couldn't stop my eyes from narrowing as I watched her try to hide it again.

Lea rolled her eyes, trying to wave me off. "It's just a small cut. It's not a big deal."

"Not a big deal?" I repeated, my voice low as I stepped closer. "You're dripping blood everywhere. At least try to clean it up."

I could hear the cold edge in my voice, but despite my best efforts, something inside me twisted at the sight of her injured hand. Even though I wanted to keep that distance between us—the anger, the resentment—I couldn't help the flash of concern that broke through.

She looked like she was about to say something sarcastic, but when our eyes met, she hesitated. Her hand was shaking slightly now, and I could see that she was trying to downplay how much pain she was in.

Without thinking, I grabbed the towel from my bag and tossed it to her. "Just... clean yourself up, okay?"

Lea stared at me for a moment, her eyes searching mine, like she didn't quite believe what was happening. But then, wordlessly, she took the towel and wrapped it around her hand.

For a brief second, the hostility between us seemed to fade. It wasn't much—just a flash of something softer beneath the surface, something neither of us wanted to acknowledge.

But as soon as the moment passed, I straightened up, crossing my arms again and letting the ice return to my voice. "You can't rehearse like that, and we need to get this done," I said coldly. "So figure it out."

Lea glanced down at her hand, now covered in the towel, and muttered, "Yeah. I'll be fine."

We stood there in silence for a moment, the argument forgotten, at least for now. But as I turned away, I couldn't shake the strange feeling lingering in my chest, knowing that beneath all the hatred and spite, there was still that tiny part of me that cared.

And that terrified me. But what terrified me even more was the fact that I had a chance to show someone from Astoria Ballet what I could do.

And I wasn't going to let anything or anyone get in the way of that. Not even her.

For the remainder of the day, we sat in the studio, both of us trying to focus, though the weight of everything—the tension, the resentment, the grudging collaboration—hung heavy between us. The clock ticked softly in the background, but my eyes were glued to the mirror as I worked on the choreography, trying to find something that would flow with the song. Lea, for her part, was sitting on the floor, her legs stretched out in front of her as she fiddled with the sheet music and laptop in front of her, trying to figure out the counts for the rhythm.

"Three, four, five... wait, that's not right," she muttered under her breath, pressing back on her laptop to replay the section again.

I rolled my eyes but said nothing. The truth was, her frustration echoed my own. We'd been at this for hours, and we still didn't have a solid plan. Every movement I tried felt off, like the music wasn't speaking to me, and I could tell Lea was struggling to make sense of the timing.