𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭

twenty nine

Delphine

The rink was colder than usual, a chill that settled into my bones as I laced up my skates.

My mind was quiet but humming with the tension of anticipation. Tomorrow would be the real thing, and all I could do now was prepare for it, obsessively going through every movement and jump until my muscles held the routine in them, ironclad.

I took a deep breath and glanced at my reflection in the glass walls. The sky-blue and black leotard hugged my form, each seam reminding me of how much I'd trained to get here. My hair was twisted into a tight bun, and not a strand was out of place. For once, I looked exactly how I felt—strung together by pure determination.

I glided to the center of the rink, the silence amplifying the faint sound of my skates cutting through the ice. Everything around me fell away, my thoughts dissolving until it was just me and the dance. This was my sanctuary, the one place where I could be wholly myself.

I exhaled, and on the inhale, I began.

The music wasn't playing yet, but I didn't need it. I knew every beat, every rise and fall, down to my bones. I spun, my arms slicing the air as I moved, going through the opening sequence with an unyielding focus. My body responded automatically, every twist and turn precise, muscle memory dictating my movements.

I pushed harder, gaining speed as I approached the triple loop. My arms swung back, and I threw myself into the air, feeling the brief, intoxicating rush of weightlessness before landing. My skates sliced through the ice as I settled back into the rhythm, and for a moment, I could almost pretend it was perfect.

The truth, though, was that my mind was racing. Every jump felt like a test. Every landing, a reprieve or a curse. With every movement, I analyzed, corrected, and prepared for the next. This wasn't just skating; it was a battle for control. The ice was mine, but only if I fought for it, only if I refused to let even the smallest detail slip.

I took a second to catch my breath, watching my shadow stretch across the rink. The anticipation was a coil of energy in my stomach, pulling tighter with each passing minute. I skated back to my starting point, my focus narrowing to a single point as I launched into the next sequence.

A layback spin.

The air whipped around me as I turned, back arched, feeling the tension through every muscle. In this move, control meant balance, finding the exact point where I could hold myself, weightless and precise, before finishing the spin.

"Perfect," I whispered to myself, breath fogging in the chilly air.

I took another loop around the rink, gathering speed for the combination jump sequence—double axel, then a double toe loop. I gritted my teeth and threw myself into the air, chest tight with the familiar jolt of fear mixed with exhilaration. For that brief second in the air, I was invincible.

But then I over-rotated, and the landing was anything but smooth. My knee buckled slightly, and I stumbled, the ice scraping against my blade with a shriek that echoed around the rink.

"Damn it!" I hissed, clenching my fists in frustration. The fall wasn't huge, but it was enough to snap me out of my trance.

I pushed myself back up, glaring at the spot where I'd landed. There wasn't room for error, not tomorrow. Falling meant failing, and failing was something I'd spent years training myself to avoid at all costs. I couldn't afford a mistake in front of the judges.

Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to focus. One fall wasn't going to ruin everything, but it was a crack, a reminder of the stakes. I knew I was good enough—everyone told me so. But was I perfect enough? That was a different question altogether.

I skated back to the starting point, ready to run the routine again, determined to get it right this time.