Breaking The Rules

Chapter 37

The harsh lighting of the dance studio kept me going and had me forgetting just how much time had passed. Outside, the sun had dipped below the horizon, casting the world into a cool twilight. Inside, the music the girls and I had selected for the recital and the light tapping of my dance shoes against the polished floor were the only things keeping me company. The darker the starless sky got, the more aware I was that I would have to begin making my way back to the Hockey House.

I just wasn't ready yet.

I moved across the room in fluid motions, my limbs heavy with exhaustion but still somehow determined to follow the choreography I'd mapped out in my mind. My muscles seared, crying out in anguish as I pushed them through the song one more time. The strain of back-to-back rehearsals weighed on me like lead. Sweat rolled down my temples. My breath came in shallow gasps.

The song playing over the speaker was a sweet, upbeat melody—a hopeful tune that was supposed to feel like sunshine. But my mood dragged against it, like sandpaper on silk. No matter how hard I tried to let the music lift me, my heart wasn't in it.

My arms weren't quite as sharp, my spins weren't as crisp. Everything looked sloppy and forced, and it was clear my energy had nothing to give to this particular routine. I faltered in my movements, catching my reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors. My body was a vespa running out of gas and I fumbled, not properly transitioning into the jeté with a reach that I had added to the later half of the piece.

A grumble ripped through my throat as I angrily swiped the fly-away hairs off of my damp forehead. I sucked in a breath, hands melding to my hips as I paced around the space.

Perhaps it was time to call it quits.

I sighed, dragging my feet over to the speaker to pause the music. The silence that followed was heavy, reminding me, once again, that I was alone.

Maybe I wasn't in the right headspace for this piece.

I scrolled through my playlist, my finger hovering over a different track. This one was slower, somber, and raw—everything I didn't want to feel tonight but couldn't seem to escape. It was a piece I'd been working on for class, one that was more like a reflection of the inner thoughts I had experienced during the darkest part of my relationship with Miles than I wanted to admit.

I selected the song, letting the first few notes fill the studio, their weight pressing down on me. As the music swelled, I stood in the center of the room, closing my eyes and allowing it to wash over me. The choreography was still forming in my mind, each movement steeped in the emotions I was trying so hard to suppress.

Having your heart broken twice in a year really makes dancing to sad songs easier.

It was a bitter thought and I couldn't help the rough laughter that escaped my lips. I started to move, letting my protesting body follow the rhythm. My arms extended, my feet slid across the floor, and with every step, I poured my frustration, my confusion, my hurt into the motions. Each twirl a poor attempt to fling the pain I was experiencing from my chest.

"Still pushing yourself too hard, I see."

I froze, my heart lurching as I snapped my head toward the doorway. Miles stood there, leaning against the frame with his hands shoved in his pockets. He looked exactly as I remembered him—perfectly put together with his clean shaven face and pressed shirt, his expression that infuriating mix of charm and confidence that had once swept me off my feet.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, my tone sharper than I intended.

He held up his hands in mock surrender, stepping into the room. "Relax. I was walking by and saw you in here. Thought I'd stop by to say hi."