Strawberries & Cigarettes

Chapter Eighteen

            Moet’s gotten a new pair of pointe shoes today. She’s halfway done preparing them when Leighton pulls up to the dance studio and looks over.

            “Do they hurt?” He asks.

            “Yes, very much.” Moet replies honestly. She’s cuts off the satin on the toe part and sews the fabric on the edges back onto the shoe.

            “Then how do you keep dancing?”

            Moet shrugs. Finished with the sewing, she takes out a lighter and starts lightly burning the ends of the ribbons so they didn’t fray. “The pain never really goes away…” she muses. “You just get used to it, I guess.” Grabbing her newly prepared pointe shoes, she gives Leighton a kiss on the cheek before heading out of the car. “See you in a few hours.”

            “Yeah.” Leighton smiles but there’s a hint of sadness in it. She guesses he had noticed her lack of appetite at lunch today. As he drives off, Moet hurries into the studio, checking her watch. She still has two minutes until class starts.

            “Hi, Moet,” Sally calls from the barre.

            Moet waves back to the sweet-faced girl with hair the color of straw. She hurriedly takes off her jacket and puts on her pointe shoes. Settling at her place at the barre, she starts into her warm-ups for the rest of the time.

            “Hello, class.” Lily Holmes greets, her ice-queen demeanor immediately lowering the temperature of the room about two degrees. “Let’s start on our tendus, degages, and battements.”

            As the lesson goes on, Moet starts to feel slightly dizzy. Shaking it off, she continues. However, when it was time to practice a combination that involved jetes and attitude turns, black spots started forming in her vision.

            “Moet, are you alright?” Sally’s muffled voice sounds in Moet’s ears. Everything’s blurry. “Moet? Moet!”

            And then the world shuts down.

            Four hours later when Leighton comes to pick Moet up, she’s nowhere to be seen. Stepping into the lobby of the dance studio, he spies a middle-aged woman receptionist sitting behind the desk and a sweet-faced dancer with hair the color of straw stepping out of the room within.

            “Excuse me, is anyone else in there?” Leighton asks her.

            Startled, the dancer looks up and shakes her head. “Everyone else left.”

            Something wasn’t right. “Do you know Moet?” He asks.

            “Oh. Yes. Yes, I do,” Her expression becomes worried. “She fainted during class. I think Mrs. Holmes took her to the hospital. Poor girl. She looked miserable.”

            He knew it. He knew this was going to happen. “Thank you.” Turning around, he heads for his car.

            What has she done to herself?

            Moet wakes up in a pastel-green walled room. Looking to her right, she sees an IV attached to the inside of her right wrist. Slowly turning to her left, she starts at the sight of Leighton sitting by her side, jaw clenched and lips pressed together in a tight line.

            “You need help, Moet.” Leighton says, uncrossing his arms and leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. His intelligent gray eyes peered beyond his glasses into Moet’s big, round hazel ones.