Wasted Love

PROLOGUE

Wincing as I rub my feet gingerly, I think back on this month's performance.

"It's no use, " I groan inwardly. "No matter how much I practice I just can't seem to get it right."

The studio floor is cold against my skin, my thin tights offering little to no protection at all. The temperature's frigid bite leaves me feeling mildly uncomfortable, especially since my skin is always more heated after a practice session.

"At this rate, I'll never get the main role."

I sigh, reaching for my nearby bottle of water. Ever since that one incident, I've made sure to keep a bottle of water on hand at all times. Just thinking about it sends vague memories to the surface of my mind, and I tamp them back down, completely unwilling to deal with it right now. Or ever, for that matter.

I really can't afford for such a thing to happen again. While my mother and father have been extremely understanding of my choices, they've also made it crystal clear.

If I can't succeed here, in this world of my choosing, I'll be forced to keep my end of the bargain. In exchange for three years worth of rental assistance from my parents, I promised to return to school in the event that I don't manage to make my dreams a reality. And my second year is already fast approaching its end.

"Well, " I tell myself. "Nothing for it but to keep going."

After taking a quick swig of water and replacing its cap meticulously, I stand. These steps aren't going to learn themselves after all.

When I am gliding across the studio gracefully... That's when I feel truly alive. Step, then twirl, step, then leap. Every breath dedicated to the singular goal of not just hearing the music, but feeling it as well. To an outsider, I'd imagine that I probably appear to be the epitome of grace in this moment, but they'd be horribly wrong.

Every twist of my body, every leap and twirl is off. Even if only by a little bit. Unfortunately, I am required to be utter perfection if I am to achieve my goals and the reminder of it breaks my focus.

Once more I stumble, grumbling frustratingly to myself as a result. I collapse to the ground with a huff, frustrated and tired.

Overhead, the clock strikes twelve, alerting me to the fact that I have now spent nearly six hours trying to perfect a dance that seems to be utterly beyond my capabilities. Even so, I can't stop now.

My feet are battered, calloused and yet still throbbing angrily. And my back groans in protest as I pick myself up and off the floor to continue practicing my grueling routine.

But even so, how can I quit for the evening before I at least get it right once?

However, luck, it would seem, isn't on my side today.

I am interrupted, mid glissade, by the studio owner. Park Jimin is a long time friend and confidante, but lately I have no patience for his meddling ways.

Just last week he'd attempted to set me up on a blind date with one of his buddies, and when I'd adamantly refused, he began dragging the poor guy to the studio left and right. Hoseok, I think that's what his name was, actually happens to be with Jimin now as well.

"Remind me to give Jimin an earful later, " I think to myself.

Oh, I know that he means well. Day after day I borrow his studio, working my body to the bone and stressing myself out until I become a veritable bundle of raw nerves. He sees that. I think that, as my best friend, it worries him and I honestly can't blame him.

I'd feel the same if the roles were reversed after all.

"Yo! Time to pack it up!" Jimin shouts, eyes twinkling mischievously. "Dinner, my treat!"