Mme. Stepanov's slender hands grip my leg.
She pushes.
My back arches as my leg goes higher. There's a crack and pain flares down my back. Mme. Stepanov keeps lifting my leg higher. The pain grows and I fight tears.
I'm standing in arabesque on pointe as she speaks."Higher." She commands, her accent thick.
There is no room for error.
Gritting my teeth I resist the urge to scream. My leg keeps going higher and higher and doesn't stop. Quickly the pain gets worse.
Mme. Stepanovs face remains the same. Cold and blank as she continues to lift my leg.
I reajust my turnout as she lifts her right hand and moves it to my stomach.
"Posture."
She pushes my torso closer to my leg.
Her tone was icy cold, "Suck your stomach in. Close your rib cage."
Doing so she continues she push my leg.
The pain becomes angry and intense, spreading higher up my back.
My lip quivers and I can't hold it back. My mouth opens and I scream.
Become what they want.
I scream and don't stop. I keep screaming as she keeps raising my leg higher.
Become what Mme. Stepanov wants.
My cries of pain continue.
Be strong.
My screams get louder.
But let them break you.
They bounce of the grand white walls.
Break you until you shatter.
And drown out the music.
And when you do they will be there waiting to rebuild you. To fix you.
Mme. Stepanov's hold on me loosens. Slowly she let go entirely. I hold the position straining my muscles and struggle to breath. But I cant stop screaming.
But if they must cut you with your own shards to do so they will.
