CREATURE

・chapter 20・

Asya slammed the door to her dressing room behind herself with an aggressive clap, hobbling to the couch against the far wall before she collapsed into the cushions. Her tutu folded up against her back as she stretched herself out like a ragdoll and went completely limp, heaving deeply while she caught her breath.

In the silence of her dressing room beautiful turned tragic, and the cracks in her performance facade crept through at last. She must have looked downright pathetic, collapsed on the couch still dressed in her beautiful Lilac Fairy tutu. Under the bright fluorescent lights the crystals in her tiara and necklace reflected off the shimmery tulle, dancing around her exhaustion-blurred vision like starry flecks in a feverish dream.

She glanced at her reflection in the full-length mirror behind the door. Her neck glistened with cold sweat and some loose strands of hair in the back of her neck plastered to her sticky skin, but there wasn't a drop of color in her pale cheeks. She did look pathetic, a juxtaposition of beauty and bitter reality sprawled out on a couch backstage. 

Usually, the other female soloists she shared the dressing room with were there with her, but none of the other three were performing that night. She'd never needed a hug from Megan, Lauren or Naomi so badly in her life, never needed to hear a 'well done' or an 'it's okay' as she did that night.

Down the corridor she could hear the excited noise coming from the corps de ballet's enormous dressing room. Laughing, joking around, post-show music playing, light-hearted chatter. She heard one of the girls asking who was joining them for some partying on London's West End before they went home for the night.

God, she didn't think she'd ever, ever miss the corps, but god, she missed the corps. She missed feeling like she was part of a team, like if she stumbled one of the other girls would catch her before she fell. She missed the mess in that big dressing room, missed the crying and complaining, the laughing and encouraging. 

Save for the girls in her old row who knew her well, most of the corps hated her guts ever since she got promoted. She tried to play it off like it didn't matter that they did, especially since the soloists and principals had all welcomed their youngest member with open arms and helped her as much as they could.  But still, it stung knowing she wasn't part of that team anymore. 

She knew where the jealousy came from. There were at least a dozen second soloists and coryphées that deserved a promotion more than her because they were senior members to the company. But it wasn't her fucking decision, it was Bastian's. 

Nevermind her rank or title, or what she'd done to get it, she was still only nineteen. And who was she bloody kidding, she was supposed to be partying after performances and staying out until four AM. It was what time in the corps was for, paying your dues to the company, making friends, learning to work in a team, building up technique and having fun. But she'd lost all that to an early promotion and a crippling need to climb to the next rank. 

Suddenly uncomfortable in her costume she slumped forward, letting her head hang between her knees while she reached behind herself and fumbled with the clasps on the bodice of her tutu. They sprung open one by one and she drew in more ragged breaths to fill her aching lungs. As the weight of the tutu loosened around her and she could breathe easier, it didn't take long for the breaths to turn into sobs. 

She was so tired. It was supposed to be her night off, her first night off in almost two weeks, she needed it so badly. Olivia Pritchard, the principal who was supposed to dance the Lilac Fairy that night, had injured her knee in an afternoon rehearsal, and her remaining performances were going to be slotted to the soloists. That meant more dancing on top of what she was already doing and learning Gamzatti in between.