Stunt Double Anyone?

"Concentrate Elizaveta!" calls my coach as she turns to look at the other students in the sand arena. I grind my teeth and try to focus on my balance, ignoring the cramping of my thighs as I rise a few inches out of the saddle and back down again, stirrups crossed before me. Sweat beads cover my face but if I lift a hand off the reins, the horse will bolt. That's what Magnitude is known for, the huge brown gelding with a star between his mistrusting brown eyes, that is what he waits for. The moment I give him any slack, the moment anyone gives him any slack, he'll start to gallop, racing like he used to on the track. I hate how it's my week to ride him for we never get along.

"Hillary, why are you riding like a sack of potatoes? Where's your posture?" Marinna's voice bites sharper than the long whip she uses to point out your mistakes. Most students crack under such treatment - every time you do something wrong, the long whip flicks your heel and god forbid that you screw up your rhythm. There is a small whimper and then more energetic trotting from behind. Hillary is the youngest of us five girls who ride on Saturdays and she still is scared of the old Soviet coach who trains champions not marionettes. A rider is an athlete, not a fashion statement, Marinna keeps saying. "Straighten your back. And keep Binky in line!"

Binky hates to move fast. It's not that he's lazy, he just hates doing choppy movements. Everything about him is like a wave, slow and smooth. The less coordinated the rider is, the slower he goes to compensate for that. He's our dressage pony, an older fellow who taught us all to stay in the saddle. Directly across from me, I see Olivia grinning as she trots on her own horse, Snow White. The Arabian mare delicately picks up her feet, unaffected by the yelling around her and I can only manage a small smirk before the whip hits my boot. It takes all my strength to hold Magnitude from becoming an arena sized jet.

"What was that for?" I ask slightly hurt but not daring to look anywhere but between the two lean chocolate ears.  Up, down, up, down. I try to keep from crying. It's not fair that I get picked on when all I did was glance at a friend.

"Elizaveta, I told you to focus!"

*****

I sit up, breathing hard, heart racing. A glance at my alarm clock shows me that it's only 2:42 am. I have to double check because at first it seems to me as though the time is 5:45. Not that I'd be shocked then, I remark as I slowly calm my stress. 5:45 was just the usual wake up call when I have a pre-school practice, something that lets me have a morning spare every other day. Certainly, the High Performance athlete program at North Toronto wasn't the best but it's something. I reach for my water bottle stationed right beside the clock, my parched throat welcoming the cool liquid as I recalled my dream. That day...I hadn't dreamed of that since, well, since for a while. Last time that memory haunted me was...a year ago? Half a year?

A quick glance at my phone's screen shows me the date. October 3rd. 6 years since Magnitude became mine. 4 years since I gave him up. 4 and a half since I started fencing. I flop back down into the pillows, thinking. Sleep never comes easily to me half way through the night, a habit of over thinking as Igor puts it. I look up at the dark ceiling that barely stands out seeming to disappear and opens up to space, space, space. 4 and a half years of constant practices, sometimes 2 times a day, competitions, wins, losses, drama and improvement. Oh, and injury, a small voice in my head whispers, probably the one that counts all the bruises on my body.

Honestly, I don't clearly remember why I quit riding, sold my beautiful horse, gave up almost all my social life all so that I could be abused by sweaty guys in white uniforms multiple times during the week. At least the school stopped calling the social worker in to talk about abuse and drugs to me. It's annoying that people assumed the worst just because I have some bruises. Now NT is getting pissed about the amount of classes I am missing. Was it seriously my fault? I mean, other miss school for worst things like smoking weed or hooking up. I missed it for competitions. Sometimes, it seems like the office wanted me to get drunk, high and laid (was that the right term) all so I would become a normal teen.