Executively Devoted | CEO h.s.

7 | Let It All Go

♬ ✥*

Serenity.

"Thank you so much for everything, Miss Hayes," Penelope said, whist her arms were wrapped around my hips.

"It was a pleasure teaching you, Penny. Never stop dancing, yeah? You're amazing," I spoke, giving her the same embrace.

It wasn't a minute more when my student's father came to pick her up — for the last time.

I was now down to seven little dance prodigies.

Two thoughts were running around in my head: one, I was losing dancers to teach, decreasing the rest of the income I needed to live my life; and two, I'm going to have to close down the studio anyway for renovation, so it's best to have less.

The question was, did I really have to close the whole place down?

Ten days have passed since the signing of the contract. Harry had pre-informed me that he was going to be in London once more, and gave me his personal contact information if I needed anything. I didn't, though.

There was no point to contact him with regards to, "What on earth should I do now?" I knew that I needed to search for the best contracting company or interior design firm to help get things started, but I was feeling stressed.

Panic overcame me, and I had no other choice but to dance.

Teaching my students, I always wore a leotard and tights to help make them feel more comfortable. They knew that the dedicated uniform was a part of ballet, but the tight fit on their small bodies, I could see their apprehension towards it.

It only took me two classes to realise it, and by the third, we were all uniform, and they could see what it was like, first-hand, how a ballerina looked up close. They studied me, just as I did them.

Picking up my phone, I scrolled through my lengthy list of music before settling on something that fit my mood just perfectly.

The melody of the piano entered my veins, breathing in the oxygen that I was desperately looking for. Lyrics defined everything that I was feeling — everything that I wanted to say but couldn't.

The only way to do that was to dance — so I did.

My feet flew in the air, beating past the invisible air, keeping my fingertips long, and freeing. Landing on the ground, I crouched down, grasping ahold of my waist, shoving myself, then pulling back up — holding onto myself.

I felt the pounding of the drums in my ears, loud and strong as I moved my body in sync with it. Steps and jumps were taken, one after another, each powerful with emotion — until I fell.

Miscalculating the distance of how far I could stretch, I landed forcefully on the ground. My palms clapping against flooring, one knee bent towards my torso, the other laid long.

But I didn't let that stop me.

Dragging myself along the cold surface, I pushed my body on my knees and back up straight with pure confidence and continued to dance. My mistake, I improvised it with my mind choreographed routine, letting it reach to the perfection I knew it could be.

Sweat dripped down my back, hair stuck to my forehead, and my throat was craving water. Panting deeply, I picked my head up from the ground, dragging the palms of my hands over the linoleum floor.

Pushing myself, I stood from my crouched position and jumped suddenly from fright. It wasn't from the new upbeat song that played next, but from something else — someone else.