CREATURE

・chapter 27・

By the fifth day, Asya was ready to start chucking furniture out of her windows for some entertainment. As much as she'd been trying to keep busy over the past few days, her self-imposed routine was slowly starting to chip away at her sanity.

It was starting to show, too. With every passing day her reflection in the mirror got hollower and hollower, and the shadows under her eyes darker and darker. She supposed that the one small mercy she had left was that besides sleeplessness and boredom, she hadn't needed to feel much at all. She'd removed any and all traces of her balletic commitments from sight, having shoved her pointe shoes in a drawer at the bottom of her cupboard, chucked her schedule in the bin, and stuck her dance bag under her bed.

That left only eating as the majorly triggering aspect to her daily routine. But she had that well under control too, she was throwing up at least one of her meals and making sure the others were strictly rationed. She needed a way to control her heightened emotional state in the aftermath of the injury, and that was the only way she knew how.

Come that evening, however, she concluded that she'd run out of distractions. She was done eating for the day, at least until Julian came by after the performance. That left her with another three hours to kill, and god knows if she wasn't distracted, the weight of it all was going to come crashing down on her.

Almost impulsively she grabbed her coat and keys, and set out to get some fresh air while she paid Ivan a visit. She hadn't seen or heard from him since the incident on stage, but hadn't thought much of it. Their relationship was never the talkative type. All she knew for absolute certain was that she needed to feel something besides numbness, and if there was one person who surely wouldn't bother with pleasantries, it was Ivan Ridley.

She bid a quick hello to Beth and stepped outside, feeling the cold evening air wrap itself around her. It was a short two-block walk to Ivan's apartment on the corner of Bedford Street, and as she neared the old red brick building she noticed that the cafe on the ground floor had already put up their Christmas lights. It reminded her of Nutcracker, of the shows she wouldn't be dancing in, couldn't be dancing in.

Something resembling panic flared in her chest. Anger, maybe. Almost violently she shoved it down and rang the bell for Ivan's apartment, anxiously waiting for the door to buzz open. As she stood waiting, she realized that she hadn't checked if he'd be home. It was seven in the evening and more likely than not he'd be prepping to go on stage.

Relief washed over her when the entrance finally clicked open. She made her way up the wooden stairwell, knocked, and moments later the door to his apartment swung open. She did a double-take.

'Holy shit, Ridley.' she gasped. 'What happened to you?'

'Fell.' he said simply, stepping aside so she could brush past him.

Never taking her eyes off his face, she shrugged off her coat and left it on the rack in the entryway. She was trying her best not to openly gape, but holy hell, his face...

It was covered in an assortment of nasty-looking blue and black bruises, and some smaller cuts lined his bottom lip and brow. The injuries had yet to properly heal and looked painfully recent, if the swelling and inflammation were any indication. One thing was certain though, he definitely hadn't 'fallen' as he'd tried to claim. But rather than press him for an explanation as to why he looked like he picked a fight with a mechanical bull, she found herself wanting to do something. Anything, just to keep her hands busy.

'Can I take a look?' she asked, gesturing to his face. Knowing Ivan, she half-expected an irreverent comment or annoyed dismissal, but to her surprise he nodded hesitantly and sat down at the breakfast table.