Their Tale

One



"Are you excited?" Celeste asks before she stuffs her cheeks full of avocado toast. Something she had recently been obsessed with. Bringing a napkin to her mouth to wipe what did not land. I can't help the smile at her adorable nature. Angel felt the same way, with a glimmer of love in his sight of her, "Yes I am. I have to present my own piece to determine which class I will be in but overall, I am just nervous." A large hand comes over mine in an act of calming me from spiralling.

"You have worked your ass off since the your wound healed. They couldn't compare to you if they tired, so don't do that same." With a deep breath, I agree with a nod, but my thoughts are filled with fears that I won't be good enough.

What if they all just thought Angel threw his money into the academy's pocket and got me this spot. Would they even believe me if they knew I sold the only property I ever owned for it? I feel a light tug at my hand when Angel looks at me with a waiting gaze, "No one knows you got me this interview right?" The paranoia is evident from the first world, but when he agrees I try to settle down.

With my birthday having fallen in the craze of our recoveries, there was little excitement, but Celeste insisted we do something small. She made my favourite dinner, and Angel, having lost many battles in the debate of my tuition, got me the interview that allowed me to plead my less experienced case with a personal piece. That piece was the acceptance letter I never knew I could get, but that was passion. Passion got me in the door, but the technical skills I had lacked were what I had been working on since.

The drive after breakfast to the academy is slightly nerve raking, but I find confidence in the belief that the two people I love have for me. When the car parks, I leave the car with Angel and Celeste waiting for me. Slowly I find myself bringing them both into a hug needing that safe space between them, even if it's just for a few seconds. It's when Angel leaves a kiss on my forehead that we let go. Celeste gives my hand a gentle kiss "No woman is as powerful vulnerable as she is in absolute control than you. Go be that woman."

The moment I find my class and walk in the intimidation is heavy, but I fight to find my stance in strength as a dancer and a submissive. Two things I do well myself. A woman in her late thirties with a muscular body and dark brown hair speaks up, "Good morning everybody my name is Miss Tenner, I am going to be sectioning you all based on the performance you have prepared. If you are not here with prepared choreography, get out."

Her voice shakes us all to the bone, leaving chatter to a deaf-mute, but no one leaves. All thirty of us belonged here. With that Miss Tenner goes on to sit behind a table with a chair by it, with us beside and behind her, "I give a name and you dance, anything else and you are wasting my time." Murmured yeses and okays go through the room, and that begins her list of the dancers. Each one gave their hearts, souls, and bodies to the floor they danced on, and with everyone, there is a stoic look on her face.

 They danced, and yet all my eyes could see was who they were, and I was not just that. Each dance I couldn't help but look at the pole that stood far behind them untouched. Ever since losing my first studio when we had left the penthouse, the pole had been something I missed with a hesitant confession. Was I not supposed to be something better than the woman who sold her body on a pedestal.

As each danced, they got a number, some were two, and some were three. Each going on until I hear it, "Evita Alonso." Walking to the floor my bare feet patter on the ground, and for a second, I feel myself slow but not stop. I could see the centre mark that many had stopped at to be right in Miss Tenners view. I should have stopped but moved futher.

Where angels spread their wings, broad and bold in show of their power holding them up stronger than a spine, the pole behind me lifted my posture. I give a silent prayer, hoping that I am not setting a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity in flames over individuality.

Signalling for the song to begin, I go on to show them the woman who gave control through her vulnerability. Body lifted and moved. I dance to the mellow music climbing the pole with grace before my muscles lithe around the pole in flow. Claiming the pole, the strice in my eyes a silent commemoration of how hard I had fought, and when I reach the top, allow my body to slip down the pole. The moment my back meets the floor the prestige they desired to flow across the hardwood floors.

I could feel it, what I had been fighting in myself for weeks now. This need for control fighting with this need of submission, I was being torn apart by my desires and thoughts. Gravity, with its hands-on my throat while space tore itself into my body. I gave my emotions through the control of the pole and the empty space on the floor because that is who I am.

With the music end, I wait and hear nothing. Not one word, just the breaths, and shocked faces. Miss Tanner's brow is raised, her hands folded on the table as she looks at me in the corner of the room. I ruined it; I ruined the one chance I had at something I had dreamt about for, "One." Stunned, I stand up from the last position, unsure if I heard her correctly, "I said one, now get off my floor child."

Shocked with others, I wait on the side when I realized I was the last dancer to be called. Standing from her chair Miss Tenner strides to the centre of the dance floor before turning to us, "Group two will be given a schedule where you will be working with me and another instructor. You are good but holding back and that needs to be checked now. Group three, you disappoint me, you will have a harder time here if you would like to work your way up, schedules will be given at reception."