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( CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: MY PREROGATIVE ) August, 1990
❝ decide if you want to live your life, or waste it away. ❞
◯
Good job, Devon thought, his patronising mind never failing to make him feel even worse than he already did. Now you look like a real idiot. Somehow, Devon tried to convince himself that he could bounce back from this, that no amount of rejection will tamper his spirits—but in actuality, it wasn't true. Devon felt everything, his felt his pride crumbling to dust, his hope shattering right before his eyes. And the worst part was, he knew it was his fault.
Another day, another disappointment. As the days passed, Devon decided to put all of his energy into his dancing to distract himself from his brewing unhappiness, like he usually did. As always, no one suspected his complicated feelings, since the young man gave his undivided attention to rehearsals, extra rehearsals, and extra extra rehearsals.
Before the next concert came around, Devon was determined to dance on stage again, his wrist slowly but surely healing back to its full state. The last practice before the show, Devon was stretching and trying to exceed his physical limits. The rest of the dance crew thought he was a madman by how figuratively he was working, but Devon knew that that was the intensity he had to endure in order to prepare himself to be the best.
When Anthony pulled him aside to check on his state, Devon could barely even look at him. The young man was a person that never tended to forget wrongs done on him, even if it was done out of love. "Hey, are you ok? You've been working non-stop," Anthony said, and Devon's jaw clenched at the sound of his voice, the young man's eyes pelting around the room like a pin-ball machine.
"I'm supposed to be working," Devon grumbled, fiddling with velcro on his fingerless gloves. "But you need some rest, kid," Anthony responded back, eyebrows sown in with concern. "No, what I need is to dance on stage again," Devon pressed back, chocolatey eyes illuminated with hot fiery anger. In the young man's mind, the best way to block out his feelings and resolve the infinite hole in his chest was to dance to his heart's content.
Anthony frowned at his words, slowly opening his mouth to say more. However, in all honesty, Devon didn't want to hear another word from the man, since his mind kept replaying the moment where Anthony refused to do anything about Jimmy's actions. It infuriated him beyond belief, but Devon made sure to control his rage so that the temptation to punch Anthony square in the face refused to see the light of day.
"Ok," Anthony mumbled, not choosing to fight with Devon on the subject, "Just so you know, you can talk to me if you're not feeling ok." It's not like he'll help me, anyway, Devon thought, his ample lips sealed together so that he could hide his sarcastic smile. Devon certainly respected Anthony as an artist and as a choreographer, but as a person? Now that was an entirely different story.
