It was a busy day.
First, an early morning fitting for Nutcracker costumes, then company class at eleven, coaching during her lunch break, and then try-out rehearsals for Bayadere in the afternoon. They'd barely touched down after Margate and she was already cascading through the company whirlpool again.
Roman lounged lazily in the leather chair in Bastian's office. The artistic director had asked to meet with him, presumably to discuss his roles for the upcoming season, a conversation Roman had been dreading ever since arriving in London.He'd been firm in his contract, adamant that he wasn't doing big stages for a while and that he needed time to rest and...Straighten out his personal life. Small performances were helping to keep him in shape, but he wasn't ready for the Opera House.&nbs
Roman slammed the door gracelessly behind himself, shrugging out of his coat and kicking off his shoes. Maybe his aggression was slightly misplaced, but nevertheless, a stubborn throb of irritation sat in his chest. He wasn't angry, he told himself, just irked. Irked.God,why?
Roman smothered an irritated groan into his pillow and pulled the covers over his head, desperate to drown out the city's noise. He had been tossing and turning for what felt like hours, unable to sleep a wink.With an indefinite amount of time on his hands, he'd thrown around a few theories to try and explain his insomnia. Homesickness, which was unlike him, but maybe. Indecision about Bastian's offer, which was unlike him, but maybe. Or the ballerina at the centre of it all, unlike him,
'Straighten her, Ridley!' Debbie yelled, shaking her head disapprovingly at the two dancers in rehearsal. 'She's completely skew!'Roman yawned tiredly as he watched from the mezzanine. Ivan and Asya were running the act three pas de deux again, under the supervision of Asya's coach, Debbie. Castings forBayadèrestill hadn't come out, and the whole company was holding their breath.
Roman fled to the auditorium. He couldn't look her in the eye. Not now.What was he supposed to do? He couldn't, he couldn't get through to her, couldn't get her to come to him, trust him. Instead, she just runs back to Ivan, falls at his feet, gives herself to him and eats out of his hand even though he'll later choke her with it.
Roman's thoughts were interrupted by Debbie calling on Ivan and Asya for their rehearsal.Jolted back to the present day, he watched as the young ballerina stepped on stage. Under the harsh lights she looked different, she'd washed her face, put on some makeup and changed into a different leotard. But she still seemed distracted, still seemed a little rattled, even as she stepped into Ivan's arms.
Asya got wrestled out of his grip eventually. He wanted to yell, scream, just tell them to be bloody careful with her, her body is her livelihood, but instead he just froze.She wasn't there- he couldn't hold her, he couldn't protect her.Julian bu
Asya stepped slowly out of the shower into her steam-filled bathroom, wrapping herself in a towel. She wiped the mirror clear with her palm, and almost reeled when she saw her reflection.Her hair hung in damp tendrils around her sunken expression, her cheeks hollow and eyes spectrally glassy. Her skin was pallid and lifeless, her shoulders limp. She looked like a ghost. Her eyes travelled down the mirror, over the towel, to her legs, and finally her feet.