Page 11 of Damaged Protector
My words were full of fire. “You know what, Curtis? Why don’t you go hang out with your not ugly friend, Adriana. Call me when you grow some balls.”
I hung up, slumping down on the bed and wishing I could turn back time and make it as though none of this had ever happened.
Chapter 3
Though I’d stared at the same four walls for over a month, big changes happened inside me during my studio incarceration.
The biggest was that I’d grown a backbone. Of course, I’d always had vertebrae and a spinal cord, but figuratively speaking, this was all new to me. I’d never stood up to my mother before because I had never felt the need to. I always knew she had my best interests at heart.
Or so I’d thought. My eyes were now wide open, and everything was becoming clear.
Mama had been a ballerina back in her youth, a very promising young dancer with a bright career in front of her. Until she became pregnant… with me.
After I was born, she was never quite able to regain her dancer’s body, so she turned her ambitions around on me. She was living vicariously through the daughter who had ruined her dreams.
I was two when she enrolled me in dance classes. It became obvious quite quickly that I had inherited my mother’s talent. Even as a toddler, while the other dancers were jumping and running around or crying, I picked up the simple choreography with ease and was quickly moved to the five-year-old class.
Sometimes, I caught Mama rewatching my first recital with tears in her eyes. I’d always thought it was because she loved me so much, but having five weeks of relative solitude to think about my life proved that theory wrong.
My mother was worried about my dance career. That’s it. Seriously… what kind of parent cared more about appearances than a traumatic incident their own child had gone through?
Every day when she brought my lunch and dinner, she asked if I was ready to apologize, and when I said no, she left without another word. After two weeks, she stopped asking.
I didn’t dance at all. Not a single step. I did stretch every day out of habit, boredom, and the desire to keep my body limber.
And honestly, there wasn’t much more to do. I read. I texted. I scrolled social media. And I researched.
The other big change in my life was that I’d broken up with Curtis for good. My friend, Eliza, had informed me that he and Adriana had been spotted having lunch together every day the first week I was gone. Add to that the fact that he didn’t believe me when I told him about Moreau, and I was done.
It actually felt good to dump him… to rid myself of those who didn’t support me a hundred percent. I was like a phoenix rising from the ashes, still a small fledgling, but getting stronger every day. Spreading my wings in preparation to fly.
My phone rang, and I smiled when I saw my dad’s name pop up. Swiping my finger across the screen, I answered with a cheery, “Hello, Dad! Where are you?”
“Hey, baby girl. I have a layover in Amsterdam. I’ll be home tomorrow. How’s your shoulder feeling?”
“It’s okay. I’m still resting it.”
“Aw, I’m sorry, honey. You miss dancing, don’t you?”
“Sure.”
There was a pause. “That didn’t sound very convincing.”
I squinched my eyes closed, searching for the words. I needed my dad on my side, but I didn’t want to cause him any undue stress.
Taking a deep breath, I said, “I was thinking I might shift my focus a bit.”
“Shift your focus?”
“To something other than dance.”
Dad’s voice held a timbre of confusion. “But you love ballet, honey.” Another pause. “Don’t you?”
Straightening that metaphorical backbone I’d recently acquired, I informed him, “Mama loves ballet. I actually enjoyed jazz a lot more.”
I’d loved the few jazz classes I’d been allowed to take. Especially contemporary jazz, though I loved some of the old stuff too, like the Charleston and the jitterbug.
“Mal, I know your mom can be a bit overzealous, but I always thought you liked ballet. Is she… pressuring you?”