The melancholy music echoed off the large walls of the dance hall that held numbers of girls and boys dancing in beat. Onetwothree, onetwothree, the words came out as one in Clare's head; the music was calm but faster than usual. She kept this mantra in her head until she took a misstep and it took her about two seconds to get back in.
She looked around, hoping that no one had seen her mistake. She thought of Marie, how much Marie would tease her if she saw the mistake. Clare reeled her mind back to the present day where she was dancing sensually and passionately. It was only her and Marie now; all the other dancers had cleared away as to make room for their designated duet.
Clare hated Marie with a burning passion. If Clare had short hair, Marie had short hair too. If Clare got her ears pierced than so did Marie. It was like she was proving that anything Clare did, she could do better.
To the others it would have looked like Clare and Marie would have been amazing friends; pushed together with the fact that they felt such a need to dance that it was insane. But O, those two were enemies. It was like comparing hot and cold.
Yet, Marie was a part of Clare that would stay with her forever. Marie told the very story of Clare's insanity and strive to be perfect. She was a part of her that no matter how much Clare wanted to, she couldn't shake. It was like they would be fueling one another in crossfire of explosions that were bound to happen at some point. It was like death; inevitable.
Clare knew that being in the dance industry meant that it came with a threshold of feeling that didn't belong or weren't right so she kind of expected it when her mother had recommended her got to a therapist. Her mother didn't know anything; just that Clare was a dancer with strange feelings and that no matter what they just DON'T GET OUT OF YOUR HEAD.
(Sometimes Clare talked in all caps in her head, like she was yelling at herself for being imperfect)
She felt like walls were always closing in on her, always inching toward her, towering, and they were plastered with pictures of Marie. Pictures of her just smiling and smirking and talking and yelling and so many things. Clare would sometimes need to scream to get rid of all the chiding voices in her head, scoffing at her. She truly felt like an insomniac, unable to sleep at night sometimes, but she always did.
She knew that right now at this point as she was dancing that all the other dancers were watching her; judging, comparing. She knew that they were just trying to see who was the better dancer; whereas Clare was having a battle within that was good vs. evil.
The back door of the studio opens and Clare stays in form. Marie stumbles, surprised by the surprise noise, but regains her balance with a fierce look on her face. Clare is too caught up in the now scary music Mozart is creating and by the own voices in her head, yelling at her and laughing. She pushes herself harder and she feels a sense of triumph when she knows that Marie messed up because of a stupid little noise.
Marie looks even angrier now, she can sense the smugness on Clare, and Clare knows it. Their movements become more practiced; more perfect. They both are doing the same moves but on opposite sides and when they both rush up to meet each other and pass by softly as part of the routine, Clare can only feel a longing to snap her neck and do twirls around her lifeless body.
"Okay girls! That's good for now! Let's have a little break, shall we?" Mr. Poberezhny yells, with his voice loud and on the edge. Clare could tell that he felt the tension as she and Marie rose to meet each other again, this time one that might not have been as innocent.
Clare stops and walks on her feet flat now. She breezes by Marie, making sure to ever so lightly shove her shoulder. Marie spins around, glaring at her before walking up to their teacher in full sight of Clare while asking loudly, "Mr. P, may I continue to practice? I really want to get the routine down." She says it nice and clear so Clare can hear just how much of a suck- up Marie was.
Clare rolls her eyes and walks over to her bag, and notices that someone in the corner is watching her. She looks through the mirrors and sees that it is a boy around her age with dark hair and dark clothing.
Clare can't help but feel as though that was what her inner mind would be like if it were a person. She walks to her bag and pulls out a water bottle, chugging it. She hasn't brought any snacks like the other ballet dancers, she knows that if she wants to maintain her role as one of the best ballerina's in the company than she can't eat,
Ballerina. The word that used to sound so pretty and graceful in her mouth now felt foreign and strained. Ballerina was like another word for sociopath. It was like it was another synonym for "psycho" she felt. Ballet was something that left her gasping for air, writhing in agony, and she never got tired of it. It was like something that could make her just want to scream all the time to get the agony out, and she hated it too.
She walked over to where the trashcan was and pushed the lid and threw away the bottle. It was now empty and Clare could use another one. Before she made it to her bag though, she felt a sting in her back. She turned around to see a filled hard water bottle on the ground, and a smug looking Marie. She walked coolly over to Clare and said, "Sorry, I was aiming for the trashcan."
Clare felt her hand twitch upward, as if to backhand her, and when she reached up her hand to do so, she felt someone grab it.
She looked wildly to her side to see the boy she had saw earlier right there, clutching her arm. She hated this unfamiliar touch and drew her hand back sharply. Marie watched with confused eyes before stalking away, probably angry she hadn't gotten Clare kicked out of the studio for violence.
"Why?" the word came out hard and cold. She didn't like that this boy had just stopped her from giving what Marie had coming to her, now Clare could only imagine the crack in Maries jaw if she had backhanded her.
"You're way too good of a dancer to get kicked out just because some chick got you angry," the boy said seriously. Immediately Clare felt her senses dull a little before thanking him and walking away briskly.
…..
It was ten o' clock at night and she was still dancing. She had a solo in one of their recitals and to mess up in practice in front of Marie would be the death of her.
She kept on spinning and spinning and spinning and she felt so tired and woozy. With a heap of exhaustion she let herself fall into a mess onto the floor and let out a strangled sob. A rush of emotions came running through her and she could feel the tears pouring down her face and the wracking of her body fighting for air. STUPID FOOL, they said. YOU WILL NEVER BE PERFECT, NEVER GOOD ENOUGH, YOU SHOULD BE DEAD, NO ONE WOULD CARE, GO KILL YOURSE-
"STOP IT!" Clare screamed while clutching at the sides of her head. So much chaos was floating by, taunting her. Her mind was flying everywhere, it was leading and army that left the ravages of Clare's mind in a worse stated than it already had. She stood up, still clutching her head, and starting dancing. She let her arms splay from her, doing her routine to try to get that control back, and she was unaware that she was being watched.
None of it was helping; she spun around to the mirror to see a horribly contorted face staring at her, one that was not hers. She suddenly saw the boy from earlier in the back, staring at her with his mouth open.
He saw you, you stupid little girl. You should have just let me take over, you know I always win.
Clare blocked this thought from her head and spun around; clutching her rapidly moving chest from the fast breaths she was taking.
…
He had seen a lot of good dancers.
Eli had been to many Russian ballets, and noticed with a great severity that they all looked so graceful and deducted that they were very talented.
Though, when he saw this girl dance, he felt different. She moved with such grace and moved in a floating manner, but her form still remained with stiffness.
She didn't flinch from what he could tell when he opened up the door suddenly, and he saw the anger that flashed through the other girls eyes when she stumbled a little bit.
Both of the girls were at odds and he found himself praising his uncle inwardly when he called them both off. He felt as if in a second that the tension between them would be enough to rip one another's heads off.
He watched the one who was dancing better (in his opinion) walk over to her bag while the other one bragged to their coach. He realized then, that the girl with the auburn curls that danced amazingly was watching him too, through the mirrors. He then saw her get this pained look on her face and looked down.
He kept on clanking between her, and the dark haired chick with loose straight hair that was up against her while they had been dancing.
Suddenly, Auburn get's up and walks over to the trashcan, throwing away the empty bottle that had taken her a total of three second to drink. He then saw Straight Hair girl go up behind her and chuck her water bottle behind her back. He then sees Auburn girl turn around and he sees this look in her eyes.
Her eyes are giving off this evil vine and he finds himself walking toward them, it was as if her eyes had a natural shade they would be like rubies with a coal black in the middle. He sees that she's raising her right hand up about to strike her and he moves quickly, grabbing it.
He gave an excuse to her that was only half true, but the main reason he stopped her was because he felt that if she did hit the other girl then there would be way more pain than a usual backhand would hold. He felt the rage rolling off her in waves, and now that he was at the ballet studio at ten he knew something was wrong with her.
The way she had started the dance with ease, but then slowly melted into it. He could start to see the struggle in her movements, the way he face slowly darkened. Then, her face was gone. It was a now demonic version of her face and he came out of the shadows where he had been sleeping before she came in. She stopped abruptly and clutched her head screaming in a voice that would have suited one of a tortured animal, "STOP IT!"
She fell to the ground, shaking uncontrollably and he was about to run to her when he saw her lift herself up and start dancing again. He stood in awe, amazed that she could just pull herself together after that breakdown and start dancing again.
Though he noticed that this time she wasn't dancing as passionately and more sensual. Finally, she stopped and clutched her head again, spinning around to face the mirrored walls that were in front of her.
The face she had on was the scariest thing he had seen in his life. If her eyes would have been completely red, he would have fainted. She looked crazed and wild with fury and her face was pulled into a position of one you would see in horror movies. Then, she saw him and her face dropped into a mortified one as he stepped forward.
She spun around to face him and he took a cautious step forward.
Her hand flew to her chest, which was rising up and down quickly from the short, fast breaths she had been taking.
He was stiff with fear and he found himself in awe as he managed to find his voice.
"Are you okay?"
…
OMGizzle, like over 2,000 words. I want to say that I was inspired by Black Swan, but this will be going a different route. I'm kinda trying me hand at this dark fiction, so if you have you have any constructive criticism feel free to review. But, review anyway, too. I hope you liked it.