I've had this idea for a while, and at 3 am, I deiced to just go for it. Trying a new writing style. Let me know how you feel about this story :)
"Brittany, make sure you clean up the kitchen before I get home!"
Your alarm hasn't gone off. It's obviously before nine in the morning. If Quinn believes you'll be getting up early; she's dreaming. You were up at all crazy hours of the morning editing your latest video. And you're not even close to being finished.
"Brittany!"
Maybe, if you ignore her, she'll forget she shares an apartment with you. And she'll forget she asked you to clean up. It's not like you meant to forget last night. You were busy.
"BRITTANY."
Your heart nearly jumps out of your chest as Quinn just about rips your door off its hinges and flies into your room.
"Brittany, are you deaf?" Quinn says looking at you still standing in your doorway expecting an answer.
"No. But sometimes I wish I was." You all but mumble turning over into your mattress. Cleaning the kitchen can wait until you've had your beauty sleep. At least until your alarm goes off.
You can imagine her eye roll when you feel one of your many pillows hit your head.
"Well now I know you're not ignoring me, you can get up. And please clean the kitchen and not just put everything in the sink." You can hear her picking up another pillow from your floor. Honestly, why did you think it was a good idea to have so many pillows. You literally sleep with one. They just make it a hassle for you to make your bed in the morning.
"Mike also wanted me to let you know that he needs help at the studio today, he said to come in around ten."
Your body feels like it was thrown into a cold icy lake when your comforter is ripped from your body. Curling up into a ball trying to preserve what little body heat you still have isn't helping.
"Why didn't he just tell me?" You ask the smaller blonde opening an eye. You're the one he needs help from. Why go through Quinn?
"He did. But you never look at your phone, he was worried you wouldn't see his messages till noon." Quinn tosses over her shoulder leaving the room. Confident her little stunt was enough to get you out of bed.
Huffing you finally release your legs and let them fall over the end of the bed. Reaching for your phone on your bedside table, sure enough, two missed calls and four messages from Mike. He should know by now, you wouldn't look at the messages before nine.
You shoot him a message letting him know you'll be there at ten and unplug your phone. Walking into the kitchen you turn your coffee maker on and put a hot chocolate capsule in. How anyone can enjoy the taste of coffee is beyond you. The world is already too bitter. Pulling a mug from the cupboard above, you see Quinn stepping out of the bathroom putting the backing of her earring in.
Smirking she lets you know she'll be back around six, possibly later, and not to bother cooking dinner for her. She then gently reminds you to clean the kitchen before collecting her keys off the wall and leaving, quietly closing the door.
You smile and hum as you take your first sip. The warmness from the mug warming your hands, and the liquid warming your insides. Hot chocolate is always the best start to the morning.
Skipping over to the fridge you take some greek yogurt and some fruits and toss them into a bowl. Placing the bowl on the bench you take a seat and pull out your phone. Scrolling through Instagram liking a few photos from people you look up to, some old friends from high school, and some brands you enjoy splurging on when you get your small paycheque from Mike.
You became friends with Mike your first day freshman year. He was in almost all your classes, except mathematics. It wasn't until Glee where you both really clicked. You would both work off each other's energy, bouncing ideas around with each other. Choreographing each dance routine trying to make each dance better than the previous. Mr. Shue really appreciated the help, and it did wonders for your egos to see everything come together.
It wasn't even a year out of high school when Mike opened up his own dance studio with help from his parents. You were proud of him. He found his niche. Every now and again when classes got too big, he'd call you down and you'd help him teach a class. Sometimes he'd ask you for help with his own routines or how he could simplify the routine for a newcomer.
You loved dancing. You still do. You love how you could feel your heartbeat sync up with the beat of the music. You can't go a day without throwing together a few steps while walking around your kitchen. But you wanted more than teaching someone else to dance. You felt you were destined for something more. So you filmed one of your dances and uploaded it to youtube. It didn't get many views. But it got a comment that stuck out to you.
"Wow! I'm here before she goes viral!"
Viral. Now that was something she could get behind. You loved being the center of attention during dance performances. Having everyone's eyes on you, it made you feel alive. You keep their attention with just the way you moved your body. They were in the palm of your hand. And you loved it.
So you filmed another dance. And another. And slowly but surely people started watching. People started subscribing. People became excited when you uploaded another video. You started noticing the same people commenting on your videos, words of encouragement and praise. You noticed a small fan base growing.
Now you've got ten thousand subscribers, an upload schedule of one four minute video every two weeks or so. You have your usual commenters, which you always make time to reply to. You're happy with your channel. It's always a work in progress. But you're still not viral.
Finishing up your breakfast, you collect your dishes and put them in the dishwasher. Taking the bowls, plates, and other cutlery from the sink placing them in the dishwasher too. Popping in a dishwashing tablet and turning it on, your content you've cleaned up enough. You can wipe down the counter later anyway.
Ducking into your room and collecting your towel, you slide into the bathroom and jump into the shower. You think you'll go in early and start to put together your next routine. This one has to put you on trending.
The current video you're working on, you're not happy with. The lighting was off and the camera angle just isn't working for you. And ever since Quinn pointed out you made this face multiple times where it looked like you really needed the bathroom, it became the only thing you could focus on when you rewatched your rough edits. This was not the content you wanted to upload.
Drying yourself off you walk back to your room, pulling your draws open only to realise you haven't done any laundry. Rifling through your laundry basket you pull out a pair of leggings that don't smell like they've been in that basket for weeks and find a flowy white top from the floor. You make a note in the back of your head to put a load on when you get home.
Grabbing your keys, dance bag, wallet, headphones and of course your phone, you lock up and leave for the studio. Glancing at the time on your phone, you decide to walk to the studio instead of catching the bus. You'll get there super early anyway. Popping your headphones in and selecting some Frank Ocean you start your walk to the studio.
You find it hard to contain the bursts of energy you get when you hear the chorus start. You have to remind yourself that it would look a little weird to someone else seeing you dance your way down the street. So you imagine yourself spinning off light poles and flipping over public benches. Taking someone's hand and dancing a perfectly choreographed contemporary routine with them. Finishing as they spin you back out of their arms, letting your hand fall softly as they look back longingly for your touch as you continue your walk to the studio.
Dancers sometimes forget that their environment is also a dance partner. It always adds more depth to dances, makes it more interesting.
Turning into the small doorway your put your tweety bird themed key into the lock letting yourself in.
Mikes not in yet, perfect. This will let you dance with your hair down. You adore Mike, but sometimes you feel a little self-conscious dancing around him. Maybe because you secretly believe he to be the better choreographer, or because he now has a career teaching people to dance. You're not really sure.
Taking a short right hand turn into one of the main dance studios you take a look around. The studio features a bright blue backdrop and full-length mirrors covering the opposite wall, windows facing the street on the adjacent wall.
You plug your phone into the speakers and play some Rihanna. Taking a hair tie from your wrist, you put your hair into a lazy pony tail. You feel sexy this morning. And just as long as no one smells your clothing, they'll think your sexy too.
Feeling the music flow through yourself, you begin your movements small and light. Almost like you're scared to be seen dancing. The bridge comes through and this is where you let yourself go. Your hands sliding over your body. Dropping down to your knees with passion pushing your chest up with each ragged breath.
This is the warm-up you needed. It's given you the perfect idea for your next dance video.
Britney Spears.
You change the music over and select 'Me against the music' pushing the repeat button.
Moving to the middle of the room facing the full-length mirror. Taking a deep breath in before Britney and Madonna start singing.
You've only walked out a little under half the song. Going through the movements as the song replays for what seems like the twentieth time you see Mike walk in.
"Hey Brittany" Mike smiles pressing the pause button.
"Hey Mikey." You walk over to the taller man and give him a hug, nestling your head against his chest.
"Thank you for coming in." He says giving you a tight squeeze before letting go.
You wave him off walking over to get some water. Of course you'd come in, despite not wanting to be a full-time dance teacher, you'd do anything for Mike.
Checking your phone you still have another twenty minutes before any of the students are supposed to arrive. You'll film what you have so far while Mike does the usual administration stuff before the other dances come in. This way you won't forget any moves, and you can rewatch what you've done. Seeing if anything needs to be tweaked or changed.
You'll even post a little clip onto Instagram to let your followers know you're working on another video. That will excite them.
After you wave goodbye to Mike as you leave to walk to the bus stop. You can barely feel your feet and you wouldn't place any bets being able to lift your arms above your head. Mikes routines had been killing you all day. His choreography was always on another level compared to yours.
Well, at least you believed it was true.
Slumping into the bench at the bus stop you pull your phone out. A few thousand people had watched your story and a few were already asking when the video will be out. You snap another photo of yourself looking exhausted captioning it 'Hard day at the office' before posting it.
You're going to be sore tomorrow. You can feel it.
Or maybe it was the chill running up your spine as you watch the sun disappear behind the clouds. It's late and cold, and you didn't bring a jacket. Rolling your eyes at yourself, you rub your arms hoping to bring some kind of warmth waiting for the bus to arrive.
When the bus pulls up you already notice people standing. You quickly pay for a ticket and stumble down the bus holding onto other peoples seats for some stability. Standing just behind another woman.
Looking around you can see a younger mother, holding her sleeping baby in her arms, pram wedged in-between two standing passengers. A teenager with their headphones in, staring outside the window. Probably imagining they are the lead in a teen drama movie. A man is in his work out clothes going to or from the gym. And another guy who reeks of alcohol sat next to where you're standing. To out of it to know where his stop is, or what year it currently is. You silently thank the heavens that you won't be on the bus long enough to care about the stench coming from him.
Hearing the door open and close again you know you're getting close to your stop, you brace when you feel the bus starting to mov again, reaching up to press the 'stop' button.
Jumping out of the bus and taking the much smaller walk back to your apartment, you pray Quinn isn't already home. You didn't really finish cleaning the kitchen, and you're too tired to argue with her tonight. You wish you had just cleaned it properly this morning.
Walking into the apartment ground floor your nose is filled with a faint smell of perfume. Taking a quick detour to your mail box, you continue up to the elevator doors and the smell only intensifies. It's intoxicating. The aroma almost slaps you in the face when you enter the elevator. It smells like whoever they were sprayed the perfume in the elevator. Must have been running late for somewhere you think.
You're grateful for the smell when someone else enters the elevator, suddenly self conscious of your body odour. You had been dancing all day, working up a sweat in already questionably smelling clothing. The last thing you wanted was for neighbours to think you had poor hygiene.
You smile politely when leaving and pull out your phone to send Mike the video from earlier this morning. Typing out a message asking what he thinks so far, and if there's any pointers he could give.
Walking into your apartment, you sigh with relief Quinn isn't home. Dropping your bag by the door and tossing your keys on the counter you wipe down the surface and unstack the dishwasher.
Stripping down, you hop into the shower and let the water run over your body. You're tired, you don't feel like editing tonight. Maybe you'll watch a movie and pass out on the couch.
After drying off, you pull on your pyjamas and get comfy on the couch. Munching on some left over fruit from earlier this morning. Looking at a few chick flicks but ultimately settling on a classic Disney movie; The Lion King.
You don't know why you picked this one. It always makes you cry when Simba leaves Mufassa.
Halfway through the movie Quinn comes home. You watch her look at the kitchen and smile. She kicks off her shoes and drops her bag at the door and gets cozy on the couch next to you.
"Thanks for the kitchen" She mumbles softly, almost as if she didn't want to distract you too much from the movie.
You just hum approvingly at her.