My muscles can no longer take it. Shortly after lessons, I collapse to the studio floor with such little air left in my lungs, I feel like a ghost. I wheeze in all the air I can get as my lungs can barely hold anything. Pique slides me into her arms with ease, holding me like a small child. I gasp and start squirming. She smirks and holds me tighter, reminding me that I barely surpass forty kilograms. I can't fight back even if I want to, so I just enjoy the softness.
Pique smiles and allows me to take a slight rest while bouncing in her arms, getting very personal with her soft chest. The looks we receive on our way to the dorms are nothing short of unusual. It doesn't happen often when a student is so tired they have to be carried. Lilie manages to open my door, with Pique laying me on the bed, offering me anything. I wave off her offer, assuring her I just want to take a nice long nap. I smile as I watch them leave, cuddling closer and their hands holding each other. I think for a moment and smile fondly at them.
But, as my word is true, I begin drifting off into sleep, not bothering to change into my nightgown. I pull my comforter over my cold and clammy body, drifting off.
I dream of someone dancing with me, someone familiar. I can't place their face immediately, almost like they're being censored from me. As we continue dancing, the song begins to slow down, and start creaking like an old music box that needs to be wound up again. As the last note falls to an astounding halt, the face is revealed. Fakir is standing in front of me, hand clasping gently to my hip. He leans forward, and I begin leaning into him, pushing myself up on my tip toes. I touch his soft lips to mine, his hands pulling closer up my back.
With eyes opening once again, my vision is greeted by the soft glow of a waning moon. I arise from my comforter, staring down at my pink unitard. I must've slept for who knows how long, since last I remember, the sun was barely passing over the western houses. Bits and pieces of my dream rouse my memory, but nothing particularly out of the ordinary for dreams. Just strange dances to strange old songs. It sounded like Dance of the Knights, but I'm not entirely sure since the song seemingly blended with other noises around me.
I rise, rubbing away the sleep from my eyes. Throwing my feet over the edge of my bed, I let a long yawn slip from my gaping mouth and I return to my feet, wobbling for a second as I regain balance. I want another shower, I think to myself; I want to scrub myself clean of that uncomfortable dream. It feels so sinful, hot water is the only way to let it go. Groggily pulling my unitard off, I cover myself with a clean robe, only to be used for the showers. I step out into the desolate landscape of the halls, tiptoeing through the silence with near precision.
I make it to the showers without interference, and creak the door open, peeking in. No one; perfect. I enter, pulling a towel from the rack, and disrobing. I hate using them a little less when they're empty, but it's still exposing my slim and childlike body. I throw my robe over the coat hanger opposite of the shower head, so it's easy to grab from where I am. Jerking on the old shower knob, a jet of cool water splashes down my front which by proxy sends waves of shivers and thousands of goosebumps to raise throughout my entire body as I squeak again. This time there's no laughter, just the echoing of my squeal against the empty walls. I thrust myself forward to try to change the temperature as quickly as possible. As the water becomes warmer and warmer, I begin to reinsert myself underneath the tingling droplets.
As I wash myself, I begin to rethink the dream. I don't really want to kiss Fakir, it's just a dream. He's been so mean to me over the years, it's a fact that he hates me at this point. He's always so venomous towards me, no matter what I do. Except during remedial lessons, but even then he is cold towards me. What was that crack in his voice? He almost sounded sympathetic, almost like Mytho did.
Mytho. I remember him so fondly, despite barely knowing him. His golden eyes still pierce me as I recollect many fantasies I've had about him. Mostly just romantic things, like him falling in love with me, marrying me, and fathering our two children, named Sonata and Hamnet. I feel a smirk pull at my lips, gently reminding me of how sweet he was. But he's no longer available for anyone but Rue; it must be nice feeling that kind of pure love. A shiver runs up my spine as I realize no one could love me. My feet give out and I fall to my knees, barely able to hold myself together. I face myself towards the head of the shower, water droplets mixing with salty tears I presume are already falling down my face. I don't want anyone to know I'm crying if they come in.
I'm doomed to be the lonely sitting duckling for the rest of time; unloved and unwanted. I can't help but think of all the events that foretold this future of continuous abandonment. How can I always be so naive to people's true intentions? More and more the water collects around me, pooling all around the floor as I sit on top of the shower drain.
I sit long enough to where my fingers start to prune and only soft hiccups replace my sobs. My body forces itself to rise, with the greatest possible energy I am able to muster from my sore and unwilling limbs. The knob of the shower is harder to turn back, but I manage to do it. I link my arms around to the fluffy and comforting hug of my robe, and dry my body as quickly as possible. I open the shower door, practically forcing myself to leave. As I look out the small window at the end of the hall, I notice the sun peeking in over the mountains.
I leave my pity in the shower drains and my face perks up. No ballet today, so I can finally travel back to town and see some of the parks. It's been a long time since I went out on my own. Maybe a trip to the library will clear my brain of all it's rainclouds. Opening up my room again, through my window I watch as the sun begins painting the sky it's oranges and purples, with gentle blues overlapping them all. My eyes don't leave the sky until the baby blue becomes the entire sky, prompting me to put on my summer clothes. I slip into my yellow, high-waisted shorts while tucking in my white turtleneck, pulling my sleeves to my elbows and billowing out the door.
The outside world illuminates me, streets only barely starting to bustle with people as I step out of the academies boundaries and into the streets. The sound of bird songs creates a chipper mood in the air, allowing a skip in my step as I walk through the streets. Scanning for either a library or a park, I manage to catch a few lingering conversations of others. I can't help but shake the feeling of people watching me, but it's not overwhelming.
I continue my stroll, falling prey to the tantalizing entrance of the park. As my walk continues, I feel enveloped in the bird songs, sending back my human renditions of their songs. Many of the birds fly closer, singing again, with myself mirroring their tune. I feel as many of my friends place themselves on my shoulders and arms. My eyes scan around me, hoping no one can see the odd scene I am causing. I cross my legs below me, peacefully placing myself below the thicker of trees and shrubbery.
I feel comfortable once again, finally sitting with my feathery friends in a place I can't be judged. My friends sing a song, not in harmony with anything other than their own beats. I begin gossiping among them, knowing fully well I look insane and if anyone caught me, I'd immediately be sent to the looney bin. My voice is kept low as a result, conversing partially with myself. I begin reimagining and telling them the dream and a slew of my friends, toward the end of the story, separate from my arms and fly off towards their respective branches. I am so utterly baffled by their sudden departure, I feel absolutely alone. Am I really that weird of a person that even birds don't like me anymore?
My ears perk up as the sound of snapping twigs and grass crunching fills my air. I twist and turn until I catch the eye of another person. They aren't looking at me, or anything I can see. They're just walking through thickets of forestry, and I'm intrigued by their presence immediately. I keep the distance between us, wondering where they're going or what they're doing. My heart beats, as with each of their footsteps I catch less and less of an image of them. Soon, an opening appears, completely void of any life, yet somehow still green and lush. My breath is soft and almost not even there, my eyes stare from behind a tree as the person finds their place in the center of the entire field, completely void of knowledge I'm watching them.
Their back facing towards me, I watch as they pull out a large broadsword, and even from a far distance I can tell they hold it firmly and with stability. The person stands en pointe and begins dancing with the sword, with unbelievable grace and agility. My mouth can't help but sit agape in awe as they wield it so perfectly balanced with such a beautiful moveset, their entire body moving so freely like a willow, but so tense and precise as well. The person twirls, sword outstretched and body firm, their identity finally revealing itself to me as they come to a stop to allow a small bird to perch itself on the blade of his sword.
Gentle and loving green eyes stare at the small creature, not even sweating at the amount of precision and sheer force it takes to do those moves. Fakir outstretches his finger, and the bird graciously flutters over, allowing him to replace his sword in his scabbard. I can't help but stare at Fakir, so enthralled and amazed at how genuine and kind he actually is to things that aren't people.
Immediately as a smile curls to my lips, my birds reappear and practically swarm me, making a giant scene. They sing and peck and practically force myself to lunge into the open valley. As soon as I'm in clear skies, all but Fakirs blue bird is left. My face reddens immediately and as I sit up, Fakir has already noticed me and is approaching me. Upon sheer instinct, I apologize profusely toward him, denying immediately that I had seen anything. His eyes are stern and he is very obviously planning something. As his body gets closer to mine, I feel my body begin to quake and shiver and fear stings in my chest. He approaches me, his gaze following mine.
"What are you doing out here?" His hand brandishes the hilt of his sword; I swallow as hard as I possibly can, hoping that he won't slice me open with that blade. I want to desperately explain myself, but word vomit is the only thing that manages to dribble out. His eyes linger long on my face, trying to find something to prod at probably. My face feels both drained and hot while his brows stop furrowing and he's no longer angry at me. He lets loose a gentle breath and sits himself beside me as though I am his old friend. His hand lingers on the grass as he stares into the meadow with his tiny bird watching off into the distance with him. There's a silence between us; a silence that holds in the sweet air we have. Finally he glances over at me again, his green eyes glittering in the sunlight.
"Do you know why I treat you the way I do?" His tone startles me, his words are sweet for once. We keep our eyes locked before I stammer out a nervous denial. He smirks and looks into the grassy null, undoing his long ponytail. The shoulder length hair makes gentle waves around his face. He seems more like a person and less like a teacher. Less authoritative, less perfect, more… Human.
"I think you can do a lot more than you let on. You're a passionate student, and I want you to use that passion and turn into a respected professional." Something is totally different about him right now. I analyze him, going over every small detail of his disposition, trying to find a hint of satire or sarcasm. Something normal about him.
His bird floats off into the blue air. His hands move into his lap, folded and neat. The greenery is duller around us it seems, colors less colorful when his face changes. He gives me one more glance and he shocks me once again.
"Forget about this, okay? You shouldn't trust me," his bones crack as he stands, "I don't expect you to like me, either." My eyes follow him as he disappears back into the thicket of woods. He's an enigma. He's one of the strangest people I've ever met. I know I should start looking at what makes him act like that, but it's something that I don't know where to start. There's so much to unravel but I can't find the thread that holds it all together.
I seat myself between Pique and Lilie in our mess hall the next morning, dwelling far too heavily on what Fakir meant when he spoke to me. You shouldn't trust me, his eyes echoed with something sad. Something far into himself that I can't comprehend, that I might not be able to understand. Pique rubs my back, and comforts me, detailing how everything would be better eventually and that I'd be out of remedial lessons soon. Even with this reassurance, Lilie takes my disgruntled mood in a completely different direction.
"I know you're sad about Mytho, but you have to understand that it just wasn't meant to be." Lilie gently rubs my back, affectionately reminding me of Mytho. This does not improve my mood whatsoever, only making me groan in agony as the thoughts of their gorgeous wedding zooms into my already tired mind. God, Rue will look like a goddess in a wedding dress; her dark hair filled with flowers and a white veil barely revealing her adult features. She probably will have chosen a gorgeous floor length dress, with everything laced into it. She'll probably look beautiful. My brain keeps imagining how perfect their wedding had been, and I can't even focus on what Fakir said anymore. I plant my face into the table with an abrupt thud.
"Ducky... There's no need to pout," Pique and Lilie chime together, their voices mixing together to form a new sound. My eyes drag upwards, hoping to catch a glimpse of something satisfying; I hope it's death. Death would probably be satisfactory at this point, no reason to live without Mytho being mine. I say this sarcastically in my head, but partially wish it was a reality. Alas, instead there is a boy I go to class with, awkwardly waving to me. I give a smirk back, before slamming my head back onto the table. I don't know much about him, but he seems harmless enough. Just the kind of kid who crushes on a new girl every week and can't seem to get any of them. He's not unattractive, just rather plain. Short brown hair, grey eyes, a rather slender figure, and average height.
My suffering ends as soon as the breakfast bell chimes. Pique and Lilie stand with me, and as I step away from their middle, their hands once again intertwine with each other. My mouth turns into a slight grin as I recognize their situation. They probably don't want the word getting out, so I keep my mouth shut. For a small time I feel giddy and all my woes are gone. I knew they had liked each other for quite some time, but I didn't think they'd actually end up dating; this was nice. A pure exhibition of love, something I wish I'll have one day.
I carry myself on weak legs as I watch my classmates scurry to their extracurricular activities. Instead of just moping to my dorm, I check the Cork Board in the courtyard, it always has events plastered from around the town for us to see. Immediately, I notice a flyer for the performance group I had been told about earlier in the week. I brisk over most details, eventually finding Mytho and Rue's names in the cast section. My heart flutters in both fear and joy. I so badly want to attend, but the thought of seeing Rue again absolutely horrifies me after she absolutely berated me in front of our entire class. Calling me 'uneducated', 'ungraceful', and 'totally uncoordinated' after I had forgotten one of my moves in a routine. She would consistently look down at all the underclassmen who couldn't perform as well as she did, giving her the title of "Queen Black Swan".
"Would you like to attend?" Fakir's cold voice echoes in my ears. I whip around just as he stands straight, towering over me. He looks just like he did in the woods. I stammer out a graceless yes, and he gives a smirk that reminds me of that one dream.
"Good thing I have an extra ticket. Care to join me?" I cock my head at his comment.
"An extra? Why do you have two?" He shrugs, his eyes narrowing as he continues, his voice a bit colder.
"Does it matter? Don't you want to watch one?"
"Well... Yeah. But I don't want to intrude on your night." I try to deflect him, but he's already walking away.
"You're not intruding if I invite you. Meet me here at nine tonight. Look formal, please." He waves me off, giving one last look at me from over his shoulder. Those eyes give off the same feeling he gave when he left me in the field, the one that I can't shake from my psyche. My legs finally start to carry me to my room, eager to see Mytho again even with Fakir accompanying me. I rummage around my miniature closet, looking for something nice to wear as I toss aside all my uniforms, unitards, tutu's, and summer dresses. Each dress is coming closer and closer to what I was expecting before I find it. A dress my mother gave to me before she 'left me', as my father put it. She said it was something she had always wanted to wear, but never knew when she would. She passed it onto me when I was thirteen, right before she went missing and Father dropped me off at the Academy. I pull it off its hanger, staring down at it.
It's beautiful. A blue babydoll style dress, with the sleeves starting past the shoulders and ending as my ribs. It's made of something soft, something very comfortable to slip into, to say the least. I stare at the bell tower; two-thirty. I still have plenty of time before I even need to start for the Cork Board. I probably need to meditate a bit, the thought of analyzing Fakir. The reminder that remedial lessons start at three today reignites the panic in my mind. My training gear is lost under ten different outfits now, and I have to get there early so Fakir doesn't revoke my ticket.
My burst of adrenaline makes everything go by much slower even though I know I'm rushing. The only clean unitard I have is my black one, so I swiftly pull it on, and hurry out the door with water and flats in hand. I stumble my way into the ballet hall, before stopping in front of my room, trying to yank open the door with absolutely no luck. I look out of the nearest window, confused. 2:40. I got here early for the first time, so early that Fakir isn't even here. I sit in front of the double doors, taking a large swig of my water and a prolonged breath.
As I wait, the boy I had noticed in the dining hall approaches the double doors. I think nothing of it at first, plenty of people are discussing curriculum and exercises with their teachers, with Fakir being no exception to that rule. I watch as he stands beside the door, presumably waiting for the class to start. An increasingly uncomfortable silence begins to boil between us, and makes each minute feel so much worse than the last. I know he's looking at me at this point. He finally inhales and asks me, voice cracking.
"H-hey, a-are you here for the exercise regimen too?" His voice shows how truly nervous he is. While his voice is a bit deep, his pitch is overshadowed by his very shaky and cracking tone. I smile and shake my head no.
"I have remedial lessons today. Did you need them?" I say, not losing my smile. I try to keep the idle conversation, even if it feels a bit awkward. He seems very sweet, maybe uncouth at most. His hands begin to shake and his face turns a bright pink, his hands nervously fixing his messy brown hair. He gives me another glance, stammering out a meek "yeah". The conversation ends, and Fakir approaches the double doors a few moments later, keys jingling in his hands.
"You're early, Ahiru. What a surprise," He twists the key in the lock, letting loose creaking doors as they breeze open. He turns his eyes to the boy. "Yes Wayland? What did you need?" Fakir's cold voice seems to send shivers through the boy beside me, causing him to stand up straight.
"I forgot where I put my exercises, Mister Andor! If I could have an extra sheet of the male exercises, I would be greatly appreciated!" Fakir rolls his eyes at the boy, clearly uncomfortable with the formal composure Wayland shows him.
"Come in, then. I have an extra somewhere in my pack. But once you get them, you have to leave. I don't want to have to speak to you about our last incident," Fakir waves both of us into the room and I set myself against the mirrors, lacing up my shoes. I can still feel Wayland's silver eyes on me, but I think nothing of it. He's just lonely. Besides, there's a 'no intermingling' policy, which just means boys and girls can't share dorms, date, or show affection on campus. Even so, it's pretty well known I'm not interested in dating anyone, so he more than likely knows there's no chance in trying to woo me. He leaves the classroom slowly, almost slinking out, waving at me. Waving back, I cant help but feel like I've opened Pandora's box. I wait for the other girls to enter class, barely looking at Fakir. The discomfort between us is long and uninterrupted until the standard group of girls enter the class. He claps his hands together and we begin our jumps.
~~~~~
Sweat beads down my forehead as my legs shake with vigor. I take three long gulps of water before I notice everyone else is gone. Fakir glances at me and begins walking over, taking a seat beside me, and looks at the doors. He leans his thick olive skin against the mirror as he watches the other girls leave.
"You're strong willed. I'm proud of you for trying so hard," He lets a small grin through as he glances at me. I smile back, panting through my words.
"I... want to get better. I can't... get better without... trying." I wipe my brow and envision myself as a great ballerina, something I could be proud of. Fakir nods in agreement and wipes his slick neck. We sit, the silence no longer awkward but still a bit more than uncomfortable. His hand rests on my back, a new topic arising.
"I still remember when you came to school. You were so quiet when you came into the last year of your elementary class." He chuckles and runs his fingers through his hair, pulling out this pony tail and revealing his dark brown cascades of hair. I feel a slight flush of my cheeks as he continues speaking.
"You looked like a scared little duck. I was so put off by seeing someone like you; someone so small, so childish, so... uncomfortable. I really couldn't grasp who you were, unlike everyone else. I honestly thought you were going to treat me like all the other girls did." He shoots me a glance with his affectionate pining eyes as he continues.
"Girls here treat me the same as they did before. Like I'm just something attractive to hold as a trophy. Mytho was kind of the same, but he adored the attention. He doesn't show it, but it's obvious to me how much he craves the attention from girls. He went on to be a ballerino, so I guess that's expected of him now. I wish you could've heard what he said about you though," Fakir slouches himself, adjusting his voice to a higher pitch and tired tone, "'She's so cute, I think she likes me, but do you think she loves me or you more?'" He resumes his original disposition, and we share a good-hearted laugh about it. But a small twinge pulls at my heart, uncomfortable with the possibility that Mytho could even think like that. He was always so stoic and kind, as far as I remember. It didn't seem like who was in class with me four years earlier.
"Did you ever like Rue?" My fatigue eases and I stare into him through the mirror. He rolls his eyes and presses his face into his hands, frustration climbing into his face.
"God, no. She has such high expectations of everyone. Not to mention she's controlling. She couldn't let me or Mytho do anything without having to know exactly where we were, what we were doing, blah blah blah, 'I'm Rue and I'm an overbearing bitch who can't handle the thought of Mytho being around other girls who are prettier than me,'" We laugh again, with me eventually holding onto my stomach from the pain that twinges inside.
"She was so mean to everyone all the time, for no reason. Like, you're just genuinely passionate about ballet, you want to get better. But she just wanted to be mean for the sake of being mean." I manage to loosen up and my stomach stops hurting, but we still have interspersed chuckles. We just begin ranting and raving about them, discussing how rude and vain they are. Fakir and I meet each other's gaze once more, and we hold it. We hold a smile between both of us, his eyes glimmering in the golden skies let in through the windows. There's a long chime of the tower bell, signalling hour seven. My eyes shift towards the door, my entire body shaking in embarrassment as I realize we only have 2 hours to get ready and be at the venue. I tell Fakir that I'll meet him at the Cork Board in an hour as I run to my dormitory. He agrees, but stands much slower. I can still see a smile on his face as I leave, but I can't see much more.
My door virtually flies off its hinges just as quickly as I come inside and slam it shut. I nearly rip off my unitard and start changing into one of my less formal dresses, a knee length white dress with a black belt holding my waist. I can't help but stare at my mother's dress, even though I know it's not the right time to wear it. I pull my hair from its bun, and begin braiding my long hair. I'm thankful that my mom at least taught me that before she left. I throw the braid over my shoulder, and pull on nice blue flats. Then I leave for the Cork Board, holding my small breasts firm into my chest, hoping desperately for Fakir to be later than her. I stare out into the whispering sunset as the last wisps of the golden sky merge with the navy and canary-colored star speckled night.
As soon as the Cork Board is in view, I see Fakir waiting there with his arms crossed firmly. The closer I get though, it's obvious he isn't mad. In fact, he seems rather glad to see me, his arms unfolding as I get closer and his full formal wear showing in the beautiful rays of sun. A black vest over a white long sleeved button-up and nice black pants. Instead of saying anything, he holds out his arm for mine to intertwine, easily accepting his silent proposition. We begin walking to the venue in partial, and nostalgic, silence. There is suddenly the crunching of feet against the gravel roads, running towards us. Fakir and I both turn around to see Wayland, rushing in a more party-esque style, sweat beading down his thin, red face. We stop for a quick moment and Fakir releases my arm, staring at the boy.
"Yes, Wayland? What did you need?" Fakir's shadow drapes over me, covering me from the sight of this poor boy for some unspoken reason. Wayland stands straight and salutes the towering adult.
"Mister Andor, I would be most pleased if I could be able to join you and the fine lady Arima on your trip to the dance hall." He doesn't lose his salute until Fakir speaks back with distaste in his mouth.
"Wayland, this is a private study between me and a student. If you would like to attend, you must purchase your own ticket and attend yourself." Wayland nods furiously, procuring a small ticket from his pants pocket, though it is very obviously slick and quite moist.
"I assure you sir, I will not disturb your lesson. Is it okay if I at least walk with you?" Wayland sends me some cautious and affectionate looks, but I stand closely behind Fakir, since I don't feel totally comfortable with his stares. Fakir lets loose one more sigh, his arm holding me away from him.
"You may attend," Wayland's face lights up, but Fakir keeps going. "But you must not distract Ahiru from her lesson whatsoever. No talking during the performance whatsoever, and if I catch you attempting to distract her, you will be penalized. Am I clear?" Fakir lets the the crickets speak between them before Wayland begins following behind us, Fakir taking my arm once more and we begin walking.