"Sasha…" the tall, ponytailed brunette stood with her arms crossed over her rather flat chest, blocking the doorway so that the slender, scared girl in front of her had no way to escape.
"It isn't a crime to be in the bathroom, you know – this isn't some bad movie about a bulimic or an axe murderer."
"I wasn't born yesterday, you know."
"I know that you are in my way." The dark haired ballerina spat, taking a step forward and trying to push past Michelle, her eyes flashing.
"Hey…Sasha…." Michelle caught hold of the girls shoulder so that she stopped suddenly, twisting away from the concerned teacher. "Sasha." She said again gently. "Hey. What's wrong?"
"Nothing is wrong, okay? I'm going to be late." She turned away so that the older woman couldn't see the bitter vulnerability in her dark eyes.
"You aren't going to be late – class starts when I say it starts, and I say that we don't start dancing until you start talking."
"Look, I'm fine, totally fine can I go now?"
"Sasha, please. I'm not stupid."
"I never said you were."
"Look, I get it, okay? I have been in your shoes, believe me."
"No you haven't. You don't get it." Sasha shrugged her dark hair away from her face and glancing in the mirror briefly. Her eyes were red and wild, but her face was contorted into her perfected mask of blank carelessness.
"Oh yeah? Try me. Trust me, I've been in some pretty crazy situations, kid."
"Whatever." Sasha pushed past Michelle into the hallway, hoisting her bag onto her shoulder.
"Sasha!"
"What?" She turned, the late afternoon sunlight glancing off her hair and throwing her face into shadow. "I have to go."
"Are you okay, Sasha? Because you don't look okay."
"I'm fine." She said, but her voice trembled the slightest bit and her eyes glanced off Michelle's like two startled gray rabbits.
"Because if you're not, I'm here. I'll listen. I understand, or I'll try to. If you ever need anyone, I'm here." Michelle said gently, voicing the words that she, as a young girl burdened with sadness, would have given anything to hear. She saw Sasha's eyes change, saw her mouth tighten, and wondered what Sasha was hiding behind those slate-eyes; for her to need someone so badly. "Tell the girls I'll be out in a minuet to start class. And hey, Sasha, you're a good kid, you know? Don't be too hard on yourself."
Sasha gave a tiny nod, and turned on her heal and slipped own the hallway, her head bent. Michelle couldn't see her face, but her heart ached for the girl that reminded her so much of herself.
Michelle turned to the mirror and studied her reflection, sucking in her stomach critically, and then running her hands gently over her closed eyes.
"Dear god what have I gotten myself into?" She muttered to the empty room. But even though she didn't have to, Michelle stepped inside the bathroom stall that Sasha had been in only a few minuets before. The smell hit her immediately, the familiar tang of rust and cold metal and sharp blood. She closed her eyes and she was 16 again, caught in a world of dancing silver and lusty red. She caught a glimpse of silver, and her hands reached to pick up the blade from the back of the toilet seat. She turned it over and over in her hands, until her fingers were numb. She must have forgotten it, Michelle thought, but then she remembered whom she was dealing with. Sasha was too smart for that.
Nobody is as careless as they pretend to be. This wasn't a mistake, or a flashy call for attention (not, Michelle thought, that she didn't need it). This was a cry for help from a girl to proud to ask for it.
"Jesus what the fuck do I do now?" Michelle whispered. As usual, nobody answered her, which wasn't surprising seeing as she was in an empty bathroom swearing to herself. Again. She wasn't drunk this time though, so she supposed it was an improvement. She smiled wryly at the irony of the situation, put the blade in her pocket, and rolled her shoulders back. She glanced at herself in the mirror one last time, and then strode out of the bathroom to where her Senior Advanced Ballet class was waiting.
…