Page 17 of Obsessed with Her

In seconds, we are inside the theater. There is no one left, other than a few employees, outside. I'm always punctual, but I was late on purpose to avoid meeting the crowd that’s in attendance.

In a few minutes, I arrive at my box. The lights are off, and the audience is silent, watching the performance on stage.

I settle into the armchair, preparing to see my ward in person for the first time.

Serenity

CHAPTER TEN

Minute before

The anxietyover the premiere disappears.

As I wait for the curtains to open for my first solo performance, all I feel is peace. Finally, one of my dreams is coming true.

I don't have many, but the ones I allow myself to desire are the reason I get up every morning.

Today is my trial by fire. In just a few weeks at Madam Villatoro's dance school, I’ve achieved what many professional dancers spend their entire lives striving for.

There is no room for failure. I need perfection tonight.

I noticed, throughout the week, how the other dancers looked at me—with a mixture of spite and anger—but what they don't know is that I don't care about their judgment.

I even heard two of my professional colleagues whispering in the bathroom that I bought a place at our prestigious school, which anyone who’s even met Madam Villatoro knows is not only a lie but absurd. Madam has a reputation in the danceworld for being extremely picky in her choice of pupils. She has even refused a princess, whose father, king of a small European monarchy, wanted to buy the place for his girl with gold bars.

I force myself to clear my mind of anything other than my performance. It doesn't matter what they think of me. I know how I’ve dedicated myself to this. Madam told me the day before yesterday that everyone who stands out carries a target on their back.

Success is uncomfortable, she told me, because it makes people look at their own navel and realize that they are not evolving.

I don't know if that's true. I'm not worried about what other dancers think. I don't worry about whether one or all of them achieve success; I focus only on how I will get there.

I flex my feet one last time before the curtains open, and I feel a stab of pain. If I take off my shoes, I know what I'll see: swollen, calloused toes from hours and hours of practice. Despite being my bridge to achieving the stardom I dream of, my feet are not a part of my body that I like. In fact, they embarrass me. It's one of the reasons I never go to the pool or beach, not at home, not even in swimming classes at boarding school.

I begged my guardian to negotiate in high school so that ballet could be defined as my sport, getting rid of anything that would force me to be barefoot in front of other students or teachers.

Sometimes my feet hurt even when I'm lying down to sleep. They throb from daily effort, but I never complain.

Ballet is my choice, my life.

Right now, they throb, but who cares? Dreams are never free. I'm willing to pay any price for mine.

Besides, I’m used to the pain. There is something pleasurable about it.

I feel my face heat up when I think about it. It sounds a little twisted to take pleasure in pain, and I don't understand why I feel this way, just that this is how I am.

When fellow children whined or fussed about a fall, I got up and carried on. When they cried about receiving vaccines, I watched the needle go in and didn't understand the reason for the distress.

I’ve thought about this a lot, and after I became an adult, I came to the conclusion that experiencing pain means I can feel, and if I can feel, I'm alive.

As I always do before starting a performance, I tune out everything around me.

I'm one step away from making my entrance, and my blood boils, excitement spreading through every one of my cells.

I hear the buzz from the audience, and I know the theater is packed. The whole place vibrates with energy.

I promised myself that I would keep tonight in my memory, but the thrill of my debut is so great that the next thing I know, I'm hovering on the stage, my entire body filled with adrenaline.

When did the music start? What did I feel when I found the audience waiting for me? I couldn't say.

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