Page 59 of Scarred

But what if you already realize what you need…it just isn’t yours to have?

“Again,” I say, watching the older girls finishing their routine. “But this time I want more here.” I place a hand over my heart and look at the girls in front of me. “Dance isn’t just about going through the movements and memorizing the steps. It’s in here first,” I say, touching my heart, “before your body begins to even move.”

Girls from ages fourteen to seventeen soak up what I’m telling them as I walk around the class. There is some real talent in here, but they are leaning more on the technical rather than the emotional aspect of dance.

“When you surrender to the dance, not just go through the motions,” I continue, “it opens up a whole new experience. It’s what sets apart a dancer from an exceptional one. The audience should walk away feeling as though they have just witnessed something that they can’t put into words, bringing up emotions they never expected to feel. They should feel connected to your dance like they are living it through you, not just watching you.”

The girls nod their heads as my words sink in. Walking to their starting point, I start the music over and watch them begin.

Their arms and legs are strong with each graceful movement, but I feel it more. Smiling, I soak up the story they are telling, letting my heart lean into the dance.

When they land on the last part and hold their pose, the room is silent…their breaths in sync with one another. I don’t say a word, letting them have this moment to soak up what they just felt and did.

Finally, the spell is broken, and the girls beam at one another before breaking out into an excited group hug.

I laugh as they come running over to me, including me in their hug. “Now that,” I smile through my emotions, “was exceptional. If you give your audience what you’ve just given me…there won’t be a dry eye in the house on recital night. I’m so proud of you.”

They excitedly gather their things and wave goodbye while they walk in a group out the door. Following them, I lock up behind them since they’re my last class of the night.

I work in the office for a bit, getting caught up on emails and paperwork before tidying up the front area and turning out the main lights. Telling myself it needs to be done and I’m not stalling until nine.

Knotting my hair into a bun at the nape of my neck, I walk back into the studio and close the front curtains, shutting myself off from the outside world. It’s one thing to tape my sessions so I can watch them at home, but having strangers pass by my window and press their faces up against the glass is not something I want to deal with tonight.

Glancing at my clock on the wall, I check the time.

8:59 p.m.

I ignore the part of me that tells me this is wrong…that tells me I need to find a way to let go, but I press the live feed and hit record anyway.

It’s been the same routine for the past ten days. After my class, I shut out the world and practice my solo. At first, I thought I was imagining it, but as the days went on, I knew I wasn’t.

He’s been watching me.

And I would be lying if I said I didn’t look forward to it every night.

What really unnerves me is the fact that I dance better when I feel him watching me. The nights I struggle are the nights he has a game. I didn’t want to believe it, so I checked the Bolts’ schedule online, and they matched up perfectly.

I don’t know how he figured out that I usually stay after my classes to practice, but at nine every night, I get to be with him in the only way he’ll let himself.

It sounds pathetic when I hear it in my own head, but I’ve tried resisting him. I’ve tried to shut him out completely, but all that does is leave me frustrated and unable to concentrate on my work.

So, I gave in. I give myself this hour to feel him.

To let his presence seep through me.

To remember his touch and his voice…

I let myself dance for him.

Pushing play on my playlist, I get into position. The skin on my arm raises as goosebumps appear on my flesh. A warm feeling radiates through my body, soft at first, but getting more intense by the moment.

He’s here.

My body comes alive under me as I pour my heart into dance. This is where I express things I can’t say aloud.

Lifting with strength, I push off until I’m weightless in the air as if suspended in time. My leg stretches out before me, my chest fully opened, while my arms reach for something I desperately want to touch.

I land with a soft thud, my body curling on contact before turning slowly at first, then faster as the world around me starts to blur.