Page 106 of Healing Eleanor

But dawn always brings the waking world. So when Nik drops me back home that afternoon, I head straight for the bathroom, regret already gnawing at my insides.

I grab the toothbrush from its holder and shove it to the back of my throat as far as it will go. The whispers in my mind egg me on: do it, or you’ll regret it. My eyes water as everything I’ve eaten today comes back up. I heave for long, harrowing minutes, until my stomach is empty.

When I’m done, I curl into a ball against the wall and cry. Cry for what I’ve done. Cry for who I’ve become. Cry for the girl I can no longer be.

I cry over Nik—over all the care he’s shown me—only to prove I’m exactly what I’ve always feared. A failure. I’m not worthy of his time, his kindness, his trust. I’m a lost cause, undeserving of his attention, even as my feelings for him grow into something I don’t know how to survive.

When I finally crawl into bed that night, the tears don’t stop right away. They soak into my pillow until self-hatred and exhaustion finally pull me under.

20

Perish in Pertsovka

Nikolai

I can’t keep my eyes off her. Every move, every breath, every subtle shift… It’s like I can read her thoughts, and it’s maddening. Yet despite myself, I enjoy it.

After cooking with Eleanor a few days ago, I felt like I’d finally broken through, even if just a little. I’d shared my faith, my heart, my home—spaces I usually kept private. But with her… I wanted her to see everything.

The thought alarms me more than I want to admit.

Our time together feels like it’s moving in fast-forward. Every day is filled with rehearsals, choreography, and repetition. Beyond driving her home, I don’t get much of a chance to truly know her—not the way I long to.

So when she agreed to spend last Saturday with me, cooking and sharing a meal, I was thrilled. It felt like a small victory. Until it wasn’t.

I know healing isn’t instantaneous. Pain doesn’t vanish in a day, a month, or even a year. Still, I hold onto hope—and responsibility—when it comes to Eleanor’s health. I need her to nail Odette and Odile, yes, to get Kasper off my back. But more than that, I want to see her eyes light up with life, with joy.

Since she arrived at Hollingford, I’ve only seen that twice. Once in the rain and once while cooking. Two moments not bound by ballet. Most days, I wonder if I’ve made a mistake casting her in two demanding roles. In my defense, I didn’t know about her eating disorder. I only suspected it.

Nevertheless, I can’t stop hoping. Praying that she’ll get better, even if it’s selfishly on my timeline. I’m stressed and worried. Two feelings that rarely get to me. In times like these, I usually turn to my Bible for solace, but lately, I can’t find my footing.

My mind constantly races over things I can’t control or fix. Patience has never been my strong suit, but in the past, I could handle myself better. Lately, it feels like everyone can see right through me, like my stress and worry are written all over my face. I don’t like it one bit.

Today is costume fittings, and in hindsight, I’m thankful. It gives me a small reprieve from watching Eleanor falter again and again. I loathe admitting it, but it’s the truth.

From the moment I first watched her dance, I couldn’t quite pinpoint why she danced. Was it for money, for pleasure?

The answer is still unclear. Her movements are flawless… until her perfectionism and overthinking get in the way. And it does. Every. Single. Time.

I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. With opening night barely over two weeks away, the weight of what I might do to Eleanor—breaking her heart, possibly crushing her in the process—tightens my chest until it aches.

Paloma is training just as much as Eleanor, serving as a backup in case it comes to that. Each day, it seems she’ll dance Odette and Odile more. I don’t want to be the one to tell Eleanor she isn’t performing well enough. Not when she’s already so fragile, practically crushed by the expectations of others.

I want to lift her spirits, protect her even. She has so much to offer the world, but no one will see it if she stays trapped in her self-destructive cycle. And yet, I feel stuck between two impossible choices. Either way, I take the fall.

The chilly breeze rustles through my hair as I let my head fall back on the stone bench. The garden has always been my favorite place to visit. It’s quiet, gives me space to think, and is partly surrounded by nature—something that always brings me peace.

I pick up a twig from the ground and snap it between my fingers. What am I going to do? I can’t handle all of this on my own, but it feels like I am.

The back door slams open, making me drop the broken branches. Kasper stands in the doorway with panic written across his face. His eyes roam the garden frantically until they land on me.

A visible sigh of relief washes over his face, quickly replaced by determination. “Nik—I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he starts, then shakes his head. “Never mind that. Come quick. It’s Irina.”

The sound of my mother’s name springs me to my feet. “What happened?” I ask, rushing toward him.

We hurry up the stairs, moving as fast as we can toward the seamstress room. “I have no idea. One minute she was taking in dresses, and the next—she was on the floor,” Kasper explains, out of breath.

I whip my head toward him. “Fell?”