Page 117 of Healing Eleanor

Dancers shift into position, but Gabriel speaks up as they move. “Aren’t you going to pray?” His tone is confused, even hurt.

I shake my head quickly. If I pray now, it will all come undone. The shame of last night still clings to me, choking me. I know I’d have to face God—but not here in front of everyone.

Dillon inches forward, his brows drawn in. “Nik, if you need a minute—”

I cut him off. “Combination one. After that, we run Act Two.”

Nods ripple through the room, their eyes sliding anywhere but me—except hers. Eleanor. Always Eleanor.

She bites her bottom lip, worry etched deep. Or is it sadness? Both, maybe. I can’t tell. I can’t hold her gaze long enough to find out. Not after last night. Not when I don’t deserve her concern.

My gaze flicks between Dillon, Gabriel, and Lily. Dillon’s brows are still knotted, Gabriel stands with fists clenched at his sides, staring me down. But it’s Lily’s cold, averted gaze that breaks something in me. I see it then… Everything I cherish is falling apart because of me, right in front of my eyes.

The piano strikes the opening notes of the first combination, and bodies move into motion. Normally, I’d feel pride in their synchronicity, in the strength they carry with each step. But today… I barely see any of it. My head throbs with each count, and the harsh studio lights stab through my skull like knives.

“Higher, Gabriel,” I bark, harsher than I intend.

His leg shoots up, but I’m already moving on. “Elbows back, Danica. Lift, don’t drag.”

My voice sounds foreign. It’s too sharp, too impatient, and without the steady warmth I usually try to keep. I know it. They know it.

The room feels brittle, like one wrong word might shatter it completely.

“Again,” I snap when the combination ends. “From the top.”

Groans ripple through the dancers, quickly stifled. No one meets my eyes.

Simon, the pianist, glances at me uncertainly, waiting for my nod. I give it, and the music begins again.

But Eleanor… Eleanor doesn’t just move. She watches. Even as her body bends into perfect lines, her eyes remain on me, searching. I hate it. Hate how she can see past the commands, straight into the mess I’m trying to hide.

I push harder. “Stronger. Sharper. You’re supposed to be swans, not sleepwalkers!” My voice cracks with the force of it, and for a split second the room comes to a halt.

The silence that follows is deafening.

I rub the exhaustion from my eyes and take a slow, deliberate breath to steady my voice. “Again. Please.”

They reset, but the uneasiness radiates through them. And Eleanor… her movements falter. And it isn’t because she doesn’t know the steps, it’s because she’s too focused on me.

I look away. I can’t bear it. The last thing I want is for Eleanor to fumble because of me. I don’t want to see her falter at all, even if it’s by her own doing. But the way she looks at me… I can’t be the reason.

So for the rest of the first half of rehearsals, I avoid her entirely. I focus on the corps. They require less. I don’t have to correct or reposition them, and that’s all my hungover brain can handle.

When I call for lunch, a wave of relief passes through the room. No one enjoys being here right now, and I can feel it. I need a break too, a moment to breathe, to be alone.

I leave before anyone else, drawing stares. I rarely leave the studio first, but today I don’t care. I walk to my car, retrieve the Bible I keep stashed in the console, and make my way to the garden.

The flowers are dead, snow clings to the walkway, and the stone bench is blanketed in white. The scenery matches my mood—dull, cold, and lifeless. I brush the snow off the bench with my coat sleeve and sit, Bible in hand. My gut knots as I open it, knowing which verse I need.

1 John 1:9 says that if we confess our sins, God is faithful and just to forgive us and cleanse us from all unrighteousness.

A hot tear slides down my cheek and lands on the page. Guilt and shame burn through me in equal measure.

When I became saved, I vowed to leave alcohol and lust behind. God held my hand, sanctifying me week by week, guiding me past temptation.

And now… ten years of progress, gone in an instant. Temptation has been there all along, lurking around corners, waiting for me to falter. And I did.

The weight of it all hits me like a freight train. I haven’t been reading my Bible. I haven’t been praying. I let my busy life push God to the backburner.