Page 130 of Healing Eleanor

Russell rubs her back. “It’s okay. We just need you safe.”

Kasper kneels beside her. “You’re going home today, Eleanor.”

Her eyes widen. “Please—”

“No,” Kasper cuts in, holding up a hand. “It isn’t safe to dance after passing out. Go home. Eat. Drink. Rest. Come back tomorrow refueled.” He glances at me, unyielding.

Her gaze falls on me, full of vulnerability and quiet pleading.

God… please don’t let her hate me for this.

I nod reluctantly. “Go rest, Eleanor,” I say softly.

A single tear tracks down her cheek, and my heart shatters. She blinks quickly, swallows, and nods. “O—okay,” she whispers.

Kasper rises. “Russell, take her to Robin; she’ll get her home safely.”

Russell agrees and extends his hand to Eleanor. “Not a problem.”

Her trembling fingers meet his, but her eyes remain on mine, a quiet fear threading through them. I want to scoop her up, hold her close, tell her it’s okay, but I can’t. Not here. Not like this.

Together, they slowly exit the room.

Kasper looks down his nose at me, shaking his head. “You already know what I’m going to say, Nik.”

I plant my hands on my hips, forcing a calm I don’t feel. “It was just a bad day,” I mutter, hoping he’ll accept that excuse.

His smile is cold, humorless. “Right, just a bad day. And the other days? Huh?” He inches closer, voice tightening. “And what about Lily? I saw her speaking with you before rehearsals.”

My palms grow slick. I want to scream: She’s fragile. She can’t keep going like this. But then another voice rises in me, pleading: She has to dance. Ballet is all she has.

I swallow the lump in my throat. My mind races: If I pull her out now, I’m crushing her dreams. But if I let her stay, I could be letting her destroy herself.

Kasper’s voice interrupts the storm of my thoughts. “She has one more chance.” He holds up a finger, sharp and final. “One mistake tomorrow, and Paloma steps in. Do you understand?”

I nod, my heart hammering against my ribs. “Fair enough,” I say, forcing my tone steady. But inside, I’m torn in half. My heart wants to protect her, shield her from everything that can hurt her. My mind knows the stakes are higher than her pride or my desire to see her dance perfectly.

I stare at the door Eleanor just disappeared through, imagining her pale, exhausted form. Tomorrow, it won’t just be a performance. It’ll be a test of everything. Her strength, her limits, and maybe, even my ability to trust her to fight her own battle.

An aimless void fills the rest of my day. Paloma dances the parts beautifully—though I hate to admit it—and the variation goes smoothly, every step precise, every turn perfect. But it doesn’t matter. The studio is empty, drained of any joy.

Lily, Gabriel, and Dillon move through the motions, but their usual spark is gone. Their eyes keep darting toward the empty space Eleanor’s left behind, worry carved into every line of their faces. Even the music seems heavier, slower, as if mourning what happened. Eleanor’s fall hangs over us like a shroud.

Her image brands itself into my memory: her small frame trembling, sweat dripping from her temples, the fear in her wide, exhausted eyes. I keep replaying it: her determination, her exhaustion, the way her bones are visible beneath her costume. How has she stayed upright at all?

At home that night, I pray harder than I ever have. Fervently. Unceasingly. I ask God for strength, for protection, for guidance. I beg for a miracle, that tomorrow she’ll show up, ready to dance, safe and whole. I imagine her stepping onto the stage, face bright, body strong, and my heart thudding with relief.

But gnawing anxiety keeps its grip on me. Thinking about what could happen to her if I fail makes pain throb behind my eyes. Sometimes, I realize, God’s answer isn’t yes. Sometimes, it’s simply no, and all you can do is pray you’re ready to bear it.

I lie awake long into the night, heart hammering, mind spinning. I can’t escape the truth. I’m not just worried about the performance. I’m terrified for her life, for her health, for the fragile balance that holds her together. If she falls again tomorrow, I don’t know if I can forgive myself. And yet… I have to hope. I have to.

My heart is heavy the next morning. Tomorrow is opening night, and the tight knot in my chest won’t ease.

The theater has a chill in the air. Fluorescent lights brighten the stage, while a faint scent of old wood and rosin lingers. I should be focused, prepared, but my mind refuses to leave Eleanor.

A sense of dread claws at me, as if something terrible waits just around the corner. No amount of prayer seems to shake it. It’s like God’s letting me feel it, preparing me for whatever’s coming.

I climb the stairs to the stage and make my way to the wings, where the corps are warming up. Everyone is in full costume, stretching, snacking, and chatting. I scan for Eleanor, but she’s nowhere in sight. Then like clockwork, she emerges from the dressing room in her Odette costume.