Page 26 of Healing Eleanor

Maybe it’s paranoia, or maybe it’s just pattern recognition.

Adrian makes his way down the rows, correcting posture and breath cues. His hands are gentle but firm when he reaches me.

“Eleanor, draw in your ribs a bit more, and soften your shoulders.”

I nod, adjusting. He’s given me that same note a dozen times before. My body is tired and achy, and I’ve been nursing the same dull headache for three days.

As soon as he moves on, Courtney’s voice rings out from the opposite side of the room.

“Oh no,” she gasps in exaggerated horror. “My ribs are out! I better fix that before someone thinks I’m trying too hard for attention.”

She mimics Adrian’s correction and locks eyes with me through the mirror. Her brows rising; a saccharine smile curving her lips.

A few people stifle their giggles. One of them, Max, leans toward the girl next to him and whispers something behind his hand.

Though, of course, Adrian doesn’t hear any of it.

I lower my gaze, trying to focus on my breath. But instead of lengthening, my spine tightens.

And Courtney decides she’s not finished.

During a rotation, as we all stand at the tower and adjust our settings, she leans in just loud enough for me and a few bystanders to hear.

“Careful,” she murmurs, “Don’t get too cozy with Adrian. You might end up in a private conference again… like you did with Soren.”

Her words punch me in the sternum, and bile rises at the back of my throat.

Not because it’s true, because it obviously isn’t. How someone can’t see the truth is beyond me. It’s not like I’m the poster girl for being propositioned by her coach for the first time in history. It’s because the truth shouldn’t matter here.

Not a single person in this room knows how Soren spoke to me in his office that day. The way he caged me in. How he called me a whale and told me the only way to earn a promotion was to give myself to him. How his voice dropped as his hand skimmed my arm, and how I was the one who walked away ashamed. How he dangled that promotion in front of me like I was a dog begging for a treat.

None of it was empowering. I didn’t feel wanted or special. Just… cheapened.

Because why would anyone believe a lowly dancer over management?

I blink rapidly, curling my trembling hands into fists. Courtney doesn’t deserve my tears or my anger, so I won’t give her the satisfaction.

Adrian calls for the next rotation and I move into place without a word, pretending the pounding in my chest isn’t audible.

When I slip my hands back into the straps again, Courtney lets out a dreamy sigh.

“You know,” she says to no one in particular, “some of us still earn our roles the hard way.”

Laughter bubbles up around us.

I want to snap back, Okay, you washed-up Hudson Edge reject, but the words die before they leave my mouth… because they rejected me too.

It’s not her fault people are spreading lies. It’s my responsibility in how I respond. So this time I don’t poke the bear. I choose to let it hurt instead of starting another fire I’ll have to dance through later.

Later that day, I stand under the warm water as it washes away the laughter and sneers. No matter how hot it runs, their voices rattle around my mind. I stay under the spray until the mirror fogs and the water loses its bite, turning tepid around me.

Eventually, I step out and wrap myself in a towel before pulling on an old pair of pajamas. My hair’s still damp, my skin warm from the steam. I climb into bed, the sheets cool against me.

I glance toward my nightstand drawer where my journal waits. I can’t bring myself to open it, because what will I even write?

That Courtney’s a manipulative brat? That I’m one step away from becoming Forma’s official pariah? Or that I still haven’t gotten into a company, and my self-worth is hanging by a frayed thread?

There isn’t much to log in terms of food, either. Yogurt, coffee, fruit, fish, steamed veggies, and chicken don’t make for a compelling read. Plus, I don’t want to weigh myself and be disappointed at the number staring back at me. Losing weight is much harder than I imagined, and I can’t pinpoint what I’m doing wrong.