AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He didn’t.
Instead, he said the words that almost always end a dancer’s or an athlete’s career, “We were able to set the bone back in place and suture the wound so that the scarring will be minimal. Fortunately, the fibula wasn’t broken, but there will be a permanent deformation near your knee. With rehabilitation, you’ll be able to walk normally again and run sometimes, but not for long. A full recovery is, unfortunately, virtually impossible.”
In other words, I’ll never be able to be a ballerina again.
I’m still not grasping it fully, and it’s not only because of the doctor’s words. I think I heard the end of my career with thatpopand the silence and gasps that followed from everyone present.
But at that point, I was still praying for the nightmares that have scared me my whole life. I want the nightmare.
Someone give me the nightmare.
Dr. Kim asks me if he should call someone close, but I don’t have anyone. People have friends and family, I have ballet. I sacrificed my youth and my life for it. I survived my parents’ deaths and relocating from one country to another with it.
When people went clubbing, I went to rehearsals. When they slept, I timed my stretches and the care of my ankles. When others ate real food, I settled for apples or a salad.
I never considered it a sacrifice or a chore, because I was doing something I loved. Something I was damn good at. I was living my dream and getting rid of my excess energy through flying where no one could catch me.
Now, my wings are broken.
Now, the dream is over.
And I can’t bring myself to force those feelings to the surface. Not a single tear leaves my lids as I stare at the hospital room’s white ceiling.
There’s a soft knock on the door before it opens. Philippe and a teary-eyed Stephanie walk inside.
I stare at them as if they’re in a snow globe and I’m looking through blurry glass.
“Oh, Lia!” Stephanie rushes to my side, holding my limp hands in her trembling ones, the tears now running freely down her cheeks. “I’m so sorry, so terribly sorry.”
“Chérie…” Philippe sounds pained, on the verge of breaking as well.
Their compassion and emotions bounce off my chest and disappear. They’re not able to penetrate my numb state or provoke the grief that needs to be let out.
“We can get a second opinion…” Stephanie trails off when Philippe shakes his head at her.
“Can I please be alone?” I whisper in an apathetic tone that I don’t recognize.
“Are you going to be okay?” Stephanie asks.
I give a perfunctory nod.
“Call us if you need anything,” Philippe says in a voice filled with sympathy.
I can’t bring myself to move any of my limbs, so I stare at them until they go out and close the door behind them.
My gaze flits to my cast leg supported in the air. My useless broken leg that ended everything.
I never got to show the world my Giselle. She was killed before she was even born.
And with her death, all of my dreams and my coping mechanisms perished.
I tug on the leg until it falls from the wedge onto the bed. Pain explodes from it, but it’s like I’m caught in an alternate reality.
My movements are robotic—mechanical, even—as I sit up and yank the IV tube from my wrist. Droplets of blood trickle down my arm, but I can barely feel the sting.
I swing my good leg to the floor and stand on it, letting my broken one drop with a painful thud.
Dragging it behind me, I gingerly limp to the window and open it. Cold winter air flips my hair back as I pull a chair over and use it to climb onto the ledge, bringing my cast with me. Bursts of pain pulsate harder with every move, but I ignore them.
