“So,” Neon sat next to me, “what’s the deal? Why don’t you like eating? You anorexic? Bulimia? What is it?”
“Jesus, Neon,” Onyx muttered.
“What? I’m asking a straight question.”
I rubbed my hands together nervously. “It’s not that. I just need to watch my weight.”
Neon took a sip from her coffee. “Because you’re a ballerina?”
“Yeah.”
“So, you’re saying when you have curves, you can’t dance?”
“No. That’s not what I’m saying.” I reached for the glass of water. “Being a ballerina is all about balance and technique. If you’re overweight, it makes it difficult.”
“So you starve yourself?” Neon looked at me all serious, like her question wasn’t intended to take a hit at me and my eating habits.
“Every career has its sacrifices,” I replied simply.
“Sure,” Neon shrugged, “but yours is, like…unhealthy.”
“Leave the woman alone, Neon.” Onyx got up and placed his bowl in the sink.
Neon lifted her feet, putting them on the table as she leaned back in her seat. “Why the fuck are you so uptight?”
“I’m not.” He turned to face her. “I just don’t get why everyone is so fucking obsessed with her and her eating habits.”
“We’re not obsessed with her eating habits, we’re just concerned.”
Onyx snickered. “Yeah, her being here is all about our concern over her eating habits.”
Neon frowned. “Just because she’s here under these circumstances doesn’t mean I can’t show a little compassion for her situation.”
“A situation we put her in.”
Neon sat up straight. “Because we had no other fucking choice.”
“I fucking know that. But that doesn’t mean we have to have so much fucking fun while we keep her here against her will. God, you’re like a little girl who got a baby doll for Christmas, and all you want to do is play fucking dress-up.”
“Fuck you, Onyx.”
“Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to? Show some goddamn respect.”
Neon snorted. “You haven’t earned it yet.”
The atmosphere turned from uncomfortable to hostile. Their words flew like poison darts, each aimed at the other’s head. Onyx seemed angry. Neon seemed determined. It was a toxic combination.
I got up from my chair while they bickered. They didn’t even notice. With a deep breath, I stood straight—tail down, spine up. Shoulders and hips faced the same direction. My head erect and centered. I balanced my weight on the triangle of my feet. It was one of the first things they taught you in ballet, to equally distribute your weight with the least amount of energy. For any ballerina, balance should be as easy as breathing.
I closed my eyes, shutting their voices out. I extended one leg, straightening it behind me, supporting my body on the other leg, then lifted my arms.
And then I started dancing.
There was no music. Just the natural rhythm of my body guiding me, taking control. I twirled, my toes pointe.
Balance. Balance. Balance.
Every muscle worked its way through the rhythm.