With the help of a smooth-talking cowboy, a broken ballerina battles physical and emotional trauma to get back to the barre, and maybe find love in the process.
No more daily routines.
No more barre warm-ups.
And no more ballet.
After a devastating...
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6 Months Later
"You can do it, Adeline. Just one more step. That's it! You got this! Get to the barre."
I jerk awake and push my palms into my eyes out of irritation, exhaustion, and to stop my tics. My life has pirouetted into unknown territory, and I have no idea what it's going to look like from here on out.
My career is over.
All thanks to Lucas acting like he was Bain and I was Batman, except he didn't use his knee but the floor. The worst part is... it looks like he'll get away with destroying my life and career. Because of him, I can barely brave it to stretch out my limbs.
I remember waking up that first day unable to stretch my legs to full capacity, the crushing weight of reality making it hard to breathe. The days after that hadn't lifted the pressure off my chest either. Dancing was something that had provided me light in the darkness, an escape to where my disorder didn't limit me, now it was gone.
I'm officially lost. Unsure if I'm going to find myself again.
How do I come back from something like this?
There's no closure; Lucas never gave me one.
After having my spinal fusion, I had six months of intense physical therapy. Even though I'm finally free to go back to doing normal activities with little pain, my days are still dark. Haunted with the ghost of who I once used to be.
Normal for me is ballet.
How am I supposed to be normal, when even the thought of doing a simple arabesque makes the spot in the middle of my back spasm?
The doctors say it is all in my head, but...
I shove away my thoughts and rest my head on the bus window as the sun shines down on thick grass and full trees. My head jostles against it as the driver speeds up to pass a semi-truck. For weeks, I spent my days in a white hospital room with nothing but a television screen and a couple of books to pass the time. The only company I had were nurses who would come and sit with me on their breaks because they felt sorry for me.
The rehab was grueling and painful. I was immobile for weeks which triggered a lot of tics and anxiety. For months I fought hard to get back to the barre, back to the stage, but I was told I would never dance professionally again... if at all. When that information soaked in, my mother turned her back on me completely.
Rose Vaughn's life revolved around the ballet company she taught at, so it had only been logical that her daughter was a ballerina for that same company. But now my small amount of usefulness has vanished.
She was officially done with me.
She visited once in the hospital and then sat with me when the doctor went over my progress. She wouldn't even hold my hand and when those words left his mouth, she was gone. I'm not kidding either. She stood up without a word and walked right out the door.
