The Don's Ballerina

Ayanna

A sharp pain shot up the arch of her right foot.

An almost debilitating pain that any doctor would probably be concerned about, that should probably concern her.

But she couldn't stop now. Not when all eyes were on her. 

She winced through it and pushed herself to keep going. Swinging her left leg to the side in sync with her arm, she spun in fast circles maintaining her momentum.

The dance studio zipped by as if she was not the one moving. The room moved around her at a dizzying blur, round and round again.

Her chest clenched in pain, the pain intensified till she was gritting her teeth with each push off her right heel.

Soon it’s not just the room looking like a dizzy blur because she was executing fouettés. But she couldn't hold on anymore as a rush of dizziness crashed into her head. 

Her foot gave out and she dropped to the floor with a harsh thud. The other dancers in the studio gasped. Then came their scandalized mutters of gossip.

Shaking as she blinked through the haze of pain, she had an idea of what they were saying. Cruel words that she had heard before and was used to as the outcast among the dancers.

"Told you she wasn’t good enough."

"She doesn’t deserve that lead role."

"We all know why she was chosen."

She'd have loved nothing more than to tell them to shut up, but in the moment, she was much more concerned about her ankle. If the damage was serious enough, it could cost her the lead in the show, and then she would kiss being Principessa Danzante goodbye.

Damp with sweat and half dizzy,  she scrambled to sit up and undo the ties of her pointed shoe. She didn't notice that Yuri, the director of the show, who also happens to be the manager of the dance company, had come to scold her. 

It was not until she heard her name that she realized that he was standing over her. 

“What have I told you a thousand times before, Ayana?” His ruddy face twisted in a scowl. 

He notched his hands at his slender waist making her feel lower with the way he towered over her.  

“If this is too much for you, I can choose someone that will be able to keep up. Not all dancers are befitting of Principessa. It is the title role.”

She gulped down air and profusely shook her head. “I can handle it. I can be Principessa Danzante. I’ve told you, I’m good.”

She rushed to stand up, determined to prove herself. But her injury had other ideas, another bolt of pain spiked through her right ankle and sent  her sinking to the ground as quickly as she had tried getting up.

Yuri rolled his eyes, muttered curses words under his breath. 

“Pitiful, Ayanna. You said you could handle this.” He scoffed looking down at her.

“I can… it’s…” She wheezed, trying to push herself up on shaking arms. 

“It’s just a small sprain, Yuri. I… I just need a moment…” Her ankle was on fire, and she was in massive pain. 

“There’s no more time for just a moment. You!” He rounded on Adrian, my dance partner. 

“What are you doing, standing around like an oaf? Pick her up, help her home! She needs to rest that ankle if there’s any hope for next week.”

“Oh, no. Don’t send me home early. I can do stretches.” Ayanna pleaded. Going home meant failure, her fellow ballerinas would laugh at her. 

“If you’re to remain my Principessa, you’ll go back to your dorm and rest that fucking ankle.” Yuri scowled, not listening to her. 

There was no arguing with Yuri when his thick Russian voice took on a growly inflection and his dark blue eyes flashed in warning.

She shut down any other protests, her mouth turned down in dismay.

Adrian, being the well-meaning if not brainless jock type that he was, did as he was told, no questions asked. 

He slipped a toned arm around her back and hoisted her up so that I was propped against his athletic frame. None of the weight was on herright ankle. Most of it was on him.

Used to being held in his arms, she was more concerned with Yuri's instructions.

“Does this mean you don’t want me at dinner Friday?”

Yuri's face darkened even more. 

“You better be there on Friday. As presentable as ever, Ayanna. You have been reserved. You know I do not disappoint our fans.”

She wished he did.

Adrian helped her hobble the rest of the way out of the dance studio. The gossip didn't let up, the other dancers in the show watched her go with raised eyebrows, folded arms, and muttered conversation.

She didn't expect anything else, she had never gotten along with most of these girls.

What little friendliness existed between them vanished the second she was chosen as Principessa in Yuri’s show.

A long string of assumptions have unraveled just why…

“You okay?” Adrian asked as they swayed in their seats on the subway. 

She hadn't said a word since they left the dance studio. Her mood was soured, her thoughts varied between frustration and annoyance that she had shown such weakness in the middle of rehearsal.  And dread that she was still expected to show up on Friday for the dinner party. 

She cast Adrian a wry smile.

“Yeah, it could always be worse I guess.”

“You’ve still got your part,” he said.

“He’s given ’em away for less.”

Adrian’s attempts to cheer her up failed. They fell into another moment of silence as she turned her attention to the rest of the beat-up subway car.

The other passengers looked as weathered and exhausted as she was sure she did, with their shabby winter coats and bags under their eyes.

No one in Dresden was really comfortable. Ninety-nine percent of the population lived hand to mouth.

The other one percent remained an illusion to most of them, unseen and unreachable, behind gates that divided their part of the city and theirs.

She would have never fallen into the trap that she had with the Prima Motion Dance Company had she any other choice. She certainly wouldn’t have signed her life away like she did when she was only just a child.

Friday wouldn’t be a mandatory engagement.

But it can always be worse. She had realized that after years locked into her contract with Yuri and the company.

Her body shuddered at the thought. Some of the other dancers were better actors than she was. As it turned out, she was only good at performing on stage. In real life, during face-to-face situations with their “fans,” she was Yuri’s worst nightmare.

Adrian helped her up the five flights of stairs to her dormitory. The building itself belonged to the Prima Motion Dance Company and served as the mandatory housing for its dancers. Another means for them to be under the company's thumb at all times. 

She glanced up at the security camera for every flight that they climbed, and then again once they reached the fifth-floor landing. The blinking red light seemingly followed them all the way to her door.

She thanked Adrian for his help before limping inside my dorm and tossed her keys into the empty bowl by the door.

It’s been years since any real repairs have been made. The heat didn't work when it should during winter months and it was not uncommon for water to leak through the ceiling. Any complaints made to Yuri and the company have gone ignored.

The five-hundred square foot space wasn't much, but it was hers.

She flopped face down onto the bed and let out a groan thinking more about today.

If she were stronger, she would have fought through the pain and kept practicing.

She used to be better, faster and more fluid.

She used to dance circles around every person in that studio.

That was before her ankle injury during Lupi Nella Notte. Before her dad fell into trouble and nothing ever remained the same. 

She sighed as her eyes closed in exhaustion. Shutting out the noise, she focused on resting and left the worrisome thoughts behind.

She fell into slumber remembering the good times before all the bad things happened.