Until We Break (Formerly Wicked, Wild, Wonderful)

Original Edition: Chapter Ten

BY THE TIME NAOMI GOT BACK TO THE STUDIO, SHE COULD HARDLY SEE STRAIGHT. Her feet mindlessly pushed her past the Fox Performing Arts Centre doors and plopped her dead in the centre of the studio floor, and the only thing that came into focus was her own reflection looking back at her in the mirror. In the back of her mind, she supposed, she always suspected her father's infidelity and she'd imagined countless times when she'd catch him red-handed. Imaginary Naomi shouted and cursed her father repeatedly, anger bubbling over in her mind. But real Naomi, despite all anger and lingering suspicion, was struck still. Like a deer caught in her father's BMW headlights on the Riverside sidewalk.

When she saw him, for a moment, she felt as if she was watching someone else's life unfold before her, because surely it wasn't hers. These things didn't happen to small families in Riverside. Especially not hers. So Naomi Morgan simply stood there, unmoving and unbelieving; until her father and his mistress casually got in the car and sped off. Only then, did the pain strike and she was sure that somewhere inside of her, something had just gone catastrophically wrong.

"Naomi," Mr Carson called, "Are you feeling better?"

She stood but didn't turn around. "Yes," she lied. In fact, when she'd gotten back to the centre she beelined for the girls' dressing room and doused her toes in the numbing gel. Silently praying it would numb something much, much worse.

Aspen wordlessly came up behind her, her eyes watching her reflection. Naomi swore at herself not to glance back though, if she did the other girl might see something was wrong, or worse, Naomi Morgan might start crying. Naomi stood en pointe swiftly and awaited Mr Carson's cue. When it came, she danced. And she wished that suddenly none of it would matter as she turned and jumped, but the reality was the opposite.

Every look Giselle had to muster felt like agony and each touch she endured felt like pricks from a merciless thorn. The entire routine fell to shambles around Naomi's dirty pointe shoes as time allowed what was manifesting inside of her to grow. The weight of it soon crippled her until her jumps were nothing but faint attempts and her stances were stumbling disgraces. The rage Mr Carson spat went right through her too, like a ghost.

When she realized every effort she made was useless, her mind swam back to the moment on the Riverside sidewalk.

"Stop. Just stop." Mr Carson pushed up a palm.

Aspen sighed exasperatedly and walked off. "What the hell?" Mr Carson blurted. The music disappeared from the room with a click from Mr Carson's finger on the stereo. Suddenly, the barres on either side of the room felt miles away. She softly cleared her throat.

He tried again. "What is wrong with you, Naomi?" Mr Carson's voice wasn't as loud as she expected, if anything it was desperate. "Every other girl in this programme would gladly run you over with a bus for this role. You would too if someone else had it. So, what am I missing?"

She wanted to reply. To explain how her father took a knife through her heart today. To explain how she didn't know how to tell her mother or her brother. To explain that she thinks today marks the day her family will fall apart. To explain every stupid and pestering thought punching themselves in her head. But her lips were already sewn shut.

"Look at me." She didn't. "Look at me, Naomi."

"Naomi." She swore Jessica called her that time. She had to look up. But the tonne weight pressing down on her neck felt a little lighter when she realized it was only Mr Carson. Maybe it was his tone, or the fact that he wanted to help but wasn't sure how, but nevertheless, she strained her chin upward. When their eyes met, it felt like opium. He motioned her over. Hesitantly, she followed him to the other side of the studio.