The Black Swan | Reposted

Chapter 22 - Teasing

Things... things had been strange. I kept thinking about Harry, feeling so curious of him for whatever reason. I wanted to know what he was like. His eyes were still very cold, always, the way he moved was captivating and amazing, and his lips had something unspoken on them. I wanted to know him. I didn't know how. Harry Styles did not scream approachable.

It was fall, and we had done little dance tours around the city, we had been doing a few performances. Harry and I hadn't been partnered for a little bit. I was thankful, but at the same time I did want to work with him. I wanted to know who he was and what he was about. It was suddenly this overwhelming want, this intense wonder in my head. Not only that but dancing with Harry on stage was like spinning with moving, tangible fire. It was intoxicating to dance with someone so skilled, someone so well trained and passionate.

It was late, and my body was aching. I had been working so hard on my turns for Swan Lake on top of all my other practices. I was carrying so much weight from my mom too. We were all right? It was this unspoken disconnection we had. I didn't know what to believe anymore, and that broke my heart.

In my life I valued my family, dance, and it seemed like those things were falling apart. Did I earn my spot in this company? Who was my mom really? Did they have some horrible marriage and I was just blinded by her ballet slippers, her beauty, blinded by the fact that she was my idol? I was hurt inside, I could feel it. I was always a naturally happy little girl, who always did her job dancing, who always was disciplined, to have no control over my life right now; it was the worst upset I had ever experienced.

I got dressed and went down to the studio, knowing it would be open like always. I walked right into the studio, seeing Harry pouring it out on the floor, everything he possibly he had. That pure aggression, the rage, the hurt, his body rolling, jumping, hitting every single beat was rolling off him. He kept going till he realized I was there, his eyes on mine in the mirror, his back to me.

"What?" he panted.

"Teach me."

"Teach you what?" his jaw was hanging open a bit, I could see his smile lines as he gasped, trying to catch his breath. His body was glistening; his cuts strong and clean on his body.

"How can you move like that, let go like that?"

"I have nothing else, I have nothing to let go of."

"I don't buy that for a second."

"What do you want?'

"I want to stop feeling like a delicate ballerina. I want to do something different. I want to dance like that."

"You can't."

I frowned. "Why not?"

"Ricci women are delicate on the stage, they are technical achievers, you are not raw."

"I wanted that but now," I frowned. "I haven't spoken to my mom in forever. I don't even care. I don't want to be like her. I don't even know who she is and I'm second guessing all aspects of myself right now. I want to see what else I can do; I need to know what I could be capable of. I want to be known for something else, something... better?"

He came over to me. "You think you can dance like that?" I nodded. "Then follow me." He walked and turned the music up louder, changing it to some really heavy song. I listened to it, it was so loud it drowned out my own thoughts. It was impossible to try to think of anything else but these heavy, wailing beats. It was impossible to second guess myself, or question my own abilities, my movements. He stood a few steps in front of me and shut his eyes, starting to move. I followed, every leap, bend, jumping into the steps a few seconds after he did them. God it was intense, it felt heavy. I hadn't seen choreography like this before. I hadn't ever done dance steps like these before.