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I don't register what comes first--Mum's screams and curses, or the searing pain that perforates inside of me. My family is not just falli...
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August 31st
C A R M E N
A smile tugs at my glossed lips as I glide across the ground below, my feet carrying my body as I perform the routine I choreographed for my students. Adolescent gasps echo within the studio as I leap into the air and land on the floor, before assuming the finishing pose as the upbeat music comes to a stop.
My young students clap and cheer for me as I bow. "That was amazing, Miss Ellis!" One cheers, her orange pigtails with cute pink bows securing the ends swaying as she bounces up and down in her seated position.
"Thank you," I reply. "We'll make a start on learning this new routine in our next session. That's it for today. Please get your things and wait in a line for your parents to collect you," I command.
A few disappointed sighs sound—a common occurrence, given how much my dance class enjoys our sessions—but the young children still clamber to their feet and make a move to grab their belongings.
"Great work today, Carmen," a voice says from beside me. "That routine will be something special at junior championships this year."
I look away from the kids, who are now wrestling into their jackets and snatching their small rucksacks from the multicoloured coat hooks on the wall, and meet eyes with my boss, Mindy. "Thanks, Mind. It's a great routine, even if I say so myself." I say with a smirk. As captain of the most prestigious dance team at my college, I consider myself to be quite the expert in choreographing routines.
I don't need the job at the dance school, truthfully. With my father being the hotshot CEO of Ellis Jewellers and my mother a reputable politician, their money more than allows me to live a lavish life. But I continue to work here. Helping this group of children dance to the best of their abilities and producing a group of even more winners fills me with immense satisfaction. And so does helping Mindy.
"Indeed. I'm sure the kids are looking forward to learning it." She grins, the motion causing the wrinkles on her face to become more noticeable.
"Speaking of kids," I say as I turn to face the wall-length mirror behind us, neatening up my high ponytail. "Any updates?"
Mindy adores children, which is the main reason she opened a dance school for young children in the area. She married some asshole who she thought was the love of her life two years ago at the age of thirty-nine, and everything seemed perfect. They bought a house together. They turned the spare room into a nursery and began trying for their first child soon after.
Month after month went by, and my boss never fell pregnant. I remember the discussions we had during my shifts at the dance school—the way she tearfully told me that no amount of folic acid and cycle tracking was helping her and her husband conceive, and how something must be wrong with her. She and her husband went to the doctors, underwent extensive testing, only to be told the news they feared most.
