We Give Our Hearts to Fate

Chapter 14: Marina

Slowly making my way back to my apartment and the promise of warmth, I feel the cold breeze whipping redness into my cheeks. The night is perfectly quiet, as winter nights usually are, and I can see the black sky stretching out above me. It reminds me of what I had said to Celeste about stars earlier.... I have no idea what possessed me to say that. I guess the French woman is rubbing off on me more than I thought....

When I hobble into my apartment, I ditch my crutches and hop to my sofa, years of ballet training giving me the ability to do so without collapsing to the floor. Falling into the soft cushions, I bury my face into the scent of this place that has never truly been my home.

This sense of pseudo-comfort makes me think of where my true home is: with Milo.

Without anyone here, there's no need to utilize every muscle and mental barrier I've trained to stay in perfect form. So, I break.

Tears make wet stripes down my cheeks when I think of Milo and his injury and his fear and his pain. I got to dance with him for a measly half of a performance, barely anything at all. And, after this, he'll never be able to dance ever again. He's pushed himself too much, too far. He's done what every danseur and ballerina has ever done: push past the pain.

It takes a lot of sweat and tears and agony to make it look like ballet is effortless. I remember when I first started dancing. I watched the thin, pale skin on my delicate feet turn calloused and scarred and bruised. To think that Milo's done all of that and more and it was all for nothing... it's unbearable.

I can still see the picture of him standing there in the middle of my hospital room, fear blowing his pupils wide when he looks at the binding concealing my shattered ankle.... He's afraid I'll end up exactly like him.... He's afraid I'll start dancing too soon, just like him. That I'll be too fiery. Too defiant. That I'll absolutely destroy my ligaments after one too many late night practices. He's afraid my dreams will destroy me just like ballet destroyed him.

I wasn't afraid before but, suddenly, I wonder what my life would be like without ballet.

Milo, at least, will be a wonderful coach or choreographer and has Dakota to lean on. But, me? I'm alone. My broken, mangled blood-related family is half a world away. All of my attempts at dating men have ended in awkwardness and have left me wondering if there's something wrong with me. I've long since accepted that I'd be alone, but I always thought that I'd at least have ballet to turn to, but... what if even that leaves me?

What then?

* * *

The rest of the practices that week go similarly to how the first one went. I try to help my replacement hone her skills (she's not completely hopeless) and watch Milo's face contort in pain for a second after landing a jump before he quickly smooths his expression into one of concentration. I always walk home with Celeste and I've yet to fall flat on my face in front of her, thank God. In fact, her presence has been almost... nice. She's kind of... comforting.

I should probably stop teasing the poor girl because we're, well, friends. But, I just can't seem to stop bantering with her. She's too easy to joke with. Well, she never seems to mind too much, so why change?

"Whatcha thinking?" comes a voice from my side. I look to my left and see Celeste raising her eyebrow at me. Instead of answering, I stick my tongue out at her childishly, swinging my crutch at her ankle, causing the brunette to fall on her ass in a fluffy snow pile.

I point and laugh like a kid, enjoying the empty streets and the freezing cold that only children can find wonder in. Then, like a fish latching onto a hook, Celeste reaches up snags my mocking hand, pulling me down into the snow drift beside her. Even in the midst of my confusion, I can see her incredible gentleness in the way that she makes sure my ankle doesn't get jarred by the fall.

When I land on the ground, I get a face full of snow, which happens to actually be the worst feeling in the world. Scrubbing my hands against my cold, wet cheeks and lips, I listen to the tinkling laughter that spills out of Celeste like birdsong. In sweet, sweet revenge, I grab a handful of snow and pile it on the brunette's neck, causing her to screech in surprise.

Once all of the snow has been wiped off of our cold skin, we lay on our backs for a minute. Watching gray clouds move across the dark sky, bringing the moon in and out of focus, we feel cold water start to seep into our clothes, but we can't be bothered to move.

For the first time in a while, I'm having fun.

"Well," I muse, "We should probably head home now. If you stay up too late, you'll be too tired to perform tomorrow." We both register my words, but neither of us moves for some reason. It's a few minutes before Celeste asks, "Do... you wanna stay over tonight? I won't be able to sleep if I'm all alone."

We're both silent for a moment while I think over my life choices before I answer, "Sure, why not? Let's have another 'sleepover.' But you're gonna have to help me up before we can go anywhere." Letting out a quick snort, Celeste launches herself to her feet. Gently, so gently, she helps me into a vertical position and hands my crutches to me.

We stop at my apartment real quick in order to grab my pajamas and toothbrush, but then we head back to Celeste's home, a place I've never actually seen before. She's adorned it with Christmas decorations and there's a touch of warmness that my own dwelling lacks.

I feel like a terrible host when Celeste does everything perfectly. She sits me down on her couch, props my crutches up beside me, takes off the shoe on my good foot, and throws a warm blanket over top of my legs. She cooks me some dinner and lets me eat it on her sofa while she sits on the floor in front of me, not wanting to be obtrusive. When she offers me her bed, I have to decline. Even though I may have a bum leg, Celeste needs a good night's sleep much more than I do. (And the thought of sleeping in her bed is... strange.)

When we've changed into our pajamas and we're drinking hot chocolate because 'it's tradition,' Celeste claims, we're sitting undeniably close. The French girl's legs are tucked underneath her like a child and her shoulder presses hard, but soft, against mine. Celeste rambles on and on about something to do with weather and, with a start, I notice that I've stopped trying to distance myself from the woman beside me. Instead of thinking about it too hard, I nuzzle closer into Celeste, leaning my head on her shoulder. She ceases her rambling for a minute before she simply wraps her arm around my shoulders and continues where she left off.

If we accidently fallasleep in each other's arms again, well, that's our business.

_______________________________________________________

A/N:

So..... this...... happened? Is it getting gay in here, or is it just me?

I would like to say I'll rush through the next performance and make them gay for each other in the next chapter, but that will probably not happen because I've been rushing enough and enough tears haven't been cried over Anna and Milo. Also, Marina needs to become a little less dense and realize she's gay. (She still thinks she's just a straight girl with no sex drive. She needs to get. With. The. Program.)

Again, I have no idea when this will be over, so let's just keep going through this maze of a plot.