CREATURE

・chapter 14・

The aftermath of performing never lived up to the rush of being on stage. It usually consisted of desperately trying to cool down overexerted muscles, scrubbing off makeup and slowly coming back to the real world where pain and exhaustion weren't dampened by adrenalin. She was still only human.

Asya braced herself on the porcelain sink in their bathroom with slightly shaky arms, watching her sodden hair drip onto the tile floor. She'd showered to wash her gel-covered hair and gotten rid of her stage makeup, and when she got out she hardly recognized herself. Her undereyes were darkened with exhaustion and skin blotchy where she'd scrubbed off sweat and makeup. She was a washed-out, watered-down version of the person she'd been for the last few hours. There was no glamour, no applause, no feeling of power.

The aftermath was always fucking tragedy.

She knew what was coming. She'd gotten the warnings over the last few days, the insomnia, muscle pain, hunger. When the time came she was going to be faced with the consequences of pushing as hard as she had. But so long as the war raged on she had no choice but to keep standing, and paying for her transgressions would have to wait.

She needed to get ready for her next performance, and as bone-tired as she was, nothing was going to take the next adrenalin rush from her. Nothing.

With a final determined glance in the mirror she snatched her makeup bag out from under the sink and got to work. She freshened up her skin with some moisturizer and blow-dried her hair before sweeping the tresses into an elegant messy bun with some pins. She freed up some loose strands to frame her face and started her makeup.

Bastian had informed them that on the Friday evening after their performance they'd all be attending a dinner party with the gala's most prominent guests, namely those with deep pockets. Both Asya and Katherine were told in no uncertain terms that as the two ballerinas in the cast they'd be batting their eyelashes to rope in some donors, and to look the part. The dress-code was blacktie, and of-course Nastasia Radzevich was pulling out all the stops.

She wasn't about to miss out on an opportunity to show off.

Behind the bathroom door hung the white silk slip dress and a pair of crystal-studded heels she'd chosen for the evening. Having grown up in a well-to-do household and gone on to pursue a career in classical ballet, she'd done her fair share of wining and dining. She knew what she was doing when it came to putting on a show, and she fully intended to turn some heads that evening.

She was probably going to freeze to death in the process, given that the dress's thin straps and provocative slit up her thigh weren't going to be keeping her particularly warm. She could always snag Julian's blazer if it got totally unbearable.

She put some finishing touches on her hair and makeup and stepped into her dress, pulling up the zip in the back so it hugged her waist and showed off her lanky build. She crowned the look with a dash of her favourite vanilla perfume, and with her shoes in hand she strolled into the bedroom.

Julian was passed out on the bed like a ragdoll, his limbs splayed out over the covers.

'I can't move.' he groaned.

'Have you decided which shirt you're wearing yet?' she asked laughingly, picking up the two hangers he'd hooked onto the closet door.

He made a strangled noise she assumed was a no and sat up onto his elbows to give her a once-over.

'Well don't you clean up nice?' he remarked.

'Thanks.' she grinned, tossing him one of the shirts. 'Go with the blue.'

'Are you sure?' he asked.

'Put it on, Julian, it's a bloody shirt.'

'I suppose you're right.' he sighed, shrugging the garment on. 'And it'll go nicely with your dress.'