The Fading Trilogy: Fading, Freeing, Falling: Includes 2 BONUS short stories: Hoping and Finding Forever Read Online Free Page A
Author: E.K. Blair
Tags: Fading boxset
support you, Mother. What about supporting me? Shit, Mom, you have never once attended any of my shows. I work my ass off. You have no clue what it is I am doing here. I'm sick of this shit. I'm never going to be good enough, am I? What do you want from me? Please, just tell me so I know exactly what I need to do to make you fuckin' like me!" Disconnecting the call, I throw the phone across the counter. I am beyond pissed. My heart is racing, and I try to slow my breathing so I can calm down.
"What's with the screaming?" Kimber asks softly, knowing I rarely ever lose my temper.
My eyes begin to sting, and when I turn around to look at her, the tears start to fall. I feel so hopeless. I've fought with my mother my whole life, and I have no idea why she is the way that she is. She knows exactly what to say to me to set me off. I know it's only a matter of time before my dad calls to smooth things over and make excuses for her.
Kimber walks over and wraps her arms around me. "What happened?"
I let go of Kimber and wipe my face with the backs of my hands. "My mother. She went on another one of her tirades and thought it would be fun to belittle me. She just set me off, and I couldn't hold it in."
"Want to tell me about it?"
"Not really. I think I'll just take a quick shower and call it a night."
"You sure?" she questions me with concern.
"I'm sure."
Kimber heads back to her room, and I bag up the vegetables I was cutting and put everything back in the refrigerator. I can't even think about eating when I am this upset. I pick up my phone and decide to turn it off for the night so I don't have to hear it when my father calls. After a hot shower, I start to relax. I know I should probably check to see if my dad has called, but I don't have the energy to deal with it tonight.
Waking up the next morning, I'm surprised that I'm still pissed off about the fight I had with my mother. I throw the sheets off of me and walk over to my dresser. I pull out a pair of cutoff knee-length sweats, sports bra, and a loose fitting grey tank top. I get dressed, grab my dance bag, and throw in my pointes. After brushing my teeth and pulling my hair up in a messy bun, I go to the kitchen to grab a breakfast bar. I toss a couple bottles of water and an apple into my bag and make a cup of coffee to take with me. Throwing my bag across my chest, I head out to my car.
When I walk into the studio, I drop my bag onto the floor. I walk over to the stereo, plug in my iPod, turn up the speakers, and hit play. I sit on the floor with my legs stretched out, and I lower myself between them and begin to warm up my muscles. The melodic strains of Yann Tiersen's 'Comptine d'un Autre Ete' fill the room as I begin to stretch.
Feeling warm and loose, I grab my bag. I start taping my toes and stuffing my toe pads with new lamb's wool. Sliding on my pointes, I lace the ribbons around my ankles. This is what I love about ballet—the familiar rituals.
With the music filling the room, I grab the barre and begin to work. I start the very methodical routine: pliès, tendu, degagè. Feeling my muscles stretch, I continue to work the rest of the exercises, freeing my mind of all my stresses, and focusing on nothing but my turnout, posture, lines, and movement. Hearing the box of my toe shoes thudding against the worn wooden floor and the gliding of the shredded satin as I work my feet is soothing. I love this feeling of pure focus. Sometimes it's nice to shut out the world and be completely immersed in dance, feeling like there is no life beyond the walls of this studio. It's freeing.
After an hour or so, I end my barre work with grand battement, working on my high kicks. As I finish, I begin to feel slightly light-headed. I sit down and grab my water, downing it in just a few seconds. I remove my shoes and tape, lie on my back, close my eyes, and breathe. I know as soon as I walk out of here, the stress of my mother will creep in. So I just lie on the
"What's with the screaming?" Kimber asks softly, knowing I rarely ever lose my temper.
My eyes begin to sting, and when I turn around to look at her, the tears start to fall. I feel so hopeless. I've fought with my mother my whole life, and I have no idea why she is the way that she is. She knows exactly what to say to me to set me off. I know it's only a matter of time before my dad calls to smooth things over and make excuses for her.
Kimber walks over and wraps her arms around me. "What happened?"
I let go of Kimber and wipe my face with the backs of my hands. "My mother. She went on another one of her tirades and thought it would be fun to belittle me. She just set me off, and I couldn't hold it in."
"Want to tell me about it?"
"Not really. I think I'll just take a quick shower and call it a night."
"You sure?" she questions me with concern.
"I'm sure."
Kimber heads back to her room, and I bag up the vegetables I was cutting and put everything back in the refrigerator. I can't even think about eating when I am this upset. I pick up my phone and decide to turn it off for the night so I don't have to hear it when my father calls. After a hot shower, I start to relax. I know I should probably check to see if my dad has called, but I don't have the energy to deal with it tonight.
Waking up the next morning, I'm surprised that I'm still pissed off about the fight I had with my mother. I throw the sheets off of me and walk over to my dresser. I pull out a pair of cutoff knee-length sweats, sports bra, and a loose fitting grey tank top. I get dressed, grab my dance bag, and throw in my pointes. After brushing my teeth and pulling my hair up in a messy bun, I go to the kitchen to grab a breakfast bar. I toss a couple bottles of water and an apple into my bag and make a cup of coffee to take with me. Throwing my bag across my chest, I head out to my car.
When I walk into the studio, I drop my bag onto the floor. I walk over to the stereo, plug in my iPod, turn up the speakers, and hit play. I sit on the floor with my legs stretched out, and I lower myself between them and begin to warm up my muscles. The melodic strains of Yann Tiersen's 'Comptine d'un Autre Ete' fill the room as I begin to stretch.
Feeling warm and loose, I grab my bag. I start taping my toes and stuffing my toe pads with new lamb's wool. Sliding on my pointes, I lace the ribbons around my ankles. This is what I love about ballet—the familiar rituals.
With the music filling the room, I grab the barre and begin to work. I start the very methodical routine: pliès, tendu, degagè. Feeling my muscles stretch, I continue to work the rest of the exercises, freeing my mind of all my stresses, and focusing on nothing but my turnout, posture, lines, and movement. Hearing the box of my toe shoes thudding against the worn wooden floor and the gliding of the shredded satin as I work my feet is soothing. I love this feeling of pure focus. Sometimes it's nice to shut out the world and be completely immersed in dance, feeling like there is no life beyond the walls of this studio. It's freeing.
After an hour or so, I end my barre work with grand battement, working on my high kicks. As I finish, I begin to feel slightly light-headed. I sit down and grab my water, downing it in just a few seconds. I remove my shoes and tape, lie on my back, close my eyes, and breathe. I know as soon as I walk out of here, the stress of my mother will creep in. So I just lie on the
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