CORPS DE BALLET

The studio door clattered open. Echoes bounced across the room but I didn't flinch. Artyom was late as always. If one of us girls lacked punctuality as bad as he did we’d have been dismissed. Artyom used to scare me. He was tall, muscular, his hair was flecked with white and his skin had begun to crease but he had kept his body and his sharp tongue.

“Why are you sitting down?” He didn’t even look at me as he crossed to his little wooden stool. I’d gotten good at avoiding that stool as it flew to my head at high speed. Dents across the floor and newly replaced mirrors remained as proof.

“I was stretching.”

“Stretch at the barre, not on the floor.”

I stood quickly, pulled off my slack, grey joggers and readjusted the hem of my tights over my leotard, fixing my wedgie. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I knew Artyom saw it too. The tight, stretching bloat of my lower stomach. I hadn’t gotten my period yet that month.

“Поторопись!” He yelled. Hurry-up. “First position.”

I took my regular place at the barre, grooves on the worn floor boards boasted of countless other girls before me but for a moment it was mine. I followed orders like a puppy being potty trained.

“Turn out from your glutes not your knees.”

“You’re not even looking at me,” I muttered under my breath, correcting my turn out. It’s like he had a sixth sense for my mistakes. He had taught me since I was seventeen years old and not once had that man ever paid me a compliment, at least not in a language I can understand.

“I don’t need to look at you. I just know you’re doing it wrong. I can see you and I can see your lunch.” He finally turned around, tying his thick hair in a small ponytail as he approached me, eyes cast down onto my gut. “You are either the best or…”

“Or someone else is.” I finished his motto.

“Aurora deserves the best.”

Princess Aurora. The Sleeping Beauty. God, even hearing that name shattered the jar of butterflies nestled in my stomach. Every bone and muscle in my body suddenly complied to perfection. Aurora was all I’d ever wanted. Beautiful, courageous, sweet, musical, mischievous Aurora. If I was Aurora, even for just one night, I could die happy the next morning. 

A firm but sharp slap struck my inner thigh.

“Сконцентрируйся!” Focus.

“Artyom? Do you think I could do it? Be Aurora?”

“You wouldn’t be my first choice but I am not the director. Now…”

“Сконцентрируйся.” I repeated.

“Сконцентрируйся.”

I don’t think we exchanged a full sentence again all lesson. The next ninety-minutes were repetition, cleaning, him yelling at me and me taking it like a good girl. I always told myself today will be the day I yell back but it never was. Last time a girl yelled back he left the room and didn’t return for three hours. I haven’t heard from her since. He’s a cruel old bastard but he was good at what he did. If anyone was going to mould me, shape me, carve me into an Aurora to rival the greats, it was him.

My knees and hips burned with soreness. My whole body begged for a bath. I stretched out a crick in my neck as I unlaced the ribbons of my battered pointe shoes. I hadn’t even felt my toepad tear but my cracked big toenail certainly had.

“New shoes for the audition,” Artyom reminded me. 

“Yes, Artyom.” I hesitated. “Maél is too afraid to ask. Prince Désiré…”

“You can tell your boyfriend, Prince Désiré is his for the losing. He’s ready. Keep an eye on him. The last thing the boy needs is a torn ligament two days before his audition because he worked himself into the ground. He may even be better than I was.” Was it resentment or pride in his voice? With Artyom they were two in the same.

“And I’ll be his Aurora.”

He patted my shoulder as he headed for the exit, a chuckle caught in the back of his throat. “Goodnight, Miss Dowry.”

“Goodnight, Artyom.”

Maél waited outside the studio like he did every day. Artyom was right, he was one of the best dancers I’d ever seen. I fell in love with his lines, feet, and posture before I even considered falling for him. When I was a little girl my coach told me to never love another dancer. She said there would always be tension, rivalry, infidelity, jealousy, resentment. We’d both always be so busy we’d never spend any time together. God, how wrong she was. 

He pushed his thick, dark, coils of hair out of his face as he beamed that crooked, whitened smile. 

“Mon cœur!” he shouted across the carpark before I’d even stepped out of the door.

“Hey, baby,” I jogged over to him, clasping his already outstretched hand. 

He slung his arm around my shoulder as we started to walk back to the apartment. “How did it go with the old goat?”

“I don’t know why that man hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you anymore than he hates anyone else.”

“Easy for you to say, золотой мальчик.” Golden boy. “He told me he would never pick me for Aurora.”

“C’est des foutaises.” He rolled his eyes.

I giggled quietly, half-heartedly. “It’s not bullshit. He said it himself. I asked him about Désiré…”

“Don’t tell me. Expectations are the enemies of progress.” He’s cute when he’s flustered.

“Fine. If you got Prince Désiré, would you be happy with me as your Aurora?”

He hummed loudly for a moment. “I think they would have to put a gun to my head to get me to do it with anyone else. It’s your time, mon cœur.”

“It’s our time, baby.” 

He pecked the top of my head. I never went for taller guys until he introduced me to gentle kisses on the top of my head.

We dawdled home. We had no rush. We would’ve been together for five years that Autumn and I’d never tired of him asking me about my day. ‘Were your eggs runny this morning?’ ‘Did you remember your extra hair pins?’ ‘Did they get your coffee order right?’ And then I would ask him: ‘Was the bus on time this morning?’ ‘How’s that bruise on your back?’ ‘Did you remember to buy new tights?’ I fell in love with the monotony of Maél - I fell in love with the nothingness of our conversations and yet we were still sincere with our desire to know every minute detail of each other’s day. I’d never been with anyone who cared quite so much about the state of my avocado toast as he did. And I’d never cared so much about the correct brand of dry shampoo than when I was standing in the aisle weighing up the options for him.

We were outgrowing our apartment. We lived on the fourteenth floor. After sixteen hours in a ballet studio it might as well be the stairway to heaven with how our knees tremble. I don’t know if the elevator ever actually worked. He carried me up the last flight. The whole place was a damp, concrete grey condemnation waiting to happen. He fumbled with his keys and gave the door a harsh shoulder shove. We’d been meaning to get it mended since Christmas two years ago, we just never got around to it.

“I’m going to hop in the shower.” I said, dumping my kitbag in the doorway.

“I can draw you a bath if you want? Soak your knees? I got a new bag of salts so we should be good until the auditions.”

I kissed his cheek as I breezed past him. “I’m too hungry for that.”

“Are you sure? I could feed you?”

“Like I’m Marie Antoinette or something?” I was already undressing in the hallway. I threw my tracksuit off and began to wrangle my leotard and tights until I was standing in just my sports bra and panties. “What would be a big help is…”

He was already picking up my mesh pink tights. “Short cycle, cold wash. Go shower, I’ll get dinner on.”

“Thank you, baby.”

“De rien, mon cœur.”

I pissed for the first time all afternoon whilst I removed ten million blonde pins from the sleek symmetrical bun at the back of my head until my hair fell down my back. My scalp screamed as I massaged my nails through it. The light mint silk scrunchie I used to keep it out of my face whilst I shower was a much less tugging alternative.

I threw my panties in the laundry basket and turned the shower as hot as it’d go. I wanted to be steamed like a lobster. I needed to buy more shower gel so I used his instead. Men’s shower gel is so different to women’s. I know my shower gel smelt like coconut and it’s filled with shea butter. I could not tell you what that 4-in-1 shit was meant to smell like. Maybe jet fuel? I just wanted to be clean. It was the first thing I did after every practice. I couldn’t stand the clinging, sticky feeling of sitting around in damp, smelly clothes. I used the disintegrating loofah to scrub at myself until it almost burned. It was truly the highlight of my day. Well second to snuggling down at the end of the night. 

He lightly wrapped the door. “Five minutes, mon cœur.”

“Merci, baby.”

I cut the faucet and wrapped a large, fluffy towel around myself. I wiped away the condensation on the mirror and yanked open the sticky, bird-muck splattered window. I let my hair down once again before drying my body. I could hear the gentle switch click of the extractor turning off in the kitchen. I knew his every movement as well as he knew mine. I folded the towels over the side of the bathtub. I arrived in the kitchen just in time to be handed my plate of baked salmon smeared in garlic mustard and warm broccoli dripping with butter and lemon and a large glass of ice water. I sat on the counter top, swinging my legs like a little girl as I took the first bite. 

“If I ever end up on death row, this right here is my last meal,” I said with my mouth still half full. He must have made me this dish 400 times and each time somehow tasted better than the last.

“You should taste when my mémé Manon makes it. She would definitely make you eat the tomatoes though.”

I looked at the large wet, mushy red slabs of tomato squelching on his plate as he plonked himself down next to me. “Then I may just have to fistfight your mémé Manon.”

“You will eat ketchup and pizza and pasta but not just the tomato.”

“It’s a fruit, fruit shouldn’t taste like that.”

He laughed deeply in his chest. “What about the little baby ones?”

“Those are fine because they don’t just turn to pulp the second you try to cut them, you can just pop them in like grapes.”

“They are the same thing.”

I shook my head, shovelling half the salmon into my face at once. “Enough tomato talk, I need to make love to this fish.”

“That’s a lucky fish,” he smirked.

I lightly kicked his calf. The jolting movement agitated the lump growing on my stomach. I silently grimaced.

“Mon cœur?”

“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.” I stabbed at my broccoli. 

“Doesn’t look like ‘nothing’. Are you hurt?”

“It’s just like my period or something.”

“Want me to look.”

“No, it’s OK. I’m OK, I promise.”

“Kimmy?” he tilted his head like a confused puppy.

I put my plate down next to me and pulled up my shirt. I saw the concern flash across his face as he hopped down from the counter. He gently thumbed the lump. I yelped as he touched it. 

“How long has it been there?”

“Like a month or something, I don’t know, it’s not bothered me until today. Artyom noticed.”

“Kimmy, this looks serious. Has it always looked like this?”

“It’s gotten bigger.”

“It’s growing? Mon cœur, you need to go to a doctor.”

“Baby, auditions are this week. A bunch of blood tests are the last thing I need right now.”

“How the hell are you going to dance with that?”

He made a good argument. If I was going to get Aurora, I needed to be in peak physical and mental condition. Even a slight costume discomfort could hinder me in front of the director. He needed dancers who could take care of themselves. “I’ll book an appointment in the morning.”

“It’s probably just gas.” He hopped back up next to me, grabbing his plate.

“Right.” I tried to force a smile. I was so close now, I wouldn’t let something as stupid as a little lump take this from me. I was white knuckling my fork and didn’t even realise.

Maél smiled softly trying to ease me. “You'll be fine, mon cœur.”

“I know.” I didn’t like the strange silence lingering in the air. I never could stand silence. I stabbed my fork into a particularly large and ripe piece of buttery, lemony broccoli on the edge of his plate and rammed it into my mouth.

He gasped with a laugh, stealing some of my salmon in return.

I didn’t sleep a wink that night. I cuddled into Maél and lied to myself that there truly was nothing to worry about. All I could think about was my last two skipped periods. I didn’t think it was an issue at the time, it happens, I always slimmed down for auditions. But this felt different. He slept deeply and woke up before me as he always did. He kissed me on the forehead, made breakfast and was out the door by 7:30. The smell of his oatmeal with almond butter and berries hadn’t even left the kitchen and I was already up, pacing the magnolia linoleum. The thought of eating made me want to throw up. My hands cradled my bloated gut so gently, fighting my every urge to punch it flat.  The corner shop opened at 8. I was there dead on opening. I didn’t recognise the young, gum-chewing girl behind the register which was probably for the best. The other cashiers all knew me and would’ve definitely have questions I had no intention of answering. 

It said that pregnancy tests were only meant to take 10 minutes but that didn’t filter in the hour of chugging water until I needed to piss, or the second hour holding the test wondering if I was bold enough to even take it. The actual 10 minutes felt more like hours. I sat on that cold, damp floor, staring up at the sink where the test was balanced. I wished Maél was there, holding me, telling me ‘Ca va bien aller.’ He had to focus on his audition. I couldn’t bother him with this if it was a false alarm, he’d worked too hard. My hand didn’t leave my stomach. 

Two blue lines. I forgot if two meant pregnant or not, I checked the instructions a million times. 

I tore the second test open, throwing the box to the side. I didn’t sit and I didn’t wait. I held it in my hands, pacing that tiny bathroom, unable to catch my breath, eyes unfocusing on the two blue lines slowly starting to show.

“Fuck!” I threw the test into the sink with the other. 

I couldn’t cry or scream. I dropped onto the floor, hand covering my squeaking, drooling mouth as I stopped fighting the tears. I kept my arm wrapped around my gut. This thing was in me, in my body. My body just seemed to stop. I pulled my hands over my head as if it would somehow wake me up from whatever nightmare this was. I didn’t remember to send Maél our good morning text or answer the seven times my phone rang before lunch. That’s probably why he came running back into the apartment screaming my name.

“Kim, are you OK?” I heard the fear in his voice, he was quivering. He soon found himself in the bathroom doorway looking down at me. “Kimmy!” he threw himself at my side, resting his warm palm on my cheek.

I couldn’t speak. I sniffled and shook my head. 

“Talk to me, Kim, what’s happening?” He stroked my pale hair out of my face. 

“I’m pregnant.” That word, that goddamn word, made nausea flood to my mouth that I barely had the strength to swallow down. 

He froze like a fawn on a motorway. “You…”

“I’m pregnant.”

He let out a shaky exhale whilst nodding slowly. “OK, that’s…OK.” He lifted me sitting with my back against the side of the tub. He took my face in his hands. “You need to breathe, mon cœur. Breathe with me, OK.”

I followed his inhales and long exhales, eyes meeting. His eyes were so deep and dark like a labrador in some pound that knows it's about to get put down. But we didn’t stop looking and holding and breathing until the room finally stopped spinning. “Have you done the tests?”

“Two.”

“I’m going to go to the store, we have to be sure.”

“Hurry.”

“I will. I will.” His lips lingered sweaty but plump on my forehead.

Three more tests, six more blue lines. I don’t think we could’ve been more certain. I don’t know how it happened. It’s ballet troupe 101. Condoms every time. I don’t know a single ballerina who isn’t on the pill. The smart ones, like myself, just got implants, they wereless maintenance. I couldn’t be pregnant, we took every precaution available to us. Even with the five tests laid out in front of me, it didn’t add up.

He sighed, sliding onto the floor next to me. "I don't understand. We were always so careful."

"You've never forgotten a condom? Or it tore or ripped and we just didn't notice."

"No, not possible, I always check before and after. What about you? Your um..."

"My implant?"

"Can it move?"

"No." I leant onto his shoulder

He took my hand in his. He was trembling. “Forgive me for asking you this."

"It's ok."

He sniffled back tears. "Was there someone else? Is the ba-”

“Foetus.”

“Is the foetus mine?"

I knew I should’ve been offended. I knew I probably had every right to slap him across the face and scream at him. But if our places were switched I know I'd ask the same. "I haven't been with anyone but you in five years."

"Is it possible that something..." he dragged his eyes to meet mine, swimming with tears. "Is it possible that something bad happened to you? Did someone..."

I wrapped my hand over his, running my thumb over his knuckles. "Baby, it's yours. I don't know how but..." I can't say it.

He settled his arm around me and drew me into him. My head nested against his sharp collarbone. "I believe you." His lips softly met the top of my head and for a minute it felt like everything was going to be fine. 

"What do you think I should do?"

"It's not my decision."

"But it affects both of us."

He was playing with my hair. Coiling and uncoiling it around his finger. "I want a baby with you, Kimmy. When we're both done dancing, when we can afford a bigger house. If you wanted to keep it, I'd stay, but I'm not sure I could be happy."

"I want this fucking thing out of me."

"Then that's what we'll do. We'll get it out of you, mon cœur. I love you so much." His fingers traced my jawline softly.

"I love you too." I squeezed his hand as tight as I could. “Can you call the surgery for me?”

“Of course. I’ll cancel your private with Artyom tomorrow.”

I’d normally fight him. I never missed class. But I still wasn’t sure how I was going to be able to stand, nevermind dance. He called the doctors and told them the facts in their most plain and simple truth. They booked me in for 2pm that afternoon. He dragged a brush through my hair and helped me into my tracksuit. We didn’t talk. I don’t think I could’ve if I wanted to.

We took the bus into Springhollow. He let me sit by the window so I didn’t throw up from the motion. He squeezed my hand until his knuckles went white.

Dr Creedy looked young and old at the same time. His skin bore pimples almost as frequently as it did wrinkles. His hair was jet black but severely receded. He wore thin, wiry glasses and strained to read the computer screen but his voice belonged to a man half his age. I hated doctor’s offices. They always smelt like bleach and were plastered with sad faces and secondary school PSAs. They weren’t comforting. They were the exact opposite of comforting. Hospitals too.

He shook Maél’s hand and asked him, “So you’re Daddy then?”

I cleared my throat offering my hand. “There is no Daddy, we’re terminating.”

“OK, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Take a seat, Mrs Archarmbault,” he clumsily stumbled over Maél’s surname.

“Miss Dowry. We’re not married.” I took the seat closest to him. “I have a big audition soon. I need it out, no surgery.” 

“Well it’s not that simple. We can’t just go around giving out terminations to every girl who gets herself in trouble.” His laugh made me uncomfortable. “You are aware, I’m sure, that terminations are irreversible? You mentioned an audition. You cannot simply bring the baby back after the audition. A termination is final.”

“Please do not speak to my girlfriend like she’s an idiot. We don’t want to have a child.”

“Then may I suggest birth control next time?”

The fucking nerve.

“I have an implant, Maél double wraps. This is an accident.”

“Damn shame, you young women these days throwing away what could be your only shot at something other women would kill for over something as silly as an audition.”

Maél rubbed his eyes and grumbled, “Fils de pute.”

“We don’t have the room, the time, or the money for a baby. Our careers are barely starting, I won’t lose everything I’ve ever wanted over a clump of cells. I have seven siblings. My Da’s the youngest of five and my Mam the middle of six. I will not have any problems having a kid. What I need you to do now is get it out of me.”

He stuttered for a moment, eyes darting between the pair of us. “Well there is a process we have to go through first. You’ll need some bloodwork, an ultrasound, we heavily advise a few sessions of counselling. Three or four weeks if I had to guess but it depends on a lot of factors.”

“Three or four weeks? We can’t wait three or four weeks. I need it out of me now.”

“Well, I’m sorry Miss Dowry, that simply isn’t possible. I’ll put in for bloodwork and an ultrasound. They can get those scheduled before the end of next week if you want them done at the maternity unit, our technology here isn’t quite as advanced as the hospital but we could squeeze you in a lot quicker. You can forgo the counselling but a brief psychological assessment will be made before you’re allowed to sign any consent forms.” He began to furiously type on his ancient and groaning computer. “Leave it to us professionals, Sweetheart, you’ll be just fine. Are you having pain or anything else I can help you with today?”

“No.” I looked at Maél. His thumbs danced circles on the back of my hand.

“Well I’ll put in those requests for you and you’ll hear from us in the next few days.” 

“Thank you, Doctor,” Maél answered, sensing the obvious tension of my fingernails digging into his palm.

I fought tears the entire bus ride back. Three or four weeks. I had to grow this alien blob in my stomach for a month. No audition. No Aurora. It was obvious Maél had a million things he wanted to say from the way his lips were twitching but he knew when I needed silence. 

“What time does the surgery close?” I asked.

“6.”

“Call them, I’ll do their shitty ultrasound. I just want it gone.”

“Can you take a breath for me first?”

I didn’t even realise I was holding my breath until his gentle and warm hand rubbed my back. I exhaled shakily. “I’m sorry…”

He took my face in his hands. “Nothing to be sorry for. I’m going to call Dr Creedy, alright?”

“Thank you.”

He stroked my cheek before pulling out his mobile.

Tomorrow at 10am. Tomorrow. I only had to be pregnant for 19 more hours before I could get the go ahead on a termination. I just had to last until then.

“I need to call Artyom. Pull out of the audition.”

I gripped his hand. "Baby, no."

"I’m not letting you go alone."

"Maél, it’s just a scan. This is Prince Désiré. This isn't an opportunity that's going to come back."

"I need to take care of you."

"Baby, what I need right now is for you to go and blow that director's socks off. Make him cast you right there on the spot. This is what you've always wanted."

"But what about you? You want Aurora more than anything."

He was almost right. "I want you to be happy. I want you to get this part and every night on the tour when you dance it you dance it for me. You dance for the both of us until I can dance again. Maél," I gently titled his face towards me, "you are allowed to want this. I am giving you permission to want this.”

“I will come to you as soon as I’m done.”

“I know you will.” I wiped my nose with my sleeve. "Baby?"

"Yes, mon cœur?”

"If anything happens during all these tests and procedures and scans and meds. We need to talk about what we're going to do..."

"I'm saving you. Every single time. It's not a question, it's not a discussion. I'm saving you.”

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

Inside I knew it would be better with him by my side. I wanted him there, holding my hand. But I wouldn’t take this from him. This was a chance, a real chance for him to do something extraordinary. With or without me.

He was clingy for the rest of the night, not that I minded. I felt better when I was close to him. Neither of us could find the strength to eat or shower or even get out of bed. We laid there, snuggling, kissing, not talking or looking at each other until we fell asleep. 

I felt him slink out of my arms just after sunrise. His feet tapped faintly on the kitchen floor as he ran his audition over and over. He showered, packed his bag, kissed me long and hard on the head and left. I had been awake most of the night, not wanting to disturb him. I didn’t even tell him to break a leg. I laid there, empty and exhausted until 8 when I dragged myself to the shower to shave my vagina. It seemed so stupid, going to all that effort for a plastic probe but it felt like the right thing to do at the time. He’d left a note on the kitchen counter begging me to eat something. He’d left some buckwheat and chia seed gluten-free pancake batter in the fridge for me. It looked like frog spawn and probably didn’t taste much better. I barely managed to keep down some warm red raspberry tea. Some days I hated being a dancer. Days like that when all I wanted was a black coffee the size of my head with three sugars and half a loaf of regular, normal, white bread toast with a cancerous amount of butter. As soon as my audition was over, I was going to treat myself.

I was early for the bus but sitting around in that apartment was driving me insane. I was in the doctor’s office by 9:20, sitting there like a lunatic, bouncing my leg up and down wishing I still drank wine.

“Miss Dowry?” Dr Creedy passed me in the corridor. “You’re early.”

“I was going crazy, sitting at home waiting.”

“Where’s Mr Archarmbault?”

“At his audition, he’s going to meet me after.”

“You dancers take yourselves seriously, don’t you?”

“We have to. Our bodies have to be Инструменты.”

“Of course. Well, I have a little free time. No use in keeping you waiting around. I could do the ultrasound if you like. Get the paperwork filed and sorted before the lunchtime pick up.”

“Are you trained?”

“I am fully trained to do the scans. Come with me, let’s get it done.”

There was something undeniably creepy about Dr Creedy, something I just didn’t like. His petulant and childish voice, his slow dragging walk, the strange way he wrinkled the bridge of his nose to readjust his glasses. But I needed to start the process. 

Clinician room 4A was dark and unheated. He locked the door and guided me to a long flat, cushioned table. It went exactly like the ultrasounds on TV. I lifted my jumper. He squeezed the cold, sticky gel onto my stomach and began to roll the little roller over me. We sat in total silence as I stared at the damp-rotted ceiling panels that seemed to cave in. It took a minute or so before he even looked at me. His crow-footed eyes of mossy green were squinted and dark.

“Oh fuck,” he muttered under his breath, hoping I didn’t hear. He stuttered, pressing me back down when I rose to meet him. “I’m going to need you to take your underwear and trousers off, I’ll get you a um…a sheet or something to cover yourself with.” He stood, fidgeting and left the room.

I did as I was instructed. I didn’t give a shit about this foetus in me, but his tone and the way his eyes couldn’t meet mine unnerved me. He returned with a thin and flimsy paper sheet that I draped over myself. We went back into silence as he slid a long, white, cold and hard probe inside of me without warning. I gasped at the pressure. It didn’t feel like a cock or a hand. It hurt. I hid my pained grunts and bit my cheek. I wished Maél was with me. I wanted him. 

When it was finally over, Dr Creedy was white as a ghost. “You’re perfect.” He strained back a laugh. “Do you still want to abort?”

“Yes.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes, Doctor, I am certain.”

 “You will not change your mind?”

“No, I will not change my mind. I want the termination.”

“You’re going to be famous.” He sprinted over to the small desk at the side of the room rummaging through a drawer he unlocked with a silver key. He held something in his hand but I couldn’t see what, only the glint as it caught the light as he dived back down between my legs. Something small and cold and wet dragged along my inner thigh.

“Short sharp scratch now, sweetheart.”

“What?” I gasped as the needle dug into me. I tried to pull my leg away but he held me in place. 

As soon as I felt the pressure of the cotton wool on the small wound I scrambled to my feet pulling my underwear and trousers back on. “What the fuck did you just do to me?”

“An ectopic pregnancy. We’ve been waiting for months for a case like this and here you are just falling into my lap.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” I fumbled around in my jacket pocket, holding the sharp length of my house key between my knuckles.

“It’s where your baby, or in your case more specifically one of your babies, grows outside your uterus. You have one in, one out, both fertilised. You wouldn’t have even been considered for a non-surgical abortion. Hell, I’m not sure they would’ve done one at all.”

Twins. I was carrying twins. The needle site throbbed and burned my shaking thigh. “What did you stick me with?”

“A miracle. An answer to all your prayers. I just killed your babies.” He threw the needle into the small yellow waste bin in the corner of the room. “You’re going to have a rough night but take a couple Ibuprofen and you might make your audition, in theory.”

“What did you put in me?”

“We’ve been waiting years for approval to move to human subjects and here you are.”

“Subject?”

“A modern world termination. No surgery, no clinics, one injection all done in 24 hours flat. This is a revolution. You just made history.”

“You made this?”

“I…well, I assisted. There’s a team of us, a group, a collective, we all played our part but I’d like to say I made it.”

My hand fumbled for the door handle until I practically fell through it.

“Miss Dowry, wait…” he gripped my arm and pulled me back into the room. “You wouldn’t have let me do this if I had told you. This is a biological revolution in progress. It has worked on rodents and primates with minimal irreversible side effects.”

“Shut the fuck up.” I shook his hand off. “Tell me what’s going to happen to me.”

“It’ll attack the fertilised eggs, break them apart, you’ll pass them vaginally and it’s gone baby gone.”

“And if I go to the hospital? If I ask them to test what you put in me. What happens then?”

“The gynaecology team at the hospital will check you over, see what I’ve done, give you the all clear and start popping the champagne.”

“And if I call the police?”

“They’ll see a desperate and neurotic little anorexic with a faggot immigrant boyfriend who gave herself an abortion over a dance class. Go home, sleep, rehearse your little routine and come see me in two days.”

I flung the door open and sprinted down the hallway. My thigh was warm and only getting hotter. I grabbed my phone. It was only 09:53, Maél’s audition had barely even started. I couldn’t call him. I barely made it to the next bus. I couldn’t run for it, my legs were made of concrete. I scratched and itched through my jeans, blinded by silent tears I couldn’t sniffle back. I don’t know why I held my stomach as if I wanted to protect anything inside of it. This is what I wanted isn’t it? Isn’t this exactly what I asked for? The foetuses would be gone in a few hours, this was the perfect outcome. But I felt wrong, dirty, ashamed somehow even though I had no control. I had no control. 

I got off at the stop right outside the ballet studio. I could hear the closing moments of Sarabande from the car park. I could picture him in there right now. Like a swan trapped in a human body. I had seen him run this dance a thousand times in our living room but I would have given anything to be a fly on the wall during that audition. Watching him give every ounce of soul and heart he had left to give to it. Nothing soothed me, brought me as much joy, as watching my baby dance. I sat on the wall. It was no longer an ache in my thigh but an agonising pain rising up towards my stomach. I rubbed my thighs together but it did nothing to soothe it. I rested my head in my hands and waited. The music stopped and all was quiet apart from the birds screaming in the trees, the pounding of my heart in my head and the cars speeding down the one way street opposite. I stayed in this limbo for an hour until Maél finally emerged. I recognised some of the other lads from the studio. They were all laughing, grinning, sweating, their arms slung around him. Artyom lingered behind them, a smug grin on his face. He saw me before Maél did and simply nodded. 

He’d done it. My baby had fucking done it. For a moment the pain eased as I stood, catching the eye of one of his friends who pointed towards me. Maél was grinning so brightly and broadly I felt nothing but guilt when his eyes dropped upon seeing me half-hunched and gaunt. He made his goodbyes quick, sprinting over to me, dropping his bag to the ground.

“Mon cœur, what happened? You look like death.”

“You got it?”

“What?”

“Désiré. You got the part, didn’t you?”

He nodded softly, fighting back a small smirk. “I got the part.”

“Oh, Baby, that’s…amazing.” I couldn’t find the word to tell him how proud I was. 

“How did the scans go?”

“I don’t know. Dr Creedy injected me with something.”

“With what?”

“He said it was a new kind of termination. Some modern medical miracle.”

“Well that’s good right?”

“I don’t…” That’s when the first cramp hit. I doubled over falling onto him. All the breath was stolen from my lungs as I crumpled like waste paper.

"What's the matter, Mon cœur? What hurts? Is it the baby?" He fell to his knees beside me and began to slowly rub my back. It did little to ease the agony but the warmth of his palm gave me something to focus on.

"It's not a fucking baby."

"Ok, ok, I'm sorry. Tell me what you need."

"I don't...I don't know...I need it to stop."

His arms coiled around me as he lifted me against his chest. I tucked into him. His lips dry and trembling kissed my closed eyelid. “Artyom, call an ambulance,” he yelled over his shoulder. Artyom stood with his arms folded across his chest shaking his head as he looked at me.

“No, no hospital. He said no hospital.” A second cramp brought vomit to my throat that I barely swallowed down.

“Alright, OK, let’s go home, yes?”

I nodded as Artyom’s shadow cast over us. He dropped his car keys into Maél’s hand. “She needs to be in top form for tomorrow.”

“Да, Artyom.”

Artyom grabbed Maél’s gym bag and slung it into the back of a sleek, clean silver car I was too delirious to pay attention to. He settled me into the front, buckling me in and kissing my forehead once again. 

“Hold on, mon cœur.”

I don’t remember much of the drive home. Every few minutes another cramp would hit my stomach. I could feel the crotch of my dark jeans wettening but I couldn’t tell what from. 

Maél kept a hand on my thigh for most of the drive. His voice was panicked but not raised as he tried to ease me. Nothing he said worked. My chest was imploding, my stomach was twisted and gouged, even my vagina seemed to throb and sting. He parked crooked over two spaces, something our landlord would no doubt give us shit over if he found out. He left his bag in the backseat and rushed around to take me back into his arms. He carried me up the stairs, each step sending waves of agony, folding my head into his shoulder. I didn’t know I was screaming until I saw the neighbour’s heads poke out angered at first but eventually pitiful. He unlocked the door and backed us in, kicking it shut behind us.

“Tell me what you need, mon cœur.” His voice was so desperate and I could feel him shaking.

“Shower…cold,” I managed to choke out, drool spilling down my chin.

He limped us to the bathroom, settling me inside of the tub. He eased off my shoes and socks before working up to my jeans. The wetness was blood. Thick and brown like the start of your period, It didn’t smell like blood, it smelt wrong, infected. As he peeled off my underwear, the rampant itchiness subsided. He lifted my shirt and unhooked my bra before turning the shower as cold as I could take it. He sat by the side, helping me lift my head as the blood washed down the plughole.

“Are you mad?” I whimpered.

“I could never be mad at you. But I need you to tell me what happened. Can you do that for me?” A tear had formed in the corner of his eye.

“One of the foetuses was normal and the other was wrong, it was in the wrong place.”

“Twins?”

I nodded, my eyes half-shut. I was dizzy and shaking. My whole body was feverous. “He said the bab-the foetuses would be gone soon.” I couldn’t choke back the nausea anymore. Seeing me gag and gip he grabbed the bin from the corner of the room for me to puke into, pulling my dangling fringe hairs out of the way. I rested my head against the side of the tub.

“I should’ve been there.” 

“I don’t think you could’ve stopped him.”

“Rest, mon cœur.” He pressed his hand against my face, encouraging me to snuggle against it. “It’ll be over soon.”

It wasn’t. Neither of us slept that night. I had never known pain like that. Soon the black blood was running red and wouldn’t stop. It was thick and warm and stuck to my thighs faster than we could wash it off. My stomach flipped and rippled in contracting waves that left me screaming and digging my nails into Maél’s fleshy palms. We both cried until our eyes were sore. He stroked my hair and begged me to let him call an ambulance. I didn’t want anyone to see me like that. I had never felt uglier, more disgusting. The pressure building in my gut bloated me. He didn’t leave my side unless he was getting me water to drink. He rubbed my back and reminded me to breathe as he kissed my sweating cheeks. He even wiped the drool from my chin as it spluttered out of me. I didn’t see any foetuses or membranes or linings coming out of me, just more blood. I told Maél I loved him a hundred times if not more, not because I meant it anymore than I normally do but because I was certain I was going to die that night in a bath of my gore. I could barely think of anything at all besides the pain. Maél kept me conscious, he forced me to hold my head up. Every organ in my body throbbed like a wet towel being wrung out. Auditions were tomorrow, Aurora was tomorrow. I had gotten so close and it didn’t even matter. I looked towards the love of my life, my Désiré – he was going to be so beautiful. So beautiful.

The sun came up. I’d survived the night. Maél was snoozing gently against the side of the bathtub, hand still gripping mine. I’d lost the voice to scream and the want to cry. I was finally able to wash myself clean. My legs shook and my body ached as if I’d just rehearsed for sixteen hours. But my stomach had finally deflated and now laid flat as it should. The bleeding had stopped even if the pain remained. I had danced on broken toes and torn ligaments, squeezed fractured ribs into corset costumes, I had torn bloody, chipped toenails clean from my feet. I could dance through anything.

I decided not to wake Maél, he’d only try to stop me. He knew how badly I wanted this, it had been all I talked about for months. But if he had to choose between Kim and Aurora, I know he’d pick boring, plain, unextraordinary Kim.

I stretched and warmed up as best as I could with my joints so stiff and my groyne tender to movement using the kitchen counter as my makeshift barre. Turning out from my glutes sent stinging cramps shooting down both of my legs but I forced the turn out, stifling my yelps with a dishcloth gritted between my teeth. I wouldn’t let this hiccup ruin everything for me. No, this was my time to be extraordinary. My whole life, my whole career, today was the day it all would finally mean something. It would mean Aurora. I just had to endure a little pain.

Wholegrain toast, peanut butter, bananas, some weird protein drink Artyom makes us drink before big auditions. My clothes had been scrunched up and unfolded in the tumble dryer for the last few days but it was nothing a quick steam couldn’t fix. I didn’t have the time to get new shoes like Artyom wanted. Mine were split, frayed and practically falling apart and I had the blisters to show for it. The old bastard would just have to deal with it. 

I returned to the bathroom, where the viscera of the night before still clung to the sides of the tub. I didn’t know a person could have so much blood in them. But this wasn’t just any person’s blood, this was my blood. My blood spilled by the pint in my bathtub. It was a scene from an old horror VHS. No amount of scrubbing or bleach could ever restore the porcelain beneath. That had come out of my body. The tears threatened to return as did the ball of puke in the back of my throat. But then I saw him. Half-asleep, still clutching for my hand even after it had long since left his grip. If I asked him to clean the bathtub with nothing but spit and elbow grease he’d work like a dog until it was spotless. I kissed Maél’s thick, dark curls until he stirred underneath me.

“Don’t make me beg you to stay,” he whispered.

“I need this.”

“Is there anything I could say?”

“No.”

He reached back and squeezed my hand. “They won’t let me in the room with you, but I can wait outside. When do you need to leave?”

“Ten minutes.”

He brought my hand to his lips. “I’ll shower.”

Whilst he cleaned himself and wept when he thought I wasn’t listening, I slipped into my gear and slicked my hair back. My skin was greying and dry and large bags hung around my eyes. I was pale and washed out. I looked like I’d shed half a stone in a night. My head pounded furiously as I tried to massage my scalp, tearing strands of hair clean from the root without any force. My eyes were still bloodshot and pinkened from the hysterics that had left moulted blonde eyelashes scattered down my face. I barely looked human.

Maél never got angry at me. Ever. But he was silent almost the entire drive. He held my hand but didn’t look at me. We both knew I should be resting in bed, if it was up to him I’d be in some maternity unit getting grilled by men in white coats for what I did to my babies. I’d worked too fucking hard. I kept one headphone in, running the music for Aurora’s solo in the Grand Pas de Deux. I was as ready as I could be despite the ache that had started to resurface in my stomach.

He walked me to the studio door where the rest of the girls were already gathered, gossiping, falling silent when they saw me. Artyom approached, ignoring me.

“Elle devrait déjà être de retour ici?”

“C'est ce qu'elle veut.”

I didn’t like it when they spoke about me like I wasn’t there especially in a language I could barely fucking understand. Artyom glared at me, up and down.

“You finally moved that bloat, xорошая девочка.” Good girl. He’d never called me that before. “Yдача.” Good luck.

“Cпасибо, Artyom,” I thanked him and I think I almost meant it.

He leaned into Maél and whispered, “Si elle échoue et me met dans l'embarras, vous êtes tous les deux foutus.”

“What did he say?” I asked once Artyom had returned to his favourites.

“Nothing. Just wishing you luck.” He was such a shit liar. “Are you ok? Feeling sick?”

I wanted to say ‘I feel like I’ll projectile vomit any second now. My stomach feels as though it’s about to fall out of me and splat against the bird-shit stained concrete of this freezing parking lot’. 

“I’m a little nervous but feeling good.”

“I will be right outside and as soon as you’ve got that role signed and sealed I’m taking you home and you’re going to rest, OK?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” He hugged me tightly against him. He was so warm, smelt so lovely.

A woman with a clipboard came out of the studio doors.

“Teachers and relatives please go to practise room B, auditionees for Princess Aurora this is your fifteen minute call, follow me for your number.”

“Bon chance,” he kissed my hand.

“Merci.”

He, Artyom and a spattering of partners and other lads from the company hung back whilst we tight clad hopefuls followed the spectacled woman to a small desk stacked with papers. We lined up and each in turn said our name and got our number. 

Kimberly-Jean Dowry #18

I made sure not to barge my way to the front of the stage, it looks desperate. I saw the caster, it was the same balding, sneering twat who made me a rat in The Nutcracker back in ‘04. I wish Maél had told me it was him, I would’ve worn fake tits. 

As I warmed up I felt a warm trickle fall down my leg again as a manageable cramp spasmed in my right ovary. I turned away from the caster so he couldn’t see me grimace. All I could think was not now, not here. I subtly tried to massage the pain away with my hand but it did little to ease it.

The greying assistant with a handful of unclaimed numbers spoke again but I couldn’t hear her, it was like my head was submerged underwater and pounding intensely. I watched my peers scatter into their starting positions and hurriedly did the same. As I clenched my thighs together in a neat but imperfect first position, the trickle turned into a gush. The opening notes of gentle orchestra drowned out the splattering of a chunk of fleshy, bloody mass slipped out of me. I fell to my knees before I even danced a beat. If I could hear anything, I imagined I’d screamed. 

The skin between my legs ripped. My legs shook and burnt. None of the dancers stopped or even looked at me. The caster whispered to his assistant before her old voice spoke over a small, fuzzy microphone.

“Number 18, leave the stage. Leave the stage, number 18.”

I tried to force myself up as my opening tore agonisingly. Blood pooled around me as I gripped my pulsing stomach. The dancers finally stopped dead as the caster and assistant pushed themselves up from their chairs. The music was cut. Everyone stared and whispered but no one helped me, no one touched me.

My insides scratched. I fell backwards. The pins and needles in my legs gave way to a strange weighty numbness. I could taste the blood in my mouth.

“Maél…” I whimpered. I couldn’t even scream. My hands trembled as I stretched for something to grab onto.

I don’t know how long I laid there for until he was finally by my side. He called for me across the room, sprinting as fast as he could. He tripped and stumbled up the stairs onto the stage. He folded his jumper under my head.

“Someone call a fucking ambulance, help her please,” he yelled, looking around. Eventually one of the other girls pulled her phone out of her bag and dialled 999. 

“Baby, I’m scared.”

“What’s happening, mon cœur?”

“Don’t know…hurts.” Another wail escaped me as something else tore. “I can’t feel my legs.” I tried frantically to kick out.

“Breathe, Kimmy, breathe,” his hands clasped my face.

The pressure building inside of me forced tears from my eyes as I clawed at my stomach until he forced my hands away. I don’t think I’d ever appreciated how beautiful Maél was until then. I watched his face drop. His eyes widened and his mouth fell open when he vomited next to me.

I felt it then. Something bulging and breathing crawling and clawing its way out of me. Tearing my tights to shreds. The pressure relieved itself and I could finally breathe again. A choir of screams rang out as the dancers fled from the stage, rushing towards the door, abandoning their bags.

The thing that I birthed wasn’t human. It was an off-brown colour, dripping in mucus and gunk. It was alive. Beady black eyes, a bashed and misshapen head with thin skin. It screeched and cried. 

“Putain.” He turned my head away from it as it stumbled around the stage on malformed, bent legs. It was no bigger than a newborn kitten. 

“Baby,” I cried. I was faint, my eyes dipping in and out of focus as my head rocked from side to side.

“Quelle sorte de remède il t'a donné?” He screamed, stroking my face.

“I can’t…” I couldn’t finish my sentence before the pressure in my stomach returned. The squeezing, pinching in my opening returned but the pressure was higher. My stomach seemed to swell and itch. “Make it stop.”

My second child. The child in the wrong place. The skin of my belly was slashed open as it dug its way out. I was awake but unaware, numb to the trauma my body was enduring. I spasmed, head flopping backwards as thick, sticky, choking blood rushed to my mouth. My gut finally wrenched open as a second creature, razor toothed and clawed, slopped onto the floor by my side.

Maél collected me into his arms, dragging me away from my babies.

“Respire, mon cœur, respire. Tiens bon, l'aide sera bientôt là. Je t'aime, je t'aime tellement, s'il te plaît, s'il te plaît, tu dois tenir bon. Tu ne peux pas me quitter, je ne sais pas ce que je suis sans toi Kimmy, tu dois rester avec moi, reste avec moi, s'il te plaît.”

Breathe my heart, breathe. Hold on, help will be here soon. I love you, I love you so much, please, please, you have to hold on. You can’t leave me, I don’t know what I am without you, Kimmy, you have to stay with me, stay with me, please.

That was when I knew I was going to die. I felt my body turning cold as my tremors subsided. I saw the blood, so much blood, clumpy, black, thick. I saw my babies dancing, mauling, falling over themselves. I couldn’t see, couldn’t hear. My breath was slowing. I didn’t even feel the pain anymore, I’m not sure there was any.

“Baby?” 

His hand enveloped mine. “I’m right here, pour toujours et à jamais. Right here, mon cœur.”

“You’re not going to leave me, are you?” I couldn’t fight the darkness anymore. I was too tired. So, so tired.

“Never,” he wept, “never in my life, will I leave you.” 

And he still hasn’t. I haven’t left him either. I haven’t moved, blinked, so much as wiggled a toe.

I can still feel Maél’s hand gripping mine as he spends another night by my bedside. It could’ve been yesterday, or a hundred years ago. I imagine if it was that long he would’ve pulled the plug by now. Or not. It’s not a situation we ever discussed. Neither were the twins, he doesn’t mention them, ever. I’m glad to not be reminded of that day when I’m too broken to even turn my nose up at them but it would be a lie to say a morbid part of me doesn’t wonder what happened to whatever the fuck those creatures were. I was their mother after all. He’s teaching now, he says. Artyom’s little mini-me. He dropped out of The Sleeping Beauty to babysit my barely breathing corpse just in case I ever decided to wake up. He plays the music for me, every day. In my imagination, I don’t think I can call them dreams, I am dancing. I am on the stage, under the lights, the music is drowning out the squeaking and patting of our feet. My costume hugs my body so perfectly. In my imagination I never miss a beat and when the show is over the crowd stand and cheer and whoop and clap and scream and cast flowers upon me. I take Maél’s hand, I take Désiré’s hand and we bow and bow and bow. It’s just me and my prince, always and forever, pour toujours et à jamais. My dream hasn’t changed and I’m not sure it ever will. She’s all I’ve ever wanted.