As she stood, glaring at her reflection in the mirror, panting and sweating, she made a decision. She'd allow herself one more night to mope. In the morning, she would get over the situation.
As she packed up her all of her things into her dance duffel bag, she felt a bit lighter in her decision. She'd get over it, and she'd move on, with or without Heath.
***
Even with a giant bowl of creamy, frozen yogurt, and a night spent in bed cuddling up with Rocky, her plan from the night before was a little easier said than done in the morning.
She lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. She knew she should take advantage of the fact that she had a day off from the café, a day to sleep in a little bit before she headed down to the Benedum for dress rehearsals that day prior to the performance in the evening. She'd slept fitfully through the night, like she had the past several nights. She had decided not to reach out to Heath, as had been her habit these days, and had gone to bed without speaking to him or texting with him all day long. She wanted to see if he would notice and reach out to her first. As she looked at her phone this morning, she saw that he hadn't.
Rocky stretched luxuriously from where he was curled up against her side, purring at the same time, before digging his paws delicately into her throat as he leaned into her face. She stared him down, her eyes narrowing, as he began his morning ritual of waking her up and enticing her to feed him by purring loudly in her ear, stepping on her hair, pressing his cold and wet nose into her face, and licking the sensitive skin of her cheeks hard, his rough tongue feeling like sandpaper against her flesh.
"You win, Rock," she mumbled, gently pushing him away as she struggled to sit up. "You win."
The cat leapt off the bed and raced out of the room down the hallway, Drew trudging behind him into the kitchen. He squeaked with excitement as she scooped up a serving of his dry food and poured it into his bowl. When he was happily immersed in his food, Drew headed back to her room and flopped face-down back into her bed. She eventually dozed off, finding herself snorting awake in a rush seemingly only a few moments later when her alarm clock went off. In actuality, she'd slept for an additional forty-five minutes. It was now nine-thirty, and she had a strict rehearsal time of eleven.
She hopped up and gathered up her costume, footwear and registration form for the showcase, feeling deeply thankful she'd showered before going to bed last night. She dressed quickly jeans, bright red leather Converse sneakers, and a black Sex Pistols T-shirt. She splashed water on her face and brushed her teeth, then yanked her long hair into a bun on top of her head before grabbing her bag and keys and flying out the door.
She rode the bus downtown after she stopped and grabbed a latte with a double shot of espresso to help her fully wake up. The bus dropped her off a couple blocks from the Benedum and she hoped the walk in the brisk air would help make her feel a little more alert. As she strode down the street, she recalled the last time she'd been here, she had been on her date with Heath, the night he'd taken her to go see Giselle. An even heavier sadness hung over her. He knew that tonight was her showcase; since she hadn't heard from him since the day before yesterday, she wondered if he'd forgotten. Or if he even still planned to show up. If he cared.
As she neared the corner, her body automatically turned her to the right around the corner, instead of heading straight across the street and down the block until she could cross to go to the Benedum. She always liked to walk past her dream studio space to remind herself to keep her goals in mind, to constantly work hard, and never forget what she wanted. She never walked through this area without stopping by the studio to just look at it and think for a while. In fact, sometimes she rode the bus to this area for that sole purpose.
She rounded the corner and came to a stop in front of the studio space on the corner. There was a sign in the window, like there always was, and at first her eyes skimmed over it, taking its presence for granted like they normally did. Then she froze.
It took her several long moments to register the fact that the sign said something different than it normally did.
Sold.
She continued to stare at it, confusion creeping over her, followed by anger, and then disbelief. She stood rooted in place on the sidewalk and barely noticed when her duffel bag slid off her shoulder and thudded to the dirty pavement.
Sold.
In the instant the word clicked in her brain, and she understood that the studio was no longer hers, her heart broke.
All of her dreams, all of her goals, all of her wishes had been wrapped up in this dirty little space. All of the long years ahead she saw in her mind, walking through a roomful of blossoming ballerinas, guiding them on their form, technique, and grace, watching them grow from shy, clumsy little girls into beautiful, graceful dancers, shattered.