Cigarettes and Ballet

AURORA

They couldn't look away. 

I felt it. They were hundreds of eyes glaring at me watching every single move I made. I bet they could notice all my movements and emotions. 

The music wraps around me, pulling me in, yet a part of me never forgets the crowd.

My audience has my undivided attention—strangers completely consumed by the story I’m spinning through motion, feeling the same heartbeat I carry.

Onstage, something shifts. A fragile thread forms between them and me. We communicate silently, with heartbeats and breath, through gestures and pirouettes. They listen with their hearts; I speak with my body.

This is when I truly feel alive. Seen. Whole.

I crave it so much that sometimes, practice for me isn’t about solitude it’s about feeling the stage beneath my feet. I waited as my classmates went to practice halls for alone time. Two times every week I stay behind when the theatre closes. 

And today was one of those nights. 

I danced even though I had no audience clapping, I loved the quietness. My love for dancing didn't depend on having people watch, it was something I devoted myself to. 

Then I stopped, sensing it again. Someone was here and this wasn't the first time for the past two weeks. I knew someone was watching me, silently and unapologetically. 

What started as an excitement turned into something darker in my thoughts. It could have been a Janitor sneaking in to watch a private performance but knowing my past I couldn't believe that. 

My history refused me to believe such since it was tangled with so much secrets and betrayals. 

I hissed. Knowing that someone was watching didn't make it safer, there was nothing I could do if this person, whoever he may be attacked me. 

A part of me knew that they were willing to come for me. After everything, I shouldn’t be surprised by human depravity.

My own parents were once willing to barter my innocence to their twisted society when I was barely seventeen. That kind of horror leaves marks you can’t erase.

Trust is a foreign concept. And then came the kidnapping, the months of waking in darkness and confusion. I was suspicious if everything around me. 

And that also is the reason I stay silent. Involving the cops or security could put me in more danger than I imagined.

I kept quiet even though it was hard to keep quiet. I was literally being forced to silent for existing, a joke I couldn't laugh at. 

I continued to dance pretending I didn't know anything as I got angrier and frustrated.

But suddenly, I couldn't bear it as I halt abruptly, my gaze sweeping the entire room. I squinted but couldn't see pr hear any movement. 

“Have the decency not to hide, if you're going to watch me.” I screamed, surprised at my own high pitched voice.

It felt like my heart was going to burst. 

Then suddenly, from the thick shadows, a figure emerged. His broad shoulder marked him as a man but the black hoodie he wore his his face. 

I stood there, my arms across my chest. 

I had wished that, just this time, that who ever watched me would be an admirer, someone curious about me and nothing more but I was wrong. 

Again.

The air around him spelled danger.

He brings out a cigarette and lights it. He inhales slowly, exuding a casual, devil-may-care menace.

And as much as I was scared, I was outraged. Who did he think he was to be at my presence? I mean I followed the rules and did everything that I should. I ignored trouble .. for years but yet. 

"You’re not allowed to smoke in the theater," I say, voice sharper than I intended.

I must have been completely insane to have said that to him.

Why am I standing here, confronting someone clearly dangerous? I should be backstage, doors locked, hiding in my dressing room. Pretty much any sane option would be better. But nope. Here I am. Rooted to the stage.

Seconds stretch. He lifts the cigarette again, challenging me. 

Defiance.

Fine. Two can play that game. He wants a front-row seat? Then he’s going to have to follow my rules. 

I square my shoulders, dig my heels into the wood, and glare. Hard. I will not budge until that cigarette is gone. I dig in so deep I hardly recognize the stubbornness roaring inside me.

Who cares if he smokes? It’s not my theater. But this stage this little patch of light is where I hold any sense of power. And right now, I refuse to let fear dictate my world.

He stands there, boot tapping the spent cigarette into the floor, casual and indifferent. 

For a moment, my mind became empty. 

Instinct kicks in. I dance.

I get carried away by the music, eve4 note causing me to spin forward until the final cord ended and the theatre remained quiet. 

Bit yet, after this I dudntbfeel relief, instead, a hollow pit filled my chest. I couldn't explain this emptiness. Nothing good came from him lingering. I know it.

And yet the void inside mirrors the cavernous quiet of the theater, draining me, leaving me oddly exhausted and strangely hollow.

Time to leave.

I've stayed longer than I should. I saw an older woman cleaning the dressingbroom as usual and I smiled at her. 

"Excuse me," I started, grateful she was willing to listen to me. “I'm sorry to bother you but I met an here and I wanted to know if he was a part of your crew?” I had to ask even if it wasn't going to yield anything. 

"No," she frowns thoughtfully. "We haven’t had any men on night shifts in the past six months. Did he claim he was cleaning?" Her hand lands on her hip as she glares at me. 

“No, no. Its nothing serious.” I reassured her. 

"If you think he’s trouble, we can call security," she offers.

I really didn't want to respond but she was nice enough to want to help someone so I did. "Oh, no, he’s gone now, and I really don’t think there’s an issue. But if he shows up again, I’ll let someone know."

Satisfied, she nods. "Alright, then. You should get going. It’s late, someone at home might be worried."

I force a smile. Kind words, but pointless. No one’s at home waiting, and even back when I had family, concern wasn’t exactly on the menu.

Geez, Girl. Feeling sorry for yourself much?

My parents were… well, failures. It still gets under my skin sometimes. I wasn’t unloved entirely, but the gap left by a parent who rejects you?

That never really fills. My sister dragged me to a therapist once, who said it was their problem, not mine that I didn’t have to earn their affection.

Emotionally, I didn't understand it. Did they think I know I was different and didn't love me because of that or was I now different because of them. 

I hissed. 

All I’ve ever wanted was to be normal. But tonight? Normal is a distant dream—maybe it left port, sank, and now supports some tiny coral reef somewhere.

I gathered my things as I smiled, one last time at the woman before heading out to the street. Normally, I'd have walked but not tonight. 

Not happening. The man in the shadows was already a threat. I might have survived a whole lot of things but I wasn't stupid. I knew when I had to fight to survive and tonight was one of them. Walking home was suicidal. 

The man in the shadows is enough to keep me on high alert. I may have survived trauma and be a patchwork of scars, but I’m not dumb. Walking home alone tonight would be suicidal.

Better to be smart than normal.

My sulking inner voice isn’t entirely wrong. My past has shaped me into someone… unique. I try to wear that like a badge most days. Still, sometimes normal glints in the corner of your eye like some shiny prize you can’t help but notice.

The best response?

Outshine it. Make normal look gray, boring, and tired.

Nothing in this city was normal but the crazy part was that I was still thrilled. Maybe, one day, I'd stop running from my fears and finally face them..

LUCIFER

She looks almost weightless when she sleeps. Like the chaos of the day finally surrendered and let her drift. It wouldn’t take much to keep watching her like this for hours still, quiet, untouchable.

I shouldn’t.

But I couldn't look away. Her mind crept into cracks that I thought healed long ago. She was always the wild growth, no matter how many I uprooted..

Four years. Four goddamn years of reshaping who I am…burning down the man I used to be and building something harder, sharper in his place. And still, the one remnant I can’t strip away is her.

Aurora Duvall. As persistent as she was, she's the reason I went to New York. 

 I told myself I needed proof that my memory of her was nothing more than a trick. But that was a lie, It was like I made a whole new discovery myself, disappointing myself. Exactly what I expected. 

To see her again, shatter the illusion, and leave with a clean break.

That was two