The Colour of Broken

by Amelia Grace

Tears rolled down Gram’s face. ‘I’ll try reducing my hours, and if that doesn’t help, then I’ll take some time off, and see how it goes.’

  Gramps wiped away her tears and took her hand in his and kissed her fingers. He looked at me. ‘Yolande, can you stay on a little longer? I know it’s a big ask, with you putting your career on hold ... again.’

  I looked at Gram. Her eyes were dark pools of fear. She was the one who had spent every single night with me when I couldn’t cope with life anymore after that terrible day of the scars. She was the one who knelt and prayed by my bed every single night. She thought I was asleep, but I wasn’t. I knew every word of her prayers by heart. She was the one who gave me hope in a violent world that I despised and feared, and didn’t want to be a part of anymore.

  ‘Without a second thought, yes, of course,’ I said, and wrapped my fingers around Gram’s.

  ‘Thank you,’ she whispered. A heavy tear dropped from her eyelashes and hit the table, spreading out like a flower, her namesake.

  ‘Take the rest of the week off, Gram. I have everything under control here.’

  ‘You’re under house arrest, my dear. Now let’s go home.’ Gramps stood and held out his hand for Gram.

  She took it and stood. ‘Thanks again, Landi.’

  ‘My pleasure, Gram. Now go and get started on destressing to get well again.’

  I watched Gramps walk Gram out of the store like she was his princess. He loved her more than life itself.

  I turned and walked to the office to fetch my bike to ride home in the rain. As I was about to lock up and leave the store, I heard Darcy’s voice.

  ‘Gramps doesn’t know about what happened today, does he?’

  I shook my head. Gram called it a drop attack. It looked and sounded as scary as hell. ‘See you tomorrow. And thanks for always being here for us. I don’t know what we’d do without you.’

  ‘That’s what being a man is about—caring and protecting, always.’

  ‘I wish all men were like you ...’ I said and stepped out of the store with my bike, locking the double French doors behind me. Darcy would leave via the back doors, as he always did.

  I mounted my bike and rode into the rain. Hard.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  I FLIPPED HIS LETTER BETWEEN MY FINGERS while I sat outside the white hall as the sun cast its first golden rays over the land. The crow of a rooster sounded in the distance, reminding me I was in the township of Tarrin. I looked down at my steel-capped work boots, danced them around a bit and smiled.

  I opened Xander’s letter to read, for what felt like the fiftieth time. I don’t know why I did; I knew it off by heart. I had found it amongst the flowers of Gram’s bicycle yesterday afternoon.

  Dear Yolande,

  I hope your dancer soul hasn’t woken from

  its eternal slumber with a wild side.

  Nonetheless, I will tame it if it has.

  * Alexander

  I held my shy smile while I folded the letter with care and placed it into my pocket for safe keeping. I looked up when I heard the sound of stones crunching under footsteps.

  ‘You’re early,’ he said, and gave me a coy smile.

  ‘So are you,’ I said, noticing his colour of baby blue had turned to the colour of yellow, like liquid sunshine. He was filled with happiness.

  He pointed to my bike. ‘Did you cycle here?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He looked down with an amused smile. ‘That’s exactly the type of bike I thought you’d ride.’

  ‘Do I take that as a compliment?’ I stretched out my leg and moved my safety boot from side to side, so he couldn’t miss it.

  He looked at my footwear. ‘It’s a compliment now ...’ He looked at me with a half-smile.

  ‘Good,’ I said and stood, then followed him to the door, inhaling his spicy blend of cedarwood and cocoa-vanilla scent. He unlocked it and we entered.

  I walked ten paces into the hall and spun on the tip of my boots. It was just like the hall I had learned to dance in when I was eight. I inhaled deeply, dragging the old wooden butterscotch pinewood smell into my lungs. I walked to the side of the room and sat on an old pew and placed my backpack onto the floor.

  Xander planted himself beside me and started to take off his sports shoes. ‘We’re doing two dances—a waltz and the foxtrot. We’ll work on the waltz first.’ He put on dance sneakers, then stood and took off his jumper, revealing his black t-shirt that matched his black track pants. I tried not to stare at his distinct danseur physique as he proceeded to warm-up and stretch. He had broad shoulders and lean, defined arm muscles.

  When he looked my way, I cast my gaze onto my shoes as I undid the laces on my safety boots and removed them. I put on my dance sneakers, then stood and discarded my jumper. I was dressed like Xander—black t-shirt and track pants. I walked around for a bit trying to shake off my anxiety, before I did my warm-up and stretches, ingrained from many years of ballet.

  Xander waited for me in the middle of the dance hall. His hands were by his side and he stretched his fingers, closed them and stretched them again.

  I strolled over and stopped in front of him, my stomach a quivering mess.

  ‘Let’s do the basic steps, so we’re comfortable with each other.’ He lifted his left hand, and I placed my right hand into his, our skin intentionally touching for the first time. I swallowed as I felt the warmth of his skin and gentleness of his touch. I took a half step closer to him, and he put his right hand around to my left shoulder blade. I placed my left hand onto his shoulder.

  ‘It’s okay ... relax ... shoulders down.’ His voice was calm, reassuring.

  ‘I feel like you’ve been set up in a dare ... that you have to prove something to the guys ... you know—to dance with “that” girl.’

  He frowned at me. ‘I would never do that. I’m not “that” type of guy, and you are definitely not “that” girl.’

  I focussed on Xander’s throat, then moved my eyes up to his. Our eyes connected, and I felt myself falling. I think he did have the magic love potion. I could feel it travelling through my veins. Suddenly I was filled with nervous energy.

  What am I doing here?

  ‘Breathe, Yolande,’ he said, keeping his eyes on mine, his pupils large. Did he know what I was feeling? Did I know what I was feeling?

  He took the first step and I followed his lead. We fell into an easy rhythm and soon added the rise and fall—down, up, up, down, up, up—and continued in the pattern for half an hour until our dancing belonged to each other.

  We stopped to hydrate, and Xander grabbed his phone and played a video of the waltz dance he wanted us to do, but he would add his own tweaks to make it ours.

  We danced some more then, working on fancy steps and moves.

  At 10.30am we stopped. I sat on the pew and changed back into my safety boots.

  Xander sat next to me, looking at my footwear. ‘Is that a defence force thing?’

  ‘My safety boots?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘No. It’s a Yolande thing—no explanations. Just accept it.’

  ‘Okay. But I have a theory,’ he said, and looked deeply into my eyes.

  I stopped breathing to resist his charm. ‘About my work boots?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Go ahead,’ I said, and released my breath.

  Xander looked at my brown steel-capped boots and cleared his throat. ‘You have really hairy feet, like a hobbit.’ He raised an eyebrow at me.

  I snickered. ‘Hmmm ... hobbit feet. That would be insanely awesome!’ I looked at my watch. ‘Time for work.’

  I picked up my back pack and Xander followed me to my bike.

  ‘I’ll send you the link to the waltz music. I want you to listen to it numerous times before we meet tomorrow morning ... and go to YouTube and watch ballroom dancers waltzing. Plus, I’ll send you my choreography notations to make the process easier,’ he said.

  ‘Sounds fair. See you then. Same time?’ />
  ‘Yes.’

  I pushed off on my bicycle and rode to Flowers for Fleur.

  Life had just become complicated.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  THE DOOR TO THE COMMUNITY HALL WAS OPEN when I arrived. I stilled when the sound of the sharp crunch of my apple bounced off the walls. I didn’t expect it to be so loud. Xander peered over at me while he was stretching. I grimaced at him and took another noisy bite of my sweet juicy apple.

  I sat on the pew and put my apple down to remove my work boots, then put my dance shoes over my hobbit feet.

  Xander sat beside me. He smelled citrusy today, with a hint of liquorice, vanilla, lavender, amber and sandalwood. ‘The dance comp is in two weeks.’ I heard the crunch of my apple.

  I looked up at him and took my apple from him. ‘Two weeks?’ He was trying to achieve the impossible. I couldn’t be ready in two weeks, and I hadn’t even started organising either of the dance gowns.

  ‘It’s my last performance of Swan Lake tonight—do you want to come ... and to the celebration afterward?’

  ‘Yes, to the ballet—thanks—no, to the party.’

  He frowned at me. ‘Why not the party?’

  ‘Aaah ...’ How could I tell him I don’t do parties after that terrible day of the scars, with the exception of his mother’s birthday, which I had no choice about. ‘You’re such a big star and you’ll be busy interacting with everyone. I don’t want to slow you down in any way. I’ll get lost in the crowd and I’ll be standing against the wall looking for you ... or looking for the exit so you don’t have to worry about me.’ And people will look at me and wonder why I’m there with you, when you could have chosen from a million beautiful women. Unbroken women.

  Xander smiled at me. ‘If ... after the ballet ... you change your mind, I’d like you to be there.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said to be nice, not letting him know there was absolutely no chance of me being at the celebration.

  ‘Did you do your homework?’

  ‘Of course ... can I ask you something?’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘Why don’t you have your real name on the ballet program?’

  Xander threaded his fingers together and looked down. ‘For my father’s sake.’

  ‘You mean, he doesn’t know how successful you are, or how hard you’ve worked?’

  He took a deep breath. ‘No ... let’s learn our waltz.’ He stood.

  ‘I need to warm up and stretch ... do you think two weeks is enough time to master two dances?’ I breathed through my anxiety.

  ‘Yes. We can practise all day tomorrow and then every night from Monday.’

  ‘But aren’t you moving on to the next destination in the Swan Lake tour with the company?’

  Xander blinked slowly and took a deep breath. ‘No. I’m taking a break.’

  I nodded. My intuition told me he didn’t want to talk about it. So I let the conversation end and moved away from him to stretch. My ballet body was more out of shape than I thought it was. Muscles hurt where I had forgotten I had muscles.

  Xander stood in the middle of the dance hall and waited. I walked over to him, shaking my head.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I still can’t believe I’m crazy enough to be doing this with you.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Dancing with the famous, Prince Siegfried ... if I knew who you were, I would’ve said no.’

  He winced. ‘Because?’

  ‘Look at you, then look at me—a somebody and a nobody.’

  ‘There’s something about you, Yolande, that’s why I chose you.’

  ‘I think you made a mistake.’

  ‘Now, that’s where we’re similar ... you cross analyse everything before you make a decision, and that’s exactly what I do too. I know I haven’t made a mistake.’

  I stopped before him and raised an eyebrow with disbelief at his words. He reached out his hand so I could take it. He put his other hand around my back while I put my hand onto his shoulder. I looked at his chin before I moved my eyes to his.

  ‘The music is the key to remembering the steps, learning layer by layer, until you have muscle memory for our dance.’

  ‘And visualize it before going to sleep and it will be second nature ...’ I added—words from my own ballet mistresses.

  ‘Exactly.’ Xander pulled a remote control out of his pocket and pushed a button. He placed it back into his pocket and we took the waltz pose once again, then the music started ... Once Upon a Dream ... our second practice session had begun.

  *~*~*~*~*

  My steel-capped boots were covered by the hem of my high-necked dark blue evening dress. I ran up the steps of the theatre and entered the doors while the sun set, casting a brilliant canvas of oranges and reds. I had arrived on the dot of seven. That way I wouldn’t be standing around by myself. Alone.

  I sat in the seat Xander had gifted to me, again, and my muscles melted, allowing little sparkles and stars to travel down my spine. I hadn’t felt like this since before that terrible day of the scars. And it scared me.

  The theatre darkened, and a hush descended. The audience clapped as the conductor arrived and bowed. There was silence for a moment, before the first piece of orchestral music began, and Princess Odette walked out of the shadows on the stage to pick up the first flower. The night of magical ballet had begun, again. It never got old.

  When I sat here with Gram I had watched every ballerina and ballerino. But not tonight. I had eyes for only one danseur—Prince Siegfried. I watched his every grande allegro and pirouette, adagio, changements, plié, relèvé, port de bras and grand jete, and everything in between and over and above and beyond. He had phenomenal power, strength, extreme flexibility, balance ... and grace. He had amazing grace. I wondered what could be so important to him to stop dancing after tonight. He would miss it—the exhilaration, the attention, the addictiveness, the pure ecstasy of the performance and the fans who worshipped his every move, his every nuance. He would miss his dance family.

  My heart tightened as I watched the final curtain call that continued for twenty-five minutes. When Xander stepped forward on the stage alone, he covered his heart with his hand and bowed gracefully. An almighty applause broke out with boisterous cheers. My eyes watered, and I looked towards the ceiling of the theatre to stop my tears from falling. My own final ballet performance, in the local hall when I was eighteen remained as a strong memory, small as it was, compared to this. It hurts to stop doing something you love. Even when you’re moving on to a new passion. Perhaps that was it? Perhaps Xander had a new passion?

  ‘Bravo, Xander, bravo,’ I whispered as I stood and clapped for my ballroom dance partner. I was honoured, and proud to be present.

  Rose petals rained down on the stage adding to the magical evening. My heart sank. What a come down for him, from dancing with a beautiful principal ballerina to dancing with me. Broken me ...

  I remained in my seat until the last person had left the theatre. When the workers entered to clean, I left and ventured into the foyer. It was busy with chatter and laughter and merrymaking. Dancers were floating amongst the theatre goers, interacting and thanking them. I smiled. I remembered well, the mixed feelings of finishing a production—the sadness, yet the extravagant, intensified feeling of elation.

  I held the door exit in my sight and started to walk towards it. My taxi was waiting. A warm hand wrapped around my mine and I tensed, but when I heard the timbre of his voice I relaxed.

  ‘Yolande!’

  I turned to him. He was the colour of scarlet, filled with energy, enthusiasm and a love for life.

  ‘You look amazing!’ he said with sparkling eyes.

  I wanted to run from him, but it would be bad manners. So I dug deep and found the politeness that was ingrained from my upbringing. ‘Zan, congratulations on another brilliant performance!’ It felt weird calling him Zan. But that was his name on the program.

  He lifted my hand to his lips
and kissed it, leaving my skin burning where his lips had touched. ‘Thank you for coming. It means a lot to me!’

  ‘Ah—but I’m just one of thousands of adoring fans.’

  ‘Yes, but you’re the most important one.’

  I looked at him and tried to catch my breath. A crowd of gushing fans started to form around him. It was time to leave.

  ‘Thanks for inviting me. I should leave you to your admirers. I’ll see you tomorrow,’ I said.

  ‘Please come to the celebration with me!’ His eyes widened, and his brows drew together.

  I took a step back from him. ‘I’m sorry.’ I shook my head. ‘I can’t.’ I pulled my hand away from his and our spark of disconnection hurt. My reaction to him shocked me. He and I could never be a “we”.

  He looked deeply into my eyes and I held my breath. Did he do that with all the girls?

  ‘Tomorrow then,’ he said.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ I repeated, then fled in my clunky safety work boots, out the door and down the stairs to my waiting taxi, thankful I didn't lose a work boot as I descended the steps. I wasn't Cinderella, and he wasn't a real prince. Fairy tales didn’t exist.

  *~*~*~*~*

  I stood before the closed door of the hall, full of incredible, crippling self-doubt. Why was I standing here? I was not in his league? I would be the one to blemish his god-like status. I had to bail out now while he could still find another partner.

  I pushed on the door. It was locked. I walked around the building and found a window that was ajar. I reached up and opened it wide, then threw my back pack through the window before I jumped up and latched on to it and pulled myself up, using the tread on my work boots to get enough grip to propel me upward and through the window. See—safety work boots were practical.

  I dawdled over to the pew and sat. What could I say to him? Could I use looking after Gram as an excuse? He will hate me! But it would be better than falling from ballerino grace ... I had to save him from damaging embarrassment.

  I looked up at the sound of the creak of the door. Xander walked in with a spring in his step. He was the colour of sunshine yellow. He was still probably high after last night’s performance and celebration.