Page 45 of The Breaking Pointe

begin again

NOELLE

This part of my life is what I want to assume is freedom.

I don’t feel this extreme cloud over my head, and the dark shadow that was following me around finally decided to leave me alone.

Instead of the dark shadow and the heavy cloud, I have this longing thought instead.

The thought that I can’t let go of having the studio.

I miss it. I miss the girls, I miss putting together routines, I miss snack times, I miss recitals. I miss every single part.

I wonder what the girls are doing. Did they find a new studio or sense of fulfillment elsewhere? Without me?

Colton doesn’t know it, but all the times that I’m quiet, I’m secretly thinking about it. I’ve been feeling better for a few days, but I pretended not to, just to sulk a little bit longer. I can’t pretend forever, but how is he supposed to fix that? It’s just something I have to get over.

I don’t know how I’ll do that, but I need to. Going back to big production dancing is something to get started, but a piece of me is gone, and even though I’m having trouble, I’m slowly beginning to accept that.

I shouldn’t have to limit myself. If I leave the academy, I’ll feel guilty, and I’ve already left the coffee shop. I only have the academy. It would be stupid to not take advantage of it and use what I have. I don’t make much, but it means I can lean into the idea of possibly making something of myself. I could audition for a larger production, or even a movie. I don’t doubt one bit that I could do anything big. The problem is at the back of my head, I know I only want one thing.

I couldn’t even focus at rehearsal today. I’ve never been so frustrated with myself in my life. Now I’m coming home and the frustration and anger is following me.

Dropping my things on the floor by the dining room table, I walk to the sink and grab a cup from the dish rack, then turn on the faucet to fill it up. When it gets to a reasonable amount, I turn off the water and take a healthy sip, drinking until it’s empty before letting out a long sigh.

Bonnie follows the sound of my voice, click clacking her way into the kitchen to sit behind me.

“Hi, baby,” I say somberly, looking down at her.

She has no worries in this world. No thoughts or cares. Just happy. Just doggy. To be her right now would be kind of nice.

The front door swings open, turning both of our heads to look down out of the kitchen, to the living room. Colton comes in with his usual, calm and collected mannerisms, hanging his keys on the wall hook.

“Hey, sweetheart? Did you beat me here?” he asks out loud, pulling his hoodie over his head and stretching his body the minute it comes off.

“I’m in the kitchen,” I respond, setting the glass down and turning around to lean against the counter, watching Bonnie run to greet him.

His clothes are dusty and a mess, like they have been a lot lately. I wasn’t questioning it before, but as the days have gone on, I can’t imagine what art work he’s been doing not in his own studio. It’s becoming ridiculous that he’s even finding time to do whatever it is and still get in his training, on top of waking up at five in the morning, every day, without fail. He pets Bonnie, laughing and doing a gentle voice with her as he cups her face and kisses her head on his trail toward to me.

“Why hello there, beautiful.” He deepens his voice, pulling me close as soon as he can reach my body, giving my jaw a soft kiss.

Now my mind is running a race I can’t keep up with.

“Hi,” I nearly whisper, softly wrapping an arm around him. “How was the academy today?” he asks, pulling himself away,

but leaving a hold on my waist.

“Good. Normal. I think I’m ready for the show.” I nod. “That’s great. I can’t wait to see you do the jump thing. It’s

so cool.” He smiles, raising his arms to rub my shoulders firmly before he steps away to grab an apple from the basket on the counter.

“The jump thing?” My brows raise in curiosity at his choice of description. “It has a name, Cole.” I begin to giggle.

“Yeah,” he says before biting into the apple. “But I don’t know it. I just know you can do it, and that I can’t, and that makes you way cooler than I’ll ever be,” he says with a few chews in between.

Smiling a bit, I watch him. “I’m gonna make dinner, you know. You don’t have to snack all night anymore. I feel better.”

“I’m a big man, Elle. I’m always hungry. I would never refuse a meal. Are you sure, though? I uh—I had something in mind tonight,” he says, taking another bite.

“Well, I miss it. So let me cook,” I tell him, standing firm in my decision.

What man doesn’t want his girlfriend to cook for him? Just let me, dammit.

His eyes wander at my face, and he softens his expression. “Okay. That’s alright with me.”

Now I can see all the dust and debris on his clothing with a better eye. It’s paint and wood particles. Mostly paint, though. “So,” I begin, lifting my hands to take my hair out of its bun, “how was training? And whatever else it is that you’re doing, art

wise?” I trail off my last sentence.

“Training is fine. It’s the usual thing. But I feel like you care more about the second part.” He nervously chuckles.

“I’m a little curious, I won’t lie. You seem really invested, and you haven’t spoken about it in months. At first I didn’t think about it. Now I do,” I confess,= sheepishly.

He finishes chewing and clears his throat, nodding as he observes me while I speak.

“Okay. I think that’s a valid thing to say. And I don’t want you to think that I’m keeping secrets from you. Cause I’m not. It’s a city project. I’m doing my share. It’s for a good cause, and when we finish—which is sooner than you think—you can see it for yourself. Promise,” he clarifies, making sure he keeps his gaze on me.

Communication is so simple for him. He doesn’t make it scary, or drag it out. He just says all the right things, and eats his apple like a sexy lumberjack. I don’t have any opportunity or reason to ever be mad.

“I believe you. I just wanted to know,” I remark, returning to my somber state.

“What’s up with you, huh?” he asks, now returning to his apple and his nonchalant Staten persona.

“What do you mean?” I probe, watching him take a peek at the newspaper on the dining table.

He’s possibly the only man in his twenties who reads them. “You’re all uh—off. Not yourself, you seem off. Something is different. You tell your man what’s wrong, and I’ll fix it?” he offers.

“Cole,” I take a breath and force myself to say how I really feel, “it’s not fine. I have questions. I didn’t at first, but I see the pattern. You come home every day and you aren’t dressed for training at all, Colton.” I rub my temples gently before tossing some fingers through my hair. “I trust you, so please don’t keep anything from me—I’m literally begging you, please.”

He leaves the newspaper be, and turns his head to me again. “Noelle, it isn’t me trying to lie, or be deceitful on purpose, I…” He takes a last bite of his apple, tossing it in the garbage before washing his hands. “I know you say I can’t fix it, but I want to

convince you otherwise. I need to show you. I can’t tell you.” He finishes the quick wash and dries his hands, gaping at me.

“Okay…” I bite my lip, wondering what he’s alluding to. “Come on,” he insists, glancing at me as he takes my hand,

leading me down the hall, back to the front door. He picks up his keys and leads up straight to the car.

“Cole, I’m not dressed for anything spectacular,” I tell him, letting him drag me still.

“You don’t need to be. This won’t take long, and we aren’t meeting anyone of importance. Trust me, this will be worth it,” he says in a fast pace, opening the car door to put me in.

I don’t argue. The thing is, I do trust him. I want to speculate, but that’s just the triggers trying to speak for me. I like that we don’t have to argue, or create tension with our words. He’s too sweet. He can’t help it.

It pulls me in. His love holds me and pulls me in so deep that I can’t get out. I don’t want to. I want to enjoy being attracted to him. It isn’t hard to notice his sex appeal, and his intense yearn to show he wants to please me. Everything he does, he makes it attractive. When other men do it, it’s almost repulsive. I wonder if that’s a universal thing with other women and their boyfriends.

It’s like his demeanor had switched, the moment he sensed me losing faith in his words. The car ride felt as though it only lasted a matter of minutes, and within those minutes, Cole was able to stay silent. While his mouth stayed shut, his fingers violently tapped against the wheel, and he leaned back and forth in the driver’s seat, restless with himself as we waver through traffic. The more we drove, the further we got into the city, going and going until he stops at a building with different color papers covering construction patches—some finished, and some spots being almost finished. Most of the building was built though.

“Here,” he says, parking the car and leaning over me to pop the glove compartment open. He reaches in it and pulls out a large, rolled up sheet of construction paper with outlines on it. He rolls it out over my lap so that I can view the entire page. Before my eyes is a complete map, with an architectural sketch nearly filling up the large paper’s pace.

“Look at it,” he says, pointing to different areas of the page. “This is…wow.” I nod, examining it. It’s beautiful. Like a huge store or something of that nature. A lot of rooms and even a basement.

“So what is it?” I finally blurt, looking up at him.

He looks down at me then back at the page, pointing to the corner where there’s some writing. “Look.”

I direct my eyes to it, reading it off in my head.

Noelle’s Personal Dance Studio

“The community art thing isn’t that much community based, as it is you based. But that’s the part I love. It’s worth coming home dirty.” He chuckles deeply, rolling the window down now. “This is it. This is the place,” he adds, pointing to the nearly finished studio we were parked beside.

I want to say words, but words can’t even be formed. I have more questions than I can process and ask. I wouldn’t know where to begin. This is a dream, and I need to be pinched as soon as possible. Nobody could, or ever would do such a thing.

Would they?

I push the car door open, scurrying to get myself out so I can get a better view. Hearing his keys jingle, he does the same, and meets me at the front of the building with a hand to my waist.

“Isn’t it huge? They really got the vision,” he says with satisfaction.

“Are you saying that this is being built…for me?” I manage to muster my first question.

“Yeah—well it’s pretty much done.” He nods. “Thought you might like to, you know…begin again, per se. You caught me red- handed before I could take you to the final product. I guess this is more of a sneak peek,” he responds, running a hand through my hair slightly, kissing it as he turns to me, turning my body with his so we meet.

“You’ve been so good to me, Noelle. I waited entirely too long to tell you how I really felt. This feels like my way of saying that I’m sorry about that. You mean the world to me.” He kisses my head again, taking a breath. “Thoughts? Are you angry with me?”

I push myself up and into him, my arms swinging around his neck as I pull him into my body, firmly holding on for dear life, I feel as he grabs hold of me and squeezes my body into his, lifting me off of the seat into the air.

“No thoughts. Just happy.” I breathe out laughter that quickly turns to tears. “I don’t know how you’re able to be this perfect.” “Woah—perfect? Me? C’mon now, that’s your job.” He chuckles, hugging me just as tight, lifting me up from the

concrete.

But he is perfect. He’s perfect for me. He does it right—he gets it. This love thing? He’s been a master this entire time, and if I didn’t go to that fight, if I didn’t think of olives—if I didn’t go to that club, and take a chance, then I would never know. I’d never be me again, and I would never learn how to be happy.

I get to know now. I do know now.

I understand Bonnie, and I’m so happy I do.