“You don’t have to tell me,” he whispered.
I reached up and gripped his wrist, grounding myself in the steady beat of his pulse. A reminder that I wasn’t back in the past. I wasn’t falling. I was here in the present. With him.
“We were doing a production ofGiselle,” I began, my throat dry. “Rehearsals had moved onto the stage, and the choreographers decided to make some last-minute changes to use the space better.”
His fingers threaded through my hair, stroking my scalp in slow, soothing passes. He didn’t interrupt. Didn’t rush me. He just stayed there, touching me, listening.
“It was a number in the first act. There were a lot of us onstage, and with the changes, everyone’s positions were different from what we were used to in the studio.” I swallowed. “I don’t know if I misjudged the space, or if I just got too caught up in the dance, but...”
I closed my eyes.
“I did agrand jeté. This big leap with my legs split in the air. But I landed too close to the edge.”
The memory rushed back, vivid and merciless. The way thefloor seemed to vanish beneath me. That sick drop in my stomach as I fell. The sound of a horrifying crack.
God, the sound.
“I fell,” I whispered. “I fell off the stage and into the orchestra pit. Landed straight on my hip.”
Bodhi pulled me in immediately, wrapping me up so that my head was tucked beneath his chin. I kissed his neck softly, needing the reassurance of his warmth, enjoying the way he held me back.
“I don’t remember much after that,” I continued. “I blacked out from the pain. When I woke up, I had pins in my hip, and a tube in my cock because I couldn’t even get up to pee.”
He shuddered, and despite myself, a weak smile tugged at my mouth.
“The official diagnosis was a displaced acetabular fracture with a labral tear. Basically, I shattered the socket and tore the cartilage that keeps the joint stable.”
“Jesus,” Bodhi muttered.
“Yeah. It hurt like a motherfucker.” I let out a humourless laugh. “Metal in my hip. Surgical scars. A nice little warning about early arthritis if I was lucky.”
He tightened his hold. “That’s . . . a lot.”
“They said I would still be able to walk, after months of physio. That I’d be able to exercise gently. But the kind of strain ballet puts on your body? The jumps, the rotations, the landings?” I shook my head. “My hip would never survive it.”
Bodhi’s arm tightened around me.
“So that was it,” I continued. “Years of training, everything I’d built my life around, gone in one conversation with a doctor who didn’t even look me in the eye when he said it.”
Bodhi scoffed softly. “That’s brutal.”
“My friends from the company came to visit while I wasstill in hospital,” I said. “They brought flowers. Chocolates. Told me how strong I was.” I exhaled through my nose. “But all I could see on their faces was relief. Not for me. For themselves.”
I’m glad it wasn’t me.
“I lost my place in the company as soon as the diagnosis was confirmed,” I went on. “Officially, it was framed as medical leave. But we all knew what it meant.”
Bodhi muttered, “Assholes.”
I shrugged. “A dancer who can’t dance doesn’t belong in a ballet company. That’s just how it works. There’s always someone younger, lighter, uninjured, ready to take your spot.”
His hand slid up my arm, thumb tracing slow, grounding circles.
“I think I knew from the moment I woke up with a hip full of metal that it was over,” I admitted quietly. “Even before anyone said it out loud.” I hesitated. “But losing ballet wasn’t actually the worst part.”
Bodhi shifted slightly. “No?”
“The pain,” I said. “That was the worst of it.”
