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Nina survived.
At least, Lily assumes so. It's what they're all told, though they don't see a shred of proof. Nina's things disappear from the dressing room as if they'd never been there. The mirror is replaced, every shard of glass gone from the floor. The drops of blood across the stage are sanded away to nothing.
Thomas tells them that Nina is alive, that she’s getting treatment, getting help. He tells them all to please seek counseling if the stress of performance gets to be too much. The company cannot afford to hire anyone to be on-staff or available exclusively, even part-time, so a list of names and phone numbers is taped to the wall next to Thomas' office door. None of the dancers would think of copying one down, not where anyone might see them.
Lily curves her foot and stretches, looking away while Thomas lectures them on the importance of good health. None of the dancers are listening to him. They've all been hungry and in pain for years.
Nina survived, but she still haunts the theater. Lily bends forward, touching her forehead to the floor and feeling the stretch in her back, and wonders if the ghost is a girl or a swan.
**
Lily and Veronica trade off performances, each dancing Odette and Odile in half of the shows for the rest of the run. It’s not ideal, and it’s not perfect, but Thomas and the publicists and everyone else seem to have written off the season already. At any rate no one says a word to either of them.
They critique each other in low, hushed voices in the dressing room after each show. David offers advice, too, sharp and cold, in the wings and through clenched teeth as he lifts them over and over again through every evening of the show.
They won’t be perfect, but they can be better. They shy away from the notion of perfect now, anyway, though it will be back whispering in their ears and their bones by spring.
**
Being carefree is work; it's harder when she's exhausted. Still, Lily keeps a few things for herself. The color of her tights, letting her hair fly free when she wants to, and this slow walk every day for coffee. That's not the indulgence; all of the dancers run on caffeine and spite. The fact that it isn't the closest Starbucks to the theater is; it's an escape from the gravitational pull of the rehearsal space. She walks away, drinks, and walks back, breathing real air and feeling real light for a few extra moments.
Really, by some standards that's the most rebellious thing of all.
She walks up the sidewalk one morning, just past the hour where the air turned too warm for a jacket. She folds her collar down and gathers her hair at the nape of her neck, holding it wound around her hand and enjoying the feel of light and air against her skin. She even closes her eyes for a step or two, trusting the crowd to carry her along.
When she looks again, she sees Nina.
She recognizes her instantly, though the first thing her brain catalogues are the differences. Nina's hair is cut back to curve along the line of her jaw, far too short for a dancer's bun. Her face is more full, just enough to be noticeable. Her eyes still hold that same desperate tension, something on the verge of flight, but they're no longer floating in pools of exhaustion.
She's still wearing a soft, flowing scarf wound around her neck, but this one is a warm gold instead of the pale shades Lily remembers wrapped around her. It casts some color up against her face.
"Nina," she says stupidly, without inflection, without thinking. She's come to a dead stop in the middle of the sidewalk, the rest of the human traffic diverting around her and spitting insults.
"Lily." Nina's voice is the same, a carefully-held whisper, as anxious as her eyes.
Lily steps forward and Nina steps back, turning quickly and vanishing into the crowd. Lily lets herself be bumped to the edge of the sidewalk and leans against the Starbucks windows, staring at where she disappeared.
**
A week later Lily's at the coffee shop again, sipping her drink in the corner by the door, when Nina slips into the chair across from her. Her scarf is green this time, a little too bright for spring, the shade of leaves that have had time to be fully grown.
"Hi," Lily says, keeping her voice even and her face blank.
"Hi." Nina's wearing lipstick, dark and thick, purple as a bruise. "Sorry about last time. You surprised me."
"You surprised me, too. I didn't know you were still..." Despite herself, she stumbles. "Around."
"Yeah." Nina smiles, a quick twist of her mouth that Lily remembers from their night out on the town. It's an anxious expression, tense and hopeful as the rest of her, desperate to be right. "Yeah, I'm...around. Out of the hospital. I'm living with my aunt, actually, just a few blocks from here."
"What happened to your mom?" It's the wrong question, graceless, but Nina doesn't react with shock. She frowns and looks down at her hands, but the characteristic anxiety is missing. This is an honest face.
"She and I are working on some stuff. Our therapist thought it would be better if we didn't live together while that's...going on."
"You're seeing a therapist?"
Nina laughs, her hand darting up to cover her mouth. "I'm seeing several therapists, but yeah, that one's for me and mom together. Our combined stuff."
"That's great." She means it; she's too wary of the politics of the company to see someone herself, right now, but she's noted all the first hints of difference in Nina, and they all seem like good ones. "I'm really glad for you. I hope you feel better."
"It's a work in progress." Nina almost smiles again. "One thing at a time."
**
Lily doesn't think about feathers or broken glass or stage lights when she thinks about Nina. She thinks about pale flowers with dark crimson hearts, smooth stretches of fabric just starting to tear, too-sweet mixer over the heavy sour of tequila. She thinks about doors slamming, heavy and solid like a heartbeat.
**
They see each other again the next week, Nina sliding into the opposite seat breathless and flushed. Her hair's a little longer now, bangs falling forward past her eyes when she turns her head. Lily's been buying two coffees every day this week. Today she finally gets to slide one across the table.
"Thank you." Nina smiles and this time Lily thinks it might be real. Her lipstick is pale pink today, glossy, not quite in style but lovely on her. Her scarf is bright, bright blue. "I realized something awful the other day."
Lily scrapes her nail against the edge of her cup, letting it bite into the waxy surface. "Oh?"
"Last week I didn't ask you how you were doing even once. I didn't ask you anything. I'm so sorry."
"Oh." Lily blinks and pulls her hand back. "I...well, I'm fine. I guess."
"You've been dancing principal?"
"Trading off with Veronica."
Nina's nose wrinkles a little, the barest flicker of disdain before eagerness wells up again and she leans forward, closer. "Tell me everything."
Lily assumes she means the gossip; about the other girls, about the patrons, about Thomas. She doesn't know where to start.
"The performances," Nina says, bringing her hand to her mouth. Lily hears the click of her teeth against her nails, the curve of her hand not holding it in any better than her words. "Tell me about the dancing."
**
Lily tells her about every show, and in the next weeks, about every practice.
Nina listens with longing in her eyes, but not as much as Lily expected.
She tells her about the dancing and the music and the ache in her feet and legs. She doesn't talk about the girls, or the guys, or Thomas.
**
There's still a picture of Nina in the lobby of the theater, a shot from the gala when she was presented to the patrons. Lily stops to look at it when she's walking back for rehearsal.
Nina is listening to a question that's coming from behind and above her, her head turned to the side and angled back. It should be an awkward position, but Nina is a dancer, and ballet asks for much more than that. She makes it a graceful tilt, muscles and tendons tightened precisely under pale, smooth skin.
Lily traces her finger over the glass and thinks I want to make her bend that way.
She stops and curls her hands at her sides, studying the thought from all angles, making sure it's hers and true.
They're dancing Sleeping Beauty to end the season. Thomas tells her she's entirely too passionate, that day.
**
"The season's over," Lily says, spinning a quarter across the table. Nina catches it absently and folds it into her palm, her eyes not leaving Lily's face. "I'm giving myself a week off."
"A whole week." Nina widens her eyes and takes a drink. "How decadent."
"Right? I won't know what to do with myself."
"That's not true."
"You're right. I'm going to sleep." Lily laughs and pushes her hair out of her face. "But we could hang out. We could go out, you know? Drinks. Dancing."
Nina sets the quarter carefully down on the table. "I don't dance anymore."
"It's not that kind of dancing."
"I know, but...I think it's still better if I don't."
Lily nods and glances away, trying to think of some way to salvage this, some angle she can take. "Well..."
"We could do something else, though."
Lily looks up, wondering if she's hearing what she wants to hear. Nina's scarf is red. Not blood red, but a true shade, bright and pure.
Lily looks at it against the curve of her throat and thinks maybe, maybe, maybe.