St. Elsewhere

The alarm clock beeped and Mia Ferguson rolled out of bed sighing and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes.

She picked up the first pair of relatively clean jeans that could be found on the floor, as well as the slightly large bright blue jumper that belonged to her ex boyfriend and pulled both on.

From the depths of her wardrobe she pulled a sports bag and threw in black leggings, a white t-shirt, a hair band, shower gel and a towel.

In the kitchen she made herself a cup of herbal tea which she downed quickly, despite it's heat, and before leaving the tiny apartment she grabbed her ballet shoes and walked out slamming the door into the lock as she left.

- - -

Ballet meant everything to Mia.

All she had to do was tie up her ballet shoes and take up the Premiere position and let the music, that drifted across the room from the record player, take over her head.

And then she is in another place.

Somewhere else.

Her peers envied the way Mia was able to just switch off all those thoughts that were running through her head, and just to be able to concentrate on the moment. That one moment that started everything. The minute you take to the centre of the room, stand upright with your feet pointing out in a v shape you had to have a blank mind.

It is that moment that sets the tone for everything.

- - -

Mia took a deep and frustrated breath in.

The pirouettes weren't working out today.

Mia took up the standard position and was about to attempt the pirouette again when the door of the mirrored practice room flew open.

"Mia!" The sharp calling out of her name caused Mia to loose her concentration and she momentarily lost balance.

Catching hold of the barre, the wooden rail attached at waist height to the mirrored wall, she saw Madame de Reyon her ballet instructor stride towards her with an unreadable expression on her face.

"Madame de Reyon, how are…" Mia was about to enquire but her mentor interrupted her.

"Mia, you need to go to your father." She said with the hints of a French accent. "He called the receptionist, you need to go home. Now."

Mai didn't even need to ask why. She just nodded and pulled her baggy jeans over her leggings and viciously forced the jumper on. Grabbing her kit bag she nodded to Madame de Reyon, who looked at her with undoubted sympathy written across her face.

Storming out of the Royal Ballet building Mia could already feel the tears collecting at the bottom of her eyes.

It wasn't fair.

She wiped the tears away ferociously with the edge of the jumper, that still smelt so familiar, and found the keys to her car in her jeans pocket.

Before she knew it she was sat in her car, the soothing sounds of Mozart slipping through the speakers, driving as fast as she could to Oxford.

Home.