That Summer

It was two weeks into July and things had only gotten worse.

Evangeline spent an average of seven hours at the studio, two hours after everyone else had gone home, every single day. Upon arriving to her own home she split her time between showering an hour everyday, sleeping ten to twelve hours, taking an ice bath once a week, and drawing in her sketch book.

But her life remained where it had always been, since she was five years old. With the wood floors and full length mirrors and toe shoes practically surgically attached to her feet.

"Alright, now, ladies," Anna called and clapped her hands together. "Start in fifth position. Releve, attitude devant, bras croise, bring your leg back for an attitude derriere, and bring yourselves slowly to an arabesque, then we'll straighten ourselves, hold our legs at shoulder width for a count of three and end in second position. Ready?" she looked around the room to the various girls who all nodded curtly. "And begin. One and two and three and four."

Evangeline struggled to keep her movements fluid and natural, a feat she has once had no trouble completing. She used to lose herself in the character she played and the steps she danced, in the music that narrated the story she portrayed; of love, of loss, of hate, of beauty, of death. Evangeline used to feel her way through, the moves engrained in her body and soul. She forgot eight counts the second she learned the dance.

Now, however, Evangeline found her old love of practically living at the studio vanishing altogether. During the exercises and routines, even during the two extra hours she spent during lunch break and after classes forcing herself through her own practices, she was more worried with how long it would be until she could go home and curl into her bed.

But it was important to remain as fluid as she always had, looking as if she was dancing in water with the way her arms floated through the air. Evangeline seemed to be far from that norm and she'd been fighting to get it back, especially since the director of the dance school had decided to sit in on this particular class for the day.

But, the younger Donahue found it near impossible to concentrate on anything other than how heavy her arms and legs felt, how tired her feet were, how much her head was pounding and how fast the room was spinning before her eyes.

"Remember, ladies. Adagio," Anna called out to her dancers. "Slowly, fluidly. Remember everything we talked about. Alright one more time," she called, making her way back to the front of the room. "And end on second. Good job ladies. I'll see you tomorrow," Anna smiled to the group. "And Evangeline," she zeroed in on the young blonde who'd just allowed herself to sink to the ground and begin removing her toe shoes. "Relax your face. You look pained. The audience wants to see your movements, not the work behind it."

Evangeline nodded and lowered her head shamefully. In the last few weeks, critiques on her dancing had become all too common. She now accepted them and moved on, something which had become much easier since the tittering and giggling from the other dancers stopped.

"Evangeline," a voice said, and her head snapped up. Before the young ballerina stood Marion Winters, the director of the dancing academy.

"Ms. Winters," Evangeline acknowledged, jumping to her feet. Something she instantly regretted, seeing as the room spun around her. She did a fantastic job of covering it, though.

"Are you feeling alright, dear?" the older woman questioned, looking at the girl before her carefully.

"Yes, thank you. Why, may I ask?"

"I've seen you dance before, Evangeline. You're a great talent. But today you were struggling and I've never seen anything like that from you," Ms. Winters confessed before additionally admitting, "And you look terribly peaked."

"Oh, I'm fine. I just haven't been sleeping well," Evangeline smiled convincingly.

"If you're sure," she shrugged.

Evangeline smiled and began to gather her things and leave until she was stopped.

"The world is a cruel and unforgiving place, Evangeline," Ms. Winters said. "The world of ballet is even worse." Evangeline only gazed back at the woman before her, not knowing how to respond to that. "I wasn't blessed with talent, Evangeline. And even those blessed with the feet, may not be blessed with the heart."

Ms. Winters smiled gently at the dancer before leaving the studio in silence. The rest of the class had left and Evangeline stood in awe. There was a tugging at her stomach, a part of her brain telling her that she should listen to what the director had just told her. But there was an even larger part of her brain that was telling her she needed to go home and sleep.

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While Evangeline had been working herself to the bone during and after ballet classes, just to return home to avoid food at all costs, she was noticeably wasting away.

And Bryan was getting noticeably worried.

He and his sister may not have been the best of friends, but they were related, and Bryan could tell when something was just not right with his little sister. And as if the physical signs weren't enough - her paling skin, her barely there figure, her thinning hair, her dull irises, her ash-like under eye circles - her behavioral changes were the oddest. Bryan had never seen his sister sleeping for so long, he'd never seen so much food left on her plate before. And he didn't like it at all.

Evangeline was sitting on the floor of the bathroom on a Friday evening, nursing her feet after taking a shower. She was dressed in a pair of cloth shorts and a tank top, both of which were now slightly too large for her new body.

She was washing her feet with a cold washcloth and covering them in Band-Aids and wrappings.

Bryan walked to the bathroom and leant on the doorframe, watching his sister as she placed ointment and a Band-Aid over a particularly nasty blister, hissing when she applied too much pressure.

He took in her bony shoulders and the outline of her ribs against her skin and he looked to the ground.

"What do you want, Bryan?" Evangeline questioned agitatedly.

"Evangeline, are you..." he trailed off and shook out his light blond hair, identical to his sister's. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I haven't been sick for almost three weeks now," she murmured dismissively and held a tissue to her bleeding toe.

"I'm not sure I believe you," he murmured.

Evangeline's head snapped up and she shot her brother a glare.

"I think I know perfectly well how I feel, Bryan," Evangeline hissed.

"Well I think you're lying!" he countered. "You are not okay. I know you, and this is not you."

"You don't know anything about me," she snapped at him and threw away her garbage, climbing to her feet as fast as her fatigued legs would let her.

"I do to! I know we aren't best friends, exactly, but you're my sister. We're blood and I know you. You read way too much Jane Austen and you're addicted to those stupid romance movies and you think Katy Rose is a god or something," Bryan shouted at his sister, blue eyes flashing angrily. "I know how you look when you're happy and you have looked nothing but miserable for almost a month, Evangeline."

The siblings stared at each other in a heated silence for a few moments, Evangeline's eyes threatening tears before she pushed passed her brother and towards her room. "You don't understand."

"I understand a lot more than you think," he insisted, following closely behind.

Evangeline stormed into her room and spun, pointing at her brother accusingly.

"Don't even pretend you have any grasp of what is going on here."

"Oh, please, Evangeline," Bryan threw up his arms. "I get it. You have a fucking problem. Nothing is worth hurting yourself like this over. No matter how badly you want it!"

The words of Ms. Winters flashed in Evangeline's mind as her brother delivered that lecture to her, but she simply pushed it to the back of her mind. They didn't understand. They'd just never understand.

"Maybe I just want this more than you can comprehend. I've worked for this my entire life. I didn't just pick up a bass when I was eleven and decide to fuck up the rest of my life," she sneered.

Bryan stared at his sister in anger, shaking slightly in effort to keep his actions in check. "I have worked," he began slowly, "so hard to get where I am today, where the band is today. We're signed to a label. We made a CD. We're going on tour in the fall. Don't think I didn't have to make sacrifices for it, Evangeline. Don't you ever dare think this wasn't the product of a shit load of hard work and dedication. But as much as I love music, I'd never let myself waste away because of it. I'd never kill myself."

"I'm perfectly fine, Bryan!" Evangeline screamed. "My dreams just require more sacrifices, bigger sacrifices, than yours. Now get the fuck out of my room and shut the door behind you."

Evangeline collapsed on her bed and curled up under the covers, feeling exhausted after having had that argument. Bryan stared at his sister in a sense of awe before just shaking his head and making his way to the door, but he paused.

"Evangeline," he murmured softly.

"What?" she snapped back.

"You were beautiful even when you thought you were fat."

And with that, Bryan Donahue left his sister to cry herself to sleep.