They say that your mind does strange, indescribable things when you're worked up about something. They say that you live through yourself; through strange things that only you are able to see. They say that you see things in the way you wish to perceive them; that your mind is so desperate for something that it can make things up, change them into something they're not.
She didn't believe in any of that bullshit.
It was late. As she passed by rows of white doors they were all closed, not a single yellow hue of light shining through the crack at their bottoms. She tugged on her bag and made sure it was fit snug around her shoulder, moving to her toes to limit the noise she would make.
Campus was just as quiet, the walk to the studio almost peaceful. She was not in a state of peace, however; drowsy and restless and looking for a way to escape reality. For Abigail, of course, that way was ballet.
The song popped into her head long before she entered the studio, wide-eyed and anxious of getting caught after curfew, even if it was for practice. She began to dance to it, to feel the rhythm and its simplicity. As Abigail danced, she seemed to disappear into a world of her own, drifting back to a time where the simple classical tune had been most important to her.
"Ouch, Sammy!" The brunette cried. Her companion looked down guiltily, almost in shock of his own accidental actions.
"Sorry, sorry. I'll be more careful next time!" The entirety of the class was looking at them now, and Abigail huffed, brushing her leotard off and getting back into position. She felt Sammy's arms on her waist again, and something else she couldn't quite place. Shaking her head she shrugged it off, putting back her own cold demeanor.
"I'd hope so, Lieberman. And watch your clammy hands as well!"
Back to position. Her hands were up, one stretched to her side as if it were being held. She danced alone, in front of the mirror of the dimly lit studio. She danced for herself, for her grief and her life. For the first time in a long time, Abigail danced for herself. Herself, and Sammy Lieberman.
"That's better, you just need to go higher on the lift." Sammy nodded, taking her advice into serious account and bending to try it again. She felt his hands on her hips again and bent with him, and suddenly she was in the air, Sammy supporting her full on. When he let her down she smiled at him, a goofy sort of grin, and moved to embrace him.
It was nice to have someone who truly listened to her.
It was a strange sensation, dancing pas de deux alone; using moves they had learned in first year, things she hadn't had to use again as of late. She watched in the mirror as she completed her turn. This time, however, her eyes were not on her focal point. She was letting herself feel, not caring about technique and turns, about anything but the moment she was in.
She extended her arm again, and that's when she felt it.
It was faint, barely there at first. It was a sensation she had never felt, but one that was so familiar to her. Her hand curled, and stopped when she felt something in it. Whispers of feeling crept against her body, and then the faint pressure moved from her hand to both sides of her hips. She knew.
Sammy was with her.
For the first time, she let him lead. She felt him circle around her, support her as she moved to pointe. She felt him everywhere, his hand tight against hers. It was the soundtrack of their first year, of the times they had countlessly danced around each other, neither wanting to make a move. She turned again, completing the exercise.
In the late night, with the moon illuminating the dimly lit room, Abigail felt Sammy linger, felt his need to stay with her. It was as if he were trying to tell her something important, but could not get a hold of her. One last brush against her, a chill that ran along her spine, and he was gone.