Gemotions

The dancer stopped mid-rehearsal, her breath catching in her throat. The theatre owner, a man she’d trusted, was standing in the doorway, a smug look on his face. He'd rearranged her choreography, cut her music, and was now claiming it as his own.

Her face flushed with a crimson heat. The carefully constructed movements, the language of her body, were now twisted and cheapened. She felt a sharp, cutting pain bloom in her chest.

“Get out,” she choked out, her voice raspy and barely audible. She wanted to scream, to lash out, but the words wouldn’t come. She needed to breathe, to get away from this man, this betrayal.