During the second act, I had my solo, dancing across the stage alone so the crew would have time to change the set, the dancers would have the opportunity to change into their next round of costumes.
I’d been dancing a long time, so I considered myself a professional, holding my body tight so nothing would slip, nothing would go wrong.
But there was a small piece of paper that had somehow made it on stage, and when I landed after my jump, I slipped on it.
And fell hard.
Anytime we messed up, we just carried on like nothing happened.
But I couldn’t carry on.
I tried to stand, but my foot couldn’t support me.
That was when I saw the bone pressing against the skin.
The audience started to whisper, their concerns getting louder. The crew came out to help me, figuring out quickly that something was seriously wrong. They hooked their arms underneath mine and lifted me.
The audience clapped like I was an injured player at a sporting event.
But I didn’t hear them because all I could hear was my pain.
I knew what had happened without checking.
I’d broken my ankle—and my career was over.I was in a daze, traumatized by what had taken place.
Did this really just happen to me?
With all the other shit I had to deal with?
Now, I’d just lost my job?
“I’ll call an ambulance,” Tracy said, looking for her phone.
Andre examined my ankle, sighing at the injury. “Yeah, that’s definitely broken. I’m sorry, Cat.”
Tears streaked down my cheeks, not from pain, but from heartbreak. “No…it’s not broken. It’s just a strain. I’ll be as good as new in a week…”
Andre gave me a look of pity before he turned to my understudy, who’d just changed into her costume. “After this number, you’re going to jump in. You ready?”
She nodded, nervous that she was taking my place on such short notice.
But she wouldn’t be just taking my place for long. Now, she would have my job.
Tracy returned once she’d found her phone at her station. “I’ll call now.”
“I’ll take her.” Heath emerged from behind everyone, looking at me with an expression that mirrored my own pain, like he knew exactly what I was feeling, like he understood that my entire world had just come apart. He kneeled in front of me so he could scoop his arms underneath my body to lift me.
He must have come to the opening night of my show to watch me dance, to hide in the shadows of the theatre just so he could look at me, admire me from afar. So, he’d watched me fall, watched me lose everything in real time. Looking into his eyes, I started to sob, so grateful that the one person who truly understood was there.
“Baby, I got you.” He lifted me to his chest and carried me out the back door.
My arms circled his neck, and I cried against his shoulder, sobbed into his t-shirt. “No…” I was so glad I could hide my face from everyone as he carried me away, that I could use his size to cover me, that I had someone who could take care of me when I was too embarrassed to let anyone else do it…except him.After some X-rays and an official diagnosis, I went home with pain killers, a cast, and a pair of crutches.
I sat in the bed with a blank look on my face, praying this was a dream, praying I would wake up and find this was just one of my nightmares. Without my job, I had no way to pay my bills. Without my job, I’d lost my only outlet of happiness. Without my job…I wasn’t me.
Heath didn’t say anything to me, didn’t try to make me feel better with meaningless words. He knew I was traumatized, knew I didn’t want anything but silence. He also gave me space, like he knew I just needed some time to accept what happened.
Once I was discharged, Heath picked me up again and carried the crutches with his other arm, because both things at once were no problem for him. He got me into the truck then drove me home, carrying me the rest of the way into my apartment.
I was usually too proud to let someone help me like that, but I had no pride inside me anymore. No fire. Nothing.
He carried me to my bed and leaned the crutches in a corner of the room. Then he grabbed a glass of water and put the pills on the nightstand, the next dose of pain killers to get me through the night.
I leaned against the headboard and stared at my foot, wrapped in a cast, the flesh past my knee swollen from the injury. With my arms crossed over my chest, I just sat there, my eyes as swollen as my ankle.
Heath sat on the edge of the bed, wearing a long-sleeved shirt and jeans, his elbows on his knees as he looked the other way, like he knew I didn’t want him to stare at me, to watch me hit rock bottom.