HANNAH
The buzz of my phone was the only thing that dragged me out of my trance.
I stared at the screen, a stream of missed messages from my manager and the ballet company. They were worried. They had been all week, and I knew it. They had been reaching out, asking if I was getting enough rest, reminding me that I needed to pace myself. But I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t rest. I couldn’t afford to.
I had the lead role in Black Swan—the role I’d worked my entire life for—and now, with the performance just days away, there was no time to waste. There was no room for anything else. Ballet consumed me, and I gave it everything I had.
But the exhaustion was eating me alive. The weight of it all—physical, emotional, and mental—was pressing down, and I felt like I might break at any moment. But I couldn’t allow myself to break. Not now. Not when everything was on the line.
I glanced at my phone again, expecting to see more missed calls, but I couldn’t bring myself to answer. The messages were just about logistics—rehearsals, the final fittings for the costume, the minor adjustments they needed for the performance—but none of it mattered. Nothing felt real anymore. It was all just... a blur.
I took a deep breath and dragged myself off the couch, my body aching in protest. I hadn’t slept properly in days, but I had no choice. There was no time to rest.
The studio awaited.
I pushed the door open to the practice space, greeted by the familiar smell of wood, mirrors, and sweat. The space seemed to mock me, everything around me a reminder of the toll this life was taking. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this. It was supposed to be my dream.
I could hear the music already playing softly, a gentle melody, but I barely registered it. I turned to face the mirrors, catching sight of my reflection. My eyes looked dull, my skin pale. I looked like I hadn’t seen daylight in weeks. The weight of everything—the pressure, the rehearsals, the expectation—was written all over my face.
Get it together, Hannah. Just breathe.
I tried to tell myself that. Tried to believe it, but my legs felt like lead, and my heart felt even heavier. There was a voice in the back of my head telling me that maybe it wasn’t worth it anymore. Maybe this wasn’t what I really wanted. But I silenced that voice. It didn’t matter. This was the life I had chosen.
I began to move through the steps, trying to lose myself in the music. My body was on autopilot as I executed the pirouettes, the jumps, the turns. Everything was mechanical. Everything was automatic. But the more I danced, the more the pain in my body began to scream at me.
I landed wrong.
It was a simple leap, nothing too complicated. But when my foot hit the floor, I felt something give. A sharp, sickening crack.
I froze.
For a moment, everything was still. The music had faded into the background, and all I could hear was the rush of blood in my ears. The pain shot through my ankle, up my leg, until it felt like it had consumed my whole body.
I tried to steady myself, to find my balance, but my foot betrayed me. I collapsed to the floor, unable to move.
The room was silent except for my shallow breathing. It took a moment for the pain to register fully, and when it did, it was like a fire igniting in my veins. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. I could only focus on the excruciating pain in my ankle.
I reached for it, but my hands were shaking. I could feel the sweat on my brow, the tears threatening to come, but I held them back. I couldn’t break down. Not here. Not now.
But then, I heard it.
“Hannah?”
The voice broke through the haze of pain, and I glanced up to see one of the assistant directors standing in the doorway, her eyes wide with alarm.
“Hannah? Are you okay?”
I tried to speak, but my throat felt dry. Words wouldn’t come. I could only shake my head, my eyes watering from the pain. It felt like I had been kicked in the chest, and I couldn’t catch my breath.
“We need to get you to the hospital.”
I nodded weakly. I knew it. I knew something was wrong, but I couldn’t bring myself to admit it. I couldn’t let go of the dream. Not like this.
But as the assistant director rushed to my side, I couldn’t stop the tears.
“It’s fine. I’ll be okay. Just give me a minute.” I tried to convince her, but my voice cracked.
She shook her head. “No, Hannah. We’re not taking any chances.”
I felt the sting of embarrassment creep up my neck. I had been so stupid. So careless.
I had pushed my body beyond its limits, and now it was failing me.
She helped me sit up, her hand on my shoulder, steadying me. But the pain was unbearable. I couldn’t hide it anymore.
“We’re going to get you checked out. Don’t worry. It’ll be okay.”
I let her help me stand, but my legs buckled beneath me, and I collapsed back to the floor, unable to hold myself up any longer.
“I’m sorry.” I whispered the words, barely audible. I had nothing else to say.
She gave me a reassuring smile, but I saw the concern in her eyes.
“You’ve been pushing yourself too hard, haven’t you?” She said gently.
I nodded weakly, unable to answer. I couldn’t tell her the truth—that it wasn’t just the dance. It was everything. The pressure, the loneliness, the constant fear that it would all slip away.
And as I sat there on the floor, my ankle throbbing, I realized something I had refused to acknowledge for so long: I wasn’t invincible. I wasn’t some untouchable force. I was human, and I had limits.
And now, my body was telling me I had reached them.
I woke up to the soft hum of machines, the sterile smell of antiseptic filling my nose, and the dull throb in my ankle. The pain was still there, but it seemed distant now, like I was floating above it. Above everything.
The room was quiet, too quiet, except for the occasional beep of the heart monitor beside my bed. My eyes fluttered open, trying to focus, and as they adjusted to the dim light, I realized I was alone.
A sharp ache gnawed at my chest. My phone was resting on the small table beside the bed. I reached for it, too sluggish to move quickly, and saw that there were several missed calls from Russel. My boyfriend.
I swallowed hard, my throat tight. I didn’t want to call him back. Not now. But my hand moved almost against my will, and I pressed the green button to dial him.
The phone rang twice before he picked up, his voice sounding unusually quiet.
“Hannah?” Russel’s voice was strained, hesitant.
I let out a shaky breath. “Yeah. It’s me.” My voice sounded hollow, even to myself. It was strange. We’d been talking all the time—when he wasn’t working, when he wasn’t busy with whatever he was doing. But now... now everything felt distant.
“Where are you? Are you okay?” he asked, his voice carrying the same detached tone I’d been hearing lately. I almost couldn’t bring myself to care.
“I’m in the hospital,” I said flatly. “I got hurt during rehearsal. It’s... it’s just a fracture.”
There was a long pause on the other end of the line, and I could hear him shifting, like he was uncertain how to respond. I wasn’t sure what I expected from him—concern, maybe. But all I felt was emptiness.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, but it sounded like it wasn’t even meant for me. More like a response he had rehearsed. I gripped the phone tighter, suddenly feeling like I couldn’t breathe.
Then, without any preamble, he said, “Hannah, I need to tell you something.”
My heart skipped a beat, and I sat up in the bed, the movement making my ankle flare with pain, but I barely registered it.
“What is it?” I managed to ask, my voice sounding more fragile than I would have liked.
He sighed. “I’ve been seeing someone else.”
The words hit me like a brick wall. My breath caught in my throat, and my mind went completely still, as if everything around me froze in place. It was as if my body had become a spectator, watching this entire conversation unfold from a distance.
“What?” I whispered. I wasn’t sure if I even believed it. My vision blurred, and I felt the world tilt beneath me, but I couldn’t cry. Not yet.
“I’m sorry, Hannah. I didn’t mean for it to happen, but I... I’ve been spending time with her, and things just...” He trailed off, not even bothering to apologize properly. The words felt cold, devoid of emotion.
I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know if I even had the right to be angry, or if I was allowed to feel hurt. It was like I had already expected it, but hearing him say it out loud made it real. Too real.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he continued, his voice softer now, like he was afraid of my reaction. But I couldn’t bring myself to care. Not really.
I swallowed, trying to keep my voice steady. “So... you’ve been cheating on me.”
“Yeah...” His admission hung in the air like a heavy weight.
I didn’t know how to respond. Every word he said felt like a slap in the face, and yet... I didn’t even feel the sting. It was as if all my emotions had gone numb, like I was too tired to process it all. Too tired to be angry, too tired to cry.
“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I really am. But... I think it’s better if we end this.”
“Fine.” The word came out of my mouth without thought, without any emotion behind it. It was just... empty.
I didn’t wait for him to respond. I ended the call, my finger trembling slightly as I pressed the red button. The silence in the room after that felt heavier than it ever had before.
I looked at my phone in my hand, the cold screen staring back at me, and a sob finally broke free from my chest. But it wasn’t because of the betrayal. It wasn’t because of the hurt.
It was because of the loneliness. The crushing, suffocating loneliness that had been growing inside me for so long.
I had spent so many years chasing my dreams, but now I realized that they had led me to a place where I was alone. Truly, completely alone.
My phone buzzed again, but I didn’t have the energy to look at it. It was Russel again, probably. But I couldn’t bring myself to talk to him. Not anymore. I didn’t want to hear his excuses, his apologies. It didn’t matter anymore. None of it mattered.
I curled up in the hospital bed, my broken ankle aching, but it was nothing compared to the ache in my chest. I closed my eyes, hoping that maybe, just maybe, I would wake up in a different world. A world where I wasn’t so lonely.
A world where I didn’t have to be the Black Swan anymore.
I just wanted to go home.
The thought was unbearable, and yet, I whispered it to myself anyway.
Home.
I wanted to go home to my family, to the life I had left behind. The life where I wasn’t alone. Where I wasn’t chasing something I could never catch.
But the truth was, even if I went home, it wouldn’t fix me. I had built this life on my own. And now, I had to live in it.
I was successful. But why did it feel like that success was the very thing that had led me to this emptiness?
Why did I feel so isolated, even when I had everything I ever dreamed of?
I wasn’t sure anymore.
But I knew one thing for sure: I wasn’t going to be okay.
****