POV Akhyra

I wake up in the middle of the night with the unpleasant sensation that I am suffocating. My heart is a hammer trying to break through my ribcage. My nightgown clings to my skin, sticky from sweat. I open my mouth for air. I don't seem to be getting enough oxygen from my nose.

Nothing happens. I am still fighting to get each breath in.  

I need to get out of bed, or I'm going to pass out. I can see myself running across the room to get to the window, but my body doesn't respond. I am still laying on the mattress, my respiration a rusty engine trying to start. And... Why is the ceiling closing in on me?

Oh, God, I am really going to die here. I need to get out of bed. I need air. 

I force myself to rise up, throw my covers away, and stumble onto the floor, finding my way through the dark toward the nearest window. At last, I've finally reached it, but for some stupid reason, it refuses to give in when I try to push it open.

The commotion must have woken up Lucian. I hear him sleepily call out my name behind me.

"Akhyra, you're alright?"

No, I'm not. I'm trying to open this dumb window to get some fucking air. But I am unable to tell him that. However, Lucian must get the hint because a few seconds later, I hear him get out of bed.

"If you step away, I can open it for you," he suggests.

I go back to bed and give him space. Sitting at the edge of the mattress, my fingers claw at my throat as if trying to desperately get rid of the fanthom fingers pressing around my skin.

Will the room stop spinning if I close my eyes? 

The moment my eyelids fall shut, the hands are back around my throat. Thick fingers trapping my flesh in a vice grip. 

Go away. Don't touch me. Do not fucking touch-

"Got it!" Lucian's exclamation when he pushes the window up brings me back to reality. He looks over and speaks softly. "You can come now."

Lucian retreats a few steps, his worried eyes following my uncoordinated movements as I stumble once again on my way to the window.

When I finally get my head outside to inhale deeply the fresh air of the night, my lungs are finally pumped out of the water that they were drowning under.

I have no idea how long I will stay like this. I'd sleep outside if I could, it's hot and suffocating in this hotel room even with the air conditioning on a moderate level. Deep down I know my episode had nothing to do with the temperature of the room.

When I get my head back inside, I find Lucian standing in the same spot, his attention focused on me. Not wanting to go further in the room, I make the decision to simply let myself fall to the ground right under the window. I cross my arms in front of my chest and begin to practice the butterfly hug method until my heartbeat slows down to its normal rhythm and the ghosts of the past have momentarily dissipated 

"Are you feeling better?" Lucian asks as he leans against the wall behind him.

"Yeah, sorry about that. I must have freaked you out."

"You don't ever have to apologize to me for getting overwhelmed," he whispers. "We all have our moments."

"Some crazier than most," I add with a self-deprecating laughter.

"You wanna talk about what happened? Did you have a nightmare?"

"Yes but this happens sometimes even if I don't have any nightmares. When I'm in unfamiliar places that are relatively small, it can be triggering."

He nods, considering my answer for a moment before asking, "Are you claustrophobic?"

"Some professionals think so, others don't. I do manifest certain signs of claustrophobia and antisocial personality disorder, but my current therapist thinks that most of the things that trigger me are more of a trauma response than a medical condition. She firmly believes that the path to my recovery lies in revisiting my childhood trauma. So far, that hasn't worked, and I wonder why I'm still paying her, but it's a hassle to start from zero with someone new."

I don't know why I just told him all that, but for some reason, I felt comfortable enough to do it. Like he wouldn't judge me or ask a bunch of questions. 

"Follow my lead," Lucian says, suddenly reminding me of the words I had told him barely a few days ago on my porch, when Valentino had sent him to check on me.

Lucian lies down on the floor and looks over as if challenging me to argue. Because I know he's expecting me to protest, I silently do the same. Now we both find ourselves lying on the floor, looking up at the ceiling. 

"Now, I don't have a fancy psychological degree," Lucian begins. "But I do know that some things are about perspective. From down here, the ceiling looks further away, doesn't it?"

"That's right. It even feels like the room has extended from my previous position."

"And yet it's still the same room, with the same dimensions. You're just seeing it from an angle that allows you to breathe better."

I extend my hand in front of me, finding comfort in the gap between my body and the ceiling.

"If you can't touch them, they are not that close."

"What was that?" Lucian asks.

When I turn my head in his direction, I find him already staring at me. 

"It's a mantra that my therapist taught me to help me realize that I'm safer than I think."

"Maybe you should spice it up a little," he suggests. I easily recognize the mischief in his tone.

"And what do you propose?" 

"Hum, let's see. If you can't touch them, they are not that close, and if they do come close, you'll just have to kick their ass for invading your royal space."

I burst out laughing, shaking my head at his ridiculous suggestion. "You're really something else."

"And so are you!" He shoots back deviously. "But seriously though, if someone has the strength to beat the ass of some childhood trauma, it is you."

"Thank you for saying that."

"You're going to win this battle, Princess. One kick at a time."

His words settle deep inside my soul, igniting a spark that I hadn't felt in all those years of going to therapy: hope. I think about his words the next day as I'm about to go on stage in front of a completely Haitian public for the first time. I have performed in various countries throughout my career in the most prestigious theaters of the world, but this might be the most important performance of my life because this is home.

***

I'm beginning to think that Madame Laroche is going to be chatting with this short bald man up until the sun sets. The organizers of the folklore festival hosted an exclusive after-party on the rooftop lounge of the hotel. Lucian decided to wait for me at the bar while I went to stand at the railing positioning myself in the line of vision of Madame Laroche. 

When my gaze locks on Lucian, who can probably sense my patience running out, he sends me a discreet thumbs-up. Just as I'm about to devise a plan to crash the conversation without getting too close to Madame Laroche, she waves goodbye at the bald man and walks in my direction. 

Even in her sixties, her body has maintained the gracious allure of a ballerina. Her white hair is elevated in a high bun, accentuating the sharp edges of her face. She wears a black dress that contrasts beautifully with her white skin. 

I'm lucky enough that her aristocratic lineage prevents her from initiating contact when she stops close enough to engage in conversation without invading my personal space.

"Akhyra Morel," she pronounces my name as if trying to taste how it sounds. "That was quite a show you put on earlier." 

"Thank you, Madame Laroche. Have you enjoyed the festival?"

"Quite a lot. It ended too soon, in my opinion. A proper festival should last three days at least," she adds in a critical voice that brings back memories from my time at the academy. 

I'm only realizing now that small talk isn't my cup of tea. I should get to the point before someone else snatches her attention.

"Speaking of spectacles, I've heard that you haven't found a lead for your show yet."

Madame Laroche elegantly brings her hand to cover her mouth as she laughs at my remark. "Child, you are as subtle as an elephant wearing a pink tutu."

"I'm not sure I'm following," I answer, putting on a confused face. 

"You must think I was born yesterday if you believe I haven't realized you're trying to sweet talk me into giving you the lead role."

"That's not-"

"I wasn't finished," she cuts me off. "Now, do you have talent? Even a blind man could see that. But you and I both know that no favors are handed in ballet. I have thirty-three candidates on a waitlist waiting to be auditioned for the role, and that's without counting those who are blowing up my assistant's email with unsolicited audition tapes. If you think you're worthy of the role, you will have to prove it. 

Her steel gaze indicates that she will not make this easy for me. Well, I've never been one to back down in front of a little challenge anyway. 

"I'll do whatever I can to prove to you that I'm worthy of the role," I tell her with all the confidence I can muster, and yet she appears dubious of my declaration.

"Are you sure about that? I've heard you're quite difficult to work with."

"That's not true," I deny a bit too fast.

"Producers talk among themselves," she asserts. "I've heard your sense of teamwork is a little bit on the low side, but tell you what. I'm helping a friend of mine set up their first production, a remake of Snow White and the Seven Dwarves. The casting isn't complete yet, so I'm scouting you. If you can handle that, then I'll see about auditioning you for my show."

"I won't let you down," I promise.

"We'll see about that. Repetitions begin soon. I'll have my assistant email you the travel details."

When Madame Laroche walks away, I let out a breath I wasn't aware of holding until now. 

Lucian makes his way toward me, an expectant look on his face. "So what's the verdict?"

"I have a shot!" I announce with glee. "She wants me to be the star of a minor production before auditioning me for her show."

"That's good news!" Lucian cheers. "This means you'll be leaving the country, right?"

"Yeah, I'll probably fly to France this week once her assistant has contacted me."

Lucian appears a little less enthusiastic before announcing, "I've just received a call from Coach. He's booked me a flight to the USA. I'm leaving tomorrow."

"Oh," I find myself at a loss of words for a brief moment. "Then I guess this is where we part ways."

He'll be in the States training to get all the way to the finals, and I'll be in France working to get my career back on track. Our path might never cross again.

We keep staring at each other, the weight of something unspoken simmering in the space between us. Lucian is the first to break the silence.

"You know, surprisingly enough, it hasn't been that terrible to be your humble servant those past couple of days."

"You weren't so bad yourself," I concede with a smile.

Lucian raises his glass for a toast. "Go conquer the stage, Princess."

I raise mine as well. "Go win this cup, Champion."