The Rhythm of My Soul by Elin Dyer & Madeline Dyer

Author:Elin Dyer & Madeline Dyer [Dyer, Elin & Dyer, Madeline]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: ballet, dancer, Romance, asexual, lgbt
Publisher: Ineja Press
Published: 2021-12-29T23:00:00+00:00

MY BELONGINGS HAVE been shoved into cardboard boxes and stuffed into a store cupboard. Brilliant. The housekeeper gives me an apologetic look but assures me they’ll be safe until I’m back.

“Back?” says a low voice.

I turn to see Joe, Roseheart’s nutritionist. He is smiling, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“How about we catch up in my office,” he says, looking at his watch. “I’ve got a good half hour before I’m teaching.”

The air around us is heavy and oppressive, and it’s clear to me there’s no choice but to follow Joe to his office on the second floor. We seem to get there too soon.

“Take a seat.”

I do. The same seat I always sit in. The bench at the side of the room. There are three different types of seating to choose from—a small armchair, a classroom chair, and a bench—and picking a chair always feels like a test I don’t understand. I chose the bench the very first time, and then the next time I wondered if it would mean something if I then picked a different seat, so I went for the bench again—and every time afterward.

“Well, it’s certainly a surprise to see you back,” Joe says. He’s in his late thirties and is a stockily built man. Muscular. He told me once he used to play rugby professionally before a knee injury ended his career.

“I’m enrolling again. Choreography course.”

He leans back in his chair. It’s a leather swivel chair next to his desk. He never sits behind the table. I read somewhere that some teachers do that to look less formal and some therapists do it to seem more on the same level as their patient. As the nutritionist, I guess Joe’s kind of both. Or, at least, that’s how he acts. He’s the only teacher who is like the choreographers and costume staff, in that the prefers us to use his first name.

“Well, that’s good,” he says. “It’s good to have a goal.” The light in his eyes gets more intense. “But how are you?”

“I’m fine.”

He gives a small smile. “It’s okay to tell the truth, Teddy.”

My shoulders tighten. “I am telling the truth.”

He brushes some lint off his shirt. “I know about the diagnosis. The heart condition. But did you tell the doctors about the OSFED?”

About the OSFED. Like that’s what I have. He sounds so sure. And it’s weird how part of me is still against it while the other half is sure I have some sort of eating disorder as I need that to explain the HCM misdiagnosis. It’s confusing.

“Because it’s important doctors are aware of the whole picture,” Joe continues.

“They do know.” The words burst out before I can stop them. They are birds flying round, making me dizzy, and it’s like part of me is leaping about, trying to catch them. But they’re always just out of my grasp.

“Good,” Joe says. “And you’re getting help with this, too?”

“Yes.”

“So, what are they doing?”

“Doing?” I squint at him.

“To help? These doctors?”

“Oh, I’m having a catheterization soon.

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