Helen sat in a corner chair of the pavement café, watching the dance studio opposite. She had taken just a few sips of her cappuccino as she watched the comings and goings of eager students taking their next step towards fame and fortune. All of them dance students, and all of them, she would have thought, familiar with the musical drama ‘Fame’.

Every time a door opened, she wondered whether the person exiting was his new lover. She picked up the cup and took a sip, her stomach clenched tightly as the tears welled inside her. She coughed and pulled the lapels of her jacket up around her neck.

Her constant stare drilled through the studio doors; punctuated by people, cars and the occasional red bus. The petrol fumes spread around her and occasionally caught in the back of her throat. A sip of coffee put her throat at rest before the next bus arrived.

She shivered and caught her breath when the next person she saw leave, was him, arm in arm with Rebecca Thompson. What a slut she was, but, Helen had to admit, a good dancer as well. She watched them walk away, smiling and exchanging a kiss every now and then.

Would she be next?

With that sad thought Helen wanted to run after Rebecca and warn her; but what good would that do. This was her problem, not Rebecca’s.

The sun broke through a gap in the building opposite her but with little warmth left in it to combat the cold evening air. Helen finished the coffee and walked across the road. Pushing the door to the studio open, she sneaked inside, switched on the single bank of lights just behind the door and stood in silence. A faint whiff of sweat filled her nostrils.

She looked around the room, remembering. Every now and then her heels would announce their arrival on the wooden floor with a sudden clip followed by a clop. Her steps were slow and deliberate as she walked across the wooden floor.

Helen remembered the good times, the fun and laughter that they had experienced, right there in that room. She remembered the time when Robert took her to one side and pointed to the floor, telling her that the dance floor was her canvas, and that her legs would make the canvas come alive when she danced on it. Those words made her feel so special and she took them to heart. The dancefloor was indeed her oyster and she was the most precious pearl sitting inside it; tapping away on its surface when the music played.

She remembered him telling her that only she could cover the floor with such happiness; leaving all her worries behind – but that was only when she was in his arms. Her head flowed from side to side as she remembered being in his arms and what that felt like. Anxiousness welled up inside her. Her stomach clenched and her lips quivered. Her eyes squashed tightly together, announcing the tears that would fall onto the floor.

With a sniff and the wipe of her sleeve across her face, she remembered how he used to take her hand and waltz across the floor. She marvelled at how elegant they were together. How their bodies melted together as they danced; and how powerful and manly he would be when they performed the Paso Doble.

Helen looked at the floor where she stood. She remembered the time when he threw her down as if discarding a cape before throwing his hands in the air. She used to stay down on the floor, her legs wrapped up behind her, heels touching her bum and arms flung out wide. Her stocking tops showing as she looked up into his eyes.

That was the time when he should have bent down to pick her up but instead knelt on the floor with her. That was the time when his hand rested on her upper thigh and he started to move across her stocking tops to her bare flesh; the time when he kissed her and she responded.

Helen had wanted him to kiss her for a long time and they both knew it. At that moment in time, all her wants and needs were being constructed in such a way that she could just walk into a made-in-heaven world of her making. They didn’t stop at kissing.

Helen sobbed as she remembered that moment; afraid to take another step in case she collapsed on the floor. She sucked in a deep lungful of air and shook her head.

She remembered when he pulled her to him, on the empty floor, snaking his hand up her thigh to touch her moistened sex. His hand played her like an instrument. Not too hard, not too soft, but just right as the saying goes. His fingertips eased her knickers down her legs and his mouth and tongue pleasured her as she moaned into the empty room.

She, of course, returned the favour many a time. Once performing fellatio on him as he rested his bottom on the double ballet-barres that adorned the mirrored wall. They had such fun against that mirrored wall when all the other students had left. It was her most favourite part of the room. The part where she could push her hands against the mirror, arch her body and watch him fuck into her hard and fast as he held onto her hips.

That was probably the place she had conceived; on all fours, watching his face squirm as he fucked into her from behind. Pumping his seed into her and taking her to even bigger and better heights. It was the place that he had told her many times how much he loved her; as he looked into her reflected eyes. 

Robert loved watching himself caress her breasts in that mirror. All too often, their sex sessions would start by him coming up to her and sliding her top down so that he could caress them. 

It was a fact, dancing made them horny. The moves, the sexiness and eroticism all had a place to play in their sexual adventures on the dance floor. The way Helen looked at him teaching the other students didn’t help either. In comparison, sex in their one bedroomed flat didn’t quite hit the mark, but then, they weren’t pumped up with adrenalin at home.

The mirror. She looked at it, tipped her head to one side and sighed. Tears welled up once more as she looked at it.

The mirror was the place she had told him that she was pregnant. She couldn’t have been happier when she turned, looked into his eyes and said those fateful words.

She remembered that Robert never seemed as pleased as she was. Yes, he had said how wonderful it was, and he had said how much he loved the idea.

But he didn’t, did he?

It took him almost three weeks before he changed his mind completely.

The days leading up to the decision were awkward. A frost had descended on every conversation they had. Words were difficult to form without them continuing into some kind of argument. Helen felt alone and she had no idea what was going through Robert’s head at all.

Then he told her; in front of the mirror. Not the dance floor mirror where he used to smile and lust after her. No, this was the bathroom mirror with its stains of toothpaste in the corner and cabinet full of pills behind. That was where Robert told her the truth.

After listening to his words, Robert left the flat. Helen opened the bathroom cabinet door and stared at the pills; she reached in and took two Paracetamol’s to ease her developing headache and closed the door.

She had agreed with him. It was as much her decision to go ahead with it as his. His argument was of course, irrefutable. Her career would have been over; they would have found it hard to live on their meagre one-person earnings, in a one bedroom flat, with little food. Yet, he offered to pay for everything, the private hospital fees, the aftercare, even the taxi.

Selfishness and money, they’re evil; especially when they act together to devolve all responsibility. Yes, it was as much her decision as his, but he didn’t have to go through with it did he. He didn’t have to feel the anguish, the hurt, the pain. He didn’t have to go through the complications and the uncertainty. He just didn’t care. His life was safe and secure and on track.

She was the one now living with her parents who got up at night rushing into her room to comfort her through the nightmares. Not Robert. No, Robert was fucking Rebecca Thompson in his one-bedroomed flat, no doubt.

Helen looked at the floor of the studio. Her eyes followed the track of teardrops as they littered the floor between the door and the large mirror that she now stood in front of. She stared back at the not so innocent teenager; with the smeared and dripping mascara, the dishevelled hair and the gaunt look on her face.

Helen’s hand smashed into the glass with some force, she looked at her knuckles burgeoning in red liquid as it dripped onto the floor; joining the shattered pieces of glass as they splashed and tinkled on the floor surrounding her.

Helen once more looked back into the mirror. She recognised her alright. She knew exactly who she was: an afraid and hard done by teenager; a casualty of love, lust and really good sex. She was a young woman with a dream that was shattered by a hard-faced selfish bastard.

Helen looked around the room once more. The fourth time in as many months and sighed heavily. This must be the last time, she thought to herself. This can’t go on. It would be no good to keep visiting this place every month on the anniversary of her loss.

Helen took a deep breath and smiled at the woman looking back at her. She tossed her handwritten envelope containing a few words and enough money to pay for the repairs onto the glass covered floor and left the studio for good.

She stepped out into the cold night air, pulled her coat up around her neck and with head held high, headed for home.