Ficly

Love/Hate

He dipped her low, only inches from the ground, his face only inches from hers. His expression of passion matched hers perfectly. Her hand remained clasped in his; leg extended, she spun once, twice, three times. Their bodies began to dance in unison.

As the music faded away, the audience burst into standing applause. He led her off the stage, the sound of applause still ringing through the theater.

As soon as they were in the safety of the curtains, away from the audience’s naive eyes, she dropped his hand in disgust and glared at him, her eyes full of hate. “What was that?” she hissed. “You were practically feeling me up out there!”

“I think you’ve put on weight, because it takes a lot of strength to lift you,” he snapped with a pointed look at her midsection.

His insult hit its mark, just as he knew it would. “I hate you,” she said, turning her head so that he couldn’t see her eyes full of angry tears. Before he could reply, she stalked away, her pointe shoes making a small thud with every step.

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