Ceilings

The rink was eerily quiet at 4 a.m., the only sounds were the faint hum of the lights and the heaviness of her breath. The cold air bit at her fingers, but she worked quickly, her hands moving with practiced precision. Each pull on the laces felt like a ritual, drawing her focus inward as the world outside faded away.
She glanced around the empty locker room, the walls lined with shadows, and let out a slow breath. The early mornings had become routine, but they never got easier. Her body ached from yesterday’s practice, and her mind was heavy with the pressure to improve. But here she was, again, because skating wasn’t just something she did. It was who she was.

As the clock on the wall ticked forward, Caitlyn tied the final knot, double-checking the tension. She flexed her ankles, testing the snugness of the skates, and stood up. Her reflection in the mirror caught her eye, a mix of exhaustion and determination. The latter always won.
With a sharp inhale, she grabbed her gloves and headed out onto the ice. The rink stretched out before her, vast and still, waiting. The early hour didn’t matter. This was her time, her space, where everything else fell away.

Caitlyn's skating style was a reflection of her personality. Disciplined, elegant, and precise. The rink buzzed with the faint hum of the Zamboni as she stepped onto the freshly smoothed ice, her blades gleaming under the bright overhead lights. The session began with warm-up laps, her movements fluid as she glided across the ice, warming her muscles and finding her rhythm. Caitlyn then transitioned to edge drills, weaving intricate patterns into the ice as she honed her balance and control. Music blasted in her airpods, just loud enough that it sent shockwaves through her head without making her deaf. The cool air brushing her face sharpens her senses, grounding her in the present moment. Each smooth glide across the rink helps her tune into her body, loosening any stiffness and building confidence with every movement.

There’s a comforting rhythm to the warm-up: the steady sound of her blades cutting into the ice and the soft whirring of the overhead lights. In those moments, she feels strong, centered, and ready to push her limits. Caitlyn finds solace in these familiar sensations. Her warmup was an empowering ritual, before it was all torn apart.

As Caitlyn finishes her warm up laps, she transitions into a different mindset. The fluid ease of warming up fades, replaced by a focused intensity. She skates to the center of the rink, pausing to adjust her gloves and take a deep breath, letting the cold air fill her lungs. Her coach’s watchful eyes follow her every move, a silent reminder that the real work is about to begin.

She starts with a few smaller moves. simple spins and footwork sequences, like a pianist playing scales before diving into a symphony. These aren’t just practice; they’re her way of reconnecting with the music, feeling its rhythm pulse through her body. She runs through the opening moments of her routine slowly, marking her steps and visualizing every jump, every spin, every turn.

Caitlyn barely had time to catch her breath before Grayson’s voice cut through the chill of the rink like a blade.
“What was that?” her coach barked, her tone dripping with disappointment. “Do you even know what you’re doing out there? Because it sure doesn’t look like it.”
Caitlyn winced, her chest tightening as she skated to the boards. “The double axel. Do it again. Do you even care about your landing position? You looked like a flailing beginner, not someone training to compete.”

Grayson paced along the edge of the rink, each step punctuated by harsh words. “And your spins? Slow. Sloppy. I’ve seen better control from kids in a learn-to-skate class. Where’s the fire, Caitlyn? Where’s the drive? Because right now, all I see is someone going through the motions.”

Caitlyn clenched her fists, her face hot despite the cold air. Her coach wasn’t done. “You’re wasting my time and yours if you keep skating like this. Do you think your competition is taking it easy? No! They’re out there working harder than you, hungrier than you.”

The words stung like a slap, but they also lit a fire in her chest. “Now, go again,” the coach snapped, her voice cutting through Caitlyn’s hesitation. “And this time, show me why I bother showing up to these practices. Or don’t bother showing up yourself.”

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Caitlyn pushed off the boards, her determination now fueled by the sharp sting of her coach’s words. Graysons critique still echoed in her mind, spurring her to skate harder, sharper, faster.

But as she approached the double axel, a nagging hesitation crept in. The jump loomed ahead, and though she launched herself into the air with everything she had, something felt off. Her rotation was slightly late. Her landing leg extended, but her balance faltered.

Her skate hit the ice with a sharp scrape, and she couldn’t recover. Her body twisted, and she went down hard, the cold sting of the ice biting into her hip and shoulder. The music played on, indifferent to her mistake, as she sat there for a moment, catching her breath and feeling the weight of failure.

“Get up!” Grayson shouted from the boards, voice cutting through the rink. “We don’t have time for pity parties! You fall, you recover. That’s how this works!”

Caitlyn clenched her jaw, her face burning with frustration and embarrassment. She scrambled to her feet, brushing shards of ice from her gloves. Her muscles ached, but the fire in her chest burned hotter.

“You know why you fell?” her coach yelled as she skated past. “Because you hesitated. You didn’t commit. Do it again. NOW!”

The session finally ended, leaving Caitlyn drained but still simmering with frustration. Her muscles ached, her hip throbbed where she’d hit the ice, and the sting of her coach’s harsh words lingered in her mind. She skated off the rink, her movements slower now, the adrenaline fading as exhaustion took over.

In the quiet of the locker room, Caitlyn sank onto the bench, her skates still laced tight around her aching feet. The cold air clung to her skin, and she let out a deep breath, her hands fumbling as she untied the knots. Each tug on the laces seemed to pull at her emotions, too, Anger, embarrassment, determination, all tangled up inside her.

She yanked her skates off and rubbed her feet, red and sore from hours on the ice. The silence of the room felt heavy, a stark contrast to the tension and noise of practice. Her reflection in the small mirror above the lockers caught her eye, her flushed face and tired expression staring back.

Caitlyn wanted to cry, but she swallowed it down. She wouldn’t let herself fall apart. Not here, not now. Instead, she focused on methodically packing up her gear, the familiar routine calming her frayed nerves. As she zipped her bag, she replayed the session in her mind, dissecting every mistake, every fall, every word from her coach.

As Caitlyn tied the last knot on her sneaker, the sharp sound of footsteps echoed through the locker room. She looked up to see Coach Sevika, the girls’ hockey coach, standing in the doorway with a curious look on her face.

“Hey, Caitlyn,” Coach Sevika said, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Got a minute?”

Caitlyn straightened. “Yeah, sure. What’s up?”

Sevika stepped closer, her hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket. “I’ve been watching you out there. You’ve got some serious skills, even if your coach is, uh... a bit intense.” She gave a small chuckle, and Caitlyn couldn’t help but crack a faint smile.

“Thanks,” Caitlyn said, her voice cautious, unsure where this was going.

Sevika nodded. “So, here’s the thing. One of my players, she’s going places. However, she's an amature at skating. Great stick handler, incredible game sense, fantastic speed, but her edges and turns are holding her back. I was wondering... would you be interested in working with her? Just a couple of sessions to help her improve.”

Caitlyn blinked, caught off guard. “You want me to coach her?”

“Why not? You know the ice better than anyone I’ve seen, and honestly, She could really benefit from learning from someone who isn’t just barking orders. You’ve got the technique, the patience... and let’s be real, she’d probably listen to you more than me.”

Caitlyn hesitated, the weight of her own frustrations still fresh. “I don’t know... I’ve got a lot going on with my own training. And I’m not exactly an expert coach.”
Sevika shook her head. “You don’t have to be perfect, Caitlyn. Just give her some tips, show her what you do out there. It might even help you see skating in a new way. Think about it, okay?”

Caitlyn nodded slowly, the idea settling in her mind. “I’ll think about it,” she said, and Sevika gave her a grateful pat on the shoulder before heading out.
As the door swung shut, Caitlyn sat back, her thoughts swirling. Coaching someone else? It wasn’t what she’d expected, but maybe it was exactly what she needed.
Caitlyn stepped out of the rink, the early morning air biting against her flushed skin as she rolled her gear bag behind her. She walked up to her car, a sleek black coupe that gleamed even under the faint glow of the streetlights. Sliding into the leather driver’s seat, she let out a long breath, her hands resting on the wheel for a moment before she started the engine. The low purr of the motor filled the quiet air as she pulled out onto the empty streets, the city still waking up around her.
As she drove, the proposal lingered in her mind. Coach Sevika’s words replayed, mingling with the doubts and frustrations left over from practice. Could she really help someone else with their skating when she was struggling to perfect her own? The idea felt strange, almost like an intrusion into her carefully controlled world.
But there was something intriguing about it, too. She thought about the hockey player who needed help. Maybe coaching her could be a way to see skating from a different angle, to find a new perspective. Caitlyn’s fingers drummed on the steering wheel as the city lights flickered past.

Her car glided smoothly through the streets, its heated seats a welcome comfort against her tired muscles. As she turned onto the road leading home, Caitlyn found herself weighing the opportunity. It wasn’t just about helping someone else. Maybe, just maybe, it was a chance to remind herself why she fell in love with skating in the first place.

The gates to the house opened as her car approached, revealing the sprawling property bathed in soft light. The house was massive, its sleek, modern lines a stark contrast to the warmth Caitlyn wished it would hold. She parked in front, the gravel crunching under her tires, and stepped out, her gear bag feeling heavier than they had before.

Inside, the familiar scent of polished wood and faint floral perfume greeted her. She had barely set her bag down by the staircase when her mother appeared, perfectly dressed despite the early hour, her heels clicking against the marble floor.

“You’re late,” her mother said, her sharp eyes sweeping over Caitlyn. “And look at you, you’re a mess. Have you gained weight? Those skating dresses won’t hide anything, you know.”

Caitlyn froze, the words hitting her like a punch to the gut. She had barely slept, pushed her body to its limit at practice, and now this?
Her mother didn’t wait for a response. “And your hair—are you even trying to look presentable? If you’re going to be on the ice in front of people, you need to take care of yourself. First impressions matter, Caitlyn.”

Caitlyn’s jaw tightened, her fists clenching at her sides. She wanted to fire back, to tell her mother how much effort she put in every day, how much she gave of herself to chase perfection. But the familiar exhaustion settled in, and she simply nodded, her voice quiet. “I’ll take care of it.”
Her mother waved a dismissive hand, already turning toward the kitchen. “See that you do. Breakfast is on the counter if you even eat that kind of thing anymore.”
As her mother disappeared into the next room, Caitlyn let out a shaky breath. The weight of her gear bag was nothing compared to the heaviness in her chest. She picked it up and trudged upstairs to her room. She let herself feel the sting of her mother’s words, the ache in her body, and the uncertainty of the path ahead.
As soon as Caitlyn shut the door to her room, the weight of the morning hit her all at once. Her knees buckled, and she slid down against the door, her gear bag dropping to the floor with a dull thud. She hugged her knees to her chest, biting her lip as her vision blurred.

The first tear slipped down her cheek silently, but it was quickly followed by more, the dam breaking as she finally let herself feel everything she’d been holding back. The frustration from practice, the sting of her coach’s words, the doubts about Sevika’s proposal, and, worst of all, her mother’s cutting remarks. All of it came rushing to the surface.

She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. No matter how hard she worked, no matter how much she gave, it never seemed to be enough. Not for her coach. Not for her mother. And sometimes, not even for herself.

The cold, polished perfection of the mansion around her only made the feelings worse, its silence amplifying the sound of her crying. This place, this life, felt so far removed from the warmth and joy she used to feel when she first stepped onto the ice as a little girl. Back then, skating was freedom. Now, it felt like an endless race she could never win.

As Caitlyn stood up, her chest still heaving from the sobs, she pulled her hoodie over her head and tossed it onto the chair by her desk. The faint morning light streaming through the window illuminated her body, revealing what she always kept hidden beneath layers of clothing. Her arms, shoulders, and sides were marred with scars, some faint and silvery with time, others newer, pink against her pale skin.

Caitlyn turned to the mirror, catching sight of her reflection. She stared at herself, her face flushed and tear-streaked, her body both strong and fragile in its vulnerability. The scars were a stark contrast to the flawless image everyone expected her to project. They weren’t beautiful, and they were far from perfect. All they served her was a reminder that she needed to do better.

Her fingers grazed one of the fresher scars on her forearm, and her eyes stung with the threat of more tears. She hated them. She clenched her jaw and turned away from the mirror, pulling a loose shirt from her closet and slipping it on.

Caitlyn turned back to the mirror,her eyes scanning her reflection with a critical gaze. The loose shirt hung off her frame, but all she could see were the parts of her body she wished were different. Her thighs felt too thick, her stomach not flat enough, her arms too bulky.

She tugged at the hem of the shirt, trying to hide what she imagined was glaringly obvious. Her mind raced with the echoes of her mother’s voice, the sharp criticism cutting deeper than any blade ever had. “Have you gained weight?” The words played on repeat, sinking into her like bullets.

She turned sideways, pinching at the skin around her waist, her face twisting in frustration. Every hour spent on the ice, every calorie meticulously counted, yet it still didn’t feel like enough. No matter how hard she worked, she always found flaws, always felt like her body was betraying her.

Her breath hitched, and she leaned closer to the mirror, her fingers tracing over her reflection as if she could somehow smooth out the imperfections she saw. "I’m supposed to be better than this," she thought bitterly. The weight of expectations, her coach’s, her mother’s, her own, pressed down on her shoulders like a crushing burden.

Caitlyn stepped back, wrapping her arms around herself as a wave of shame washed over her. She closed her eyes, willing the thoughts to stop, but they wouldn’t. They never did. The mirror wasn’t kind, but neither was she.

With a sharp inhale, she turned away from it, pulling her hoodie back on despite the warmth in the room. She couldn’t stand to look at herself anymore. "I’ll work harder tomorrow," she told herself. "I’ll fix it."