Page 144 of The Pucking Wrong Man

I kept my voice steady, trying to keep the fact that I was lying from leaking through. “Doctors in the past have said as long as I could handle the pain, I could dance like normal.”

He looked at me, his eyes filled with concern. “Are you sure that’s what they said?” he finally asked gently.

My lip quivered, and I felt the tears threatening to spill over. “Please, don’t say anything to anyone,” I begged, my voice cracking. “I’ll be fine. I will be more careful. I can’t live without dance.”

He frowned, clearly conflicted. “Anastasia, you need to start coming in for regular checkups. This isn’t something to take lightly.”

I nodded eagerly, desperate for him to drop it. “I will, I promise.”

He sighed, rubbing his temples. “Alright, but if I see any signs that you’re not following through, I’ll have to report it. Understood?”

“Understood,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.

Leaving the office, a crushing sense of defeat settled over me.

I managed to convince him to keep quiet for now, but how long would that last?

As I limped back to the studio, the pain in my leg was nothing compared to the dread gnawing at my insides.

I hadn’t been exaggerating back there. If I couldn’t dance...I didn’t think I could live.

Every part of every day, I had been working on my dream.

What would happen if the only dream I’d ever had in life was dead?

Camden’s face filled my head. How he’d looked when he said “I love you,” and “forever.”

He’d already admitted several times that part of what had drawn him to me was my talent. If that went away...I would really be a nobody.

And how long would his promise of “forever” last after that?

I had no other talents. I didn’t have an education.

I was literally nothing without this place.

What was I going to do?

It was the stupidest thing imaginable, but my sore leg took me into an empty practice room.

I stared at myself in the mirror, taking in the haunted look in my eyes, but also taking in the fact that I had color in my cheeks now.

Camden had given me that.

No, I wasn’t going to let my leg ruin everything. I wasn’t going to give in. I could still dance. Everything would be fine. I couldn’t lose dancing and I couldn’t lose Camden.

So I wouldn’t. It had to be as simple as that.

I limped over, turning on the music before I returned to my spot.

I lifted my hands above me...and then I slowly went en pointe.

In the dimly-lit studio, I let the music wash over me, each beat a lifeline tethering me to my sanity. With every movement, I poured my heart and soul into the dance, letting the pain and frustration bubble to the surface. I surrendered myself to the rhythm. My movements began with a controlled grace, but as the music swelled, so did the turmoil within me.

My body moved with a fluidity born of years of practice, but tonight, it was different. Tonight, every step was a battle, a desperate struggle to keep the darkness at bay. But still, I danced on, my movements growing more frantic with each passing moment.

The tears blurred my vision as I twirled and spun, the agony of my shattered dreams threatening to consume me whole. I danced. And then I danced some more.

I pushed my body beyond its limits, my muscles protesting with every twist and turn. My arms reached out as if grasping for something just out of reach, while my legs propelled me across the floor, every step like a dagger to my useless leg.

---