Page 1 of The Unraveling

Prologue

“What…what is this?”

A woman’s voice.

I blink slowly, over and over again, trying to get my eyes to roll back to where they’re supposed to be. I can’t see anything. I can only feel the solidity of the man who holds me and the icy, freezing floor beneath my bare skin. Am I naked?

Oh god. Please don’t let me be naked.

“Fuck,” says the man’s voice.

“What the hell is this place?” the woman asks.

My head lolls and I see sparkling high heels on the bathroom floor a few feet away, then the slender legs of the woman wearing them.

“Can we not do this right now? We need to get her to a hospital.”

“A hospital? What’s wrong with her?”

“She’s what’s wrong with her.”

“It’s not my fault,” says Arabella. “She was like this when I found her.”

“I don’t understand, I thought this girl didn’t have any money. Explain what the fuck is going on!”

“Not now, we don’t have time for this. Go call nine-nine-nine, now!”

I try to sit up, but my body feels like it’s been hit by a train.

“Deal with your whore yourself,” says the woman.

I see her shoes turn and go the other way.

“Dammit.”

The man lets go of me, and I feel my body fall onto the ground as he leaves the room.

Then I hear laughter.

Chapter One

FOUR MONTHS EARLIER

Ipinch the skin on my inner thigh between freshly manicured fingers. Blood rushes through my legs as I watch the dancers onstage. It’s nearly killing me to be in the audience, trapped in the middle of my row. I can’t tell if I’m claustrophobic or if I’m afraid I might lose my mind and climb onstage. Am I jealous I’m not up there, or am I just not ready to be a spectator?

As if he can read my tense mind, Jordan puts a hand on my knee and gives it a gentle squeeze. He asked if I was sure I wanted to come to The Nutcracker tonight and I acted like he was ridiculous for asking. But, as usual, it looks like he was right. It’s the snow scene and I notice a young woman in the back line of the corps de ballet. Her ribbon has come slightly untied. I can’t take my eyes off her. I’m worried for her. She dances as if she doesn’t notice, but I know she does, and I just know she’s freaking out about how much trouble she will get in. She’s wondering if it will hold until the end of the scene or if it will completely untie. She’ll be in trouble either way. They will take money out of her paycheck.

I feel bad for her but also annoyed. If I was up there, that would never happen to me.

I close my eyes to block out the beautiful shapes onstage.

The act ends and the curtains come down. I burst out of my seat like a rocket and say to our friends, “Let’s go get some drinks.”

“Thank god,” says Artie, not bothering to lower his voice, leading the way out of the aisle. “I love being a person who goes to the ballet, but I hate being at the ballet.”

“I don’t know how those girls do it, it looks like such hard work. I can barely do my mile a day.” Jane pulls a cigarette out of an old-school case and lights it with a match.

We burst out onto the street, fresh, icy air and dusty smog draping around us. It’s not until we’re out there that I realize how claustrophobic I felt inside. Out here there’s a chaotic din I can get lost in. It’s New Year’s Day, and since Christmas was only a week ago, the streets are still strung with twinkling lights and everyone in London is in that postholiday haze where mulled wine seems like a perfectly fine way to welcome the early afternoon.

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