Page 53 of Shadows in Bloom

His hand wrapping around my ankles, yanking me out from my hiding place.

Flash.

The snick of his belt buckle as he stood over me.

Flash.

Sinking to the floor of the mirror maze, I fucking sobbed, curling in on myself, forgetting where I was. Forgetting everything that made me who I was now, lost in my past, screaming and crying, my body shaking as I made myself as small as possible.

“Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Wren.” Arms came around me, and I lashed out, scratching and biting and kicking.

“Wren. It’s me. Amélie.” The voice was urgent in my ear. “It’s me. Breathe.”

I was dimly aware that the keening cry I could hear was coming from me, but I couldn’t stop, tremors wracking my body as the tears fell.

Eventually I became aware of a hand rubbing up and down my back, and another hand on my heart, warm and steady.

“Breathe with me. In, and out.” The hand left my heart, fingers curling around mine, lifting my hand to place it against soft skin, a steady heartbeat beneath. “In, and out. In time with me.”

I gulped in a breath, my body still shaking, but I attempted to match my breaths to the ones I could feel underneath my palm.

“That’s it,” the soft voice murmured, drawing me closer. “Keep breathing. I’m here.”

I didn’t know how long we remained there. When I came back to full awareness, the mirror maze was lit with candles, soft flickers around us, and Amélie was sitting with her back against the wall, her arms around me, while I huddled into her.

“I—”

“No.” Amélie’s finger covered my lips. “I should never have done this. I’m so, so sorry, Wren.”

“It wasn’t your fault. How would you have known?” I whispered, lifting my head.

“Wren.” Her voice cracked, and she buried her face in my shoulder.

When she raised her gaze to meet mine, her eyes glistened with tears.

I held her gaze, dragging the words out. “It wasn’t your fault. It’s me…it’s…no, it’s not me, but it’s my past. It’s nothing to do with you, I promise.”

“Do-do you want to talk about it?” Amélie was uncharacteristically hesitant.

I shook my head violently. “No. Please. Can we just…” Trailing off, I let myself fall back into her. “Please. No more.”

“Okay.” Her hand stroked down my back. “No more.”

WREN

The winter sun shone down on me, muted, pale-yellow rays without any warmth. I closed the door of the motorhome behind me, lifting my face to the cool breeze that could be felt throughout our camp.

Steadily breathing in and out as I headed towards the big top, I reminded myself of the facts. The facts I’d repeated in my head every day in the almost-two years I’d been a part of the cirque.

My former guardian couldn’t reach me here.

Even when we arrived in Dover, I was safe. Protected.

I had a home and a family.

My breath stuttered when I considered my final fact. Whatever society might think, the fact was that the cirque was my home, and every single member of the cirque was just as important. We looked out for each other. If an outsider tried to harm one of us, we’d all take action.

Ducking inside the tent, the canvas flapping behind me, I blinked, letting my eyes adjust to the more muted light. The ring spotlights were lowered for our early morning rehearsal, allowing us to see the areas that were normally thrown into shadow during our performance. Vivienne handed me a travel mug of coffee and I sipped it gratefully as I took a seat off to the side, watching the motorbikes circling the ring, Amélie right in the centre, spinning on a hoop high above their heads. On either side of her, two of the trapeze artists hung upside down from their own hoops, the backs of their knees hooked over the rings, holding them in place.

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