Page 6 of Devil's Thirst

“I have to go. You’re good with Vi, right?” I press a hurried kiss to Oran’s cheek while he’s in mid-chew, then race for the door before he even has a chance to answer. I probably look like a crazy woman, but I don’t care. I can’t stay a second longer. I’m already fighting back the need to vomit.

Thank God I live in the same building as Lina and Oran and can quickly escape to the safety of my apartment. While they live in a huge place that takes up the entire thirty-sixth floor, I have a much more reasonable one bedroom on the third floor—one of only a handful of single-bedroom units in the building. The first five floors consist of apartments that might seem small when compared to the upper floors but are huge compared to a standard place in the city. The materials and fixtures are top-notch, and security is fabulous. No one lives in this building without a sizable bankroll. I was incredibly fortunate Oran was able to snag this place for me.

The second I’m inside, some of the panic subsides. With my back pressed against the door, I take deep, even breaths—something I learned from the therapist to help calm my nerves. It helps surprisingly well for something so simple.

Once I’ve calmed myself enough that I no longer feel like passing out, I set my keys on the counter and head back to my bathroom for a shower. While the water warms, I put on music over the sound system that plays throughout my apartment. Something to drown out the voice now echoing in my head.

It’s not until I’m fully immersed in my shower, scrubbing shampoo in my hair, that I remember I needed to buy conditioner. I’m horrible about going shopping for food and essentials. Between my long hours dancing and easy access to restaurants in the city, I spread out my shopping trips until I’m perilously low on supplies. I know things are bad when I start to ration cotton swabs and toilet paper.

It happens more than I care to admit.

Today, I’ll employ the age-old technique of conditioner liquefication—a little water in the bottle with a few good shakes, and I can salvage what little product is left. That’s my plan, except the bottle is full when I pick it up.

I stare at the floral-scented detangler as though it sprouted lips and spoke to me.

Did I pick up a new bottle and forget? Or was I misremembering needing more? It’s the strangest thing, yet the same thing happened last week when I could have sworn I was out of Goldfish crackers that I like to snack on in the evenings. I checked my pantry, knowing I was out and expecting to stare pitifully into a barren cabinet, except a brand-new box was waiting inside.

I’d worry I’m suffering from some early-onset dementia if I didn’t know from personal experience how easily memories can come and go. The brain is a mysterious place. There’s no tellingwhat’s going on in there, but something is clearly misfiring because it’s not like someone is sneaking into my place and stocking the cabinets. That would be strange, even for a girl who couldn’t do normal if she tried.

More likely than not, I’ve been so worn out from rehearsals that I’m misremembering. I’ll figure out tomorrow that I actually needed toothpaste or dish soap. That’s the most plausible explanation.

I slather on the conditioner and finish my shower, acknowledging that I’m clearly in need of sleep. It’s time for this day to be over.

CHAPTER 4

AMELIE

“You keeping me company tonight?”I ask Hazel with optimism. We first became friends three years ago when I joined the National Ballet Theater company. She’s a costume designer extraordinaire—a creative through and through—so she rarely keeps the same schedule.

It’d be a relief to know she was sticking around since it’s a Thursday, and I usually stay after practice. I’ve been debating all day about whether I should risk staying late after confronting the man who’s been watching me. Opening night is only three weeks away. Aside from loving my time on the stage, I could use the practice. It’s my first time in a principal role.

The more I thought about it, the more pissed I got that I should feel threatened into hiding. I decided I’m not going to let anyone steal that from me. Dance is who I am—it’s part of my soul. I’ve already had so much stolen from me that dancing is nonnegotiable.

“I’m just wrapping up, and I’ll be out of here. Kennedy needed an adjustment to her hemline. I got her measured, and as soon as I get that pressed and stitched, I’m off to meet my brother for drinks. I haven’t seen him in three weeks. Can you believe that?”

Hazel’s family is super close, and they all live here in the city. I’ve been to a few family dinners with her, and I’ve never felt more like an alien in my whole life. Don’t get me wrong. I adore every second of my time with them, but the way they interact is foreign to me. And there are a lot of them, so it can be a tad overwhelming. She has one brother, three sisters, and so many cousins I can’t keep track.

“Hey, that’s great! I’m glad you’re getting to catch up with him.”

“You should come! We’re going to that chill Irish pub over on 46thStreet.”

She’s super sweet to include me, and I know the invitation is genuine, but I need to practice. This is the first time I’ve been cast as a principal dancer. When I first heard the company planned to put on an innovative ballet production ofMoulin Rouge, I put my heart and soul into earning a lead role. While I practice on stage because I enjoy the feeling, I alsoneedthe practice. Anything shy of perfection, and I risk losing this incredible opportunity.

“Maybe next time. I need to get a little more practice in.”

The twist to her lips tells me she knows I’m obsessive about my dancing but wishes she could get me to relax a little. “Okay, but you know you’re always welcome.”

I give her a tight hug. “I know, and I really will take you up on that soon. Promise.”

“Okay, I havegotto get this finished.” She holds up a red can-can skirt adorned with yellow ribbons and bows. She’s done an incredible job modifying the classic French motif for ballet. So far, all the costumes have been breathtaking.

I give her one more hug. “You and your brother have a great evening catching up. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Definitely. Don’t stay too late!” She raises her perfectly sculpted brows at me.

“I won’t,” I assure her, meaning it this time more than any other. I want to get my practice in while a few company stragglers are still around. I want to practice and be smart at the same time.

I leave Hazel and head to the portable practice stereo kept backstage for rehearsals. A small group of dancers are still chatting as they pack up their things, and two set builders are staring up into the rafters discussing what seems to be an issue with curtain transitions. I lace up my pointe shoes, select the music track I want to work on, then take center stage.

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