Page 5 of Shadow Dance

And that’s what he’s been saying. But now his behavior over the past few months makes more sense. The constant absences, the trips, the weird randos stopping by. He never stopped dealing.

It’s like wiping fog from a mirror, how it all becomes so clear. Callumhasbeen different since he moved to the Bay, I haven’t been imagining things. His impatience and volatile mood swings, the near constant need for sex ... it’s as if he’s a more exaggerated version of his worst self.

I lie back on the bed, pressing my fingers to my eyes.

My boyfriend is a dealer, an addict, and a liar. What the hell have I gotten myself into?

Chapter 2

Maeve

March

Tightening the wrap on my ankle, I straighten up and face the barre. I slowly lift my left leg and rest it there, giving my ankle an experimental roll. This is the easy part; all my weight is on my good leg. I go through a series of stretches before lowering my foot back to the ground and switching.

It hurts a little this time, but not as bad as it did a few weeks ago. Mostly it’s just stiff. I go through the same stretches, paying close attention to how my left ankle holds up while bearing all my weight.

I’ve been able to get around without crutches for the past week, but I’m still limping. Dance is still out of the question, so I’ve focused on strengthening my ankle in other ways, like going to physical therapy, special exercises, yoga, and Pilates workouts. I’ve even started swimming laps in our heated pool, braving the cold. I’m determined to maintain my stamina.

Today, though, is my first day back on the barre. Callum had it installed in one of our guest rooms as an apology gift.

When I found the drugs, I knew it was time for me to leave. I packed a couple of bags, looked online for a ticket, and confronted Callum when he came home. He bluffed at first, unrepentant, telling me I could leave if I didn’t like it. “How do you think I pay for all this, Maeve?Flipping burgers? We live in one of the most expensive zip codes in the entire fucking country.”

But when I started to call for an Uber, it was like a switch was flipped. He grabbed my phone and begged me to stay, explaining that he was in the middle of a deal he couldn’t walk away from. He said he’d quit as soon as it was taken care of, that he was just trying to set us up for the rest of our life together. He got sidetracked. He knew better. He was sorry. Nothing was worth it if I wasn’t going to be around.

“You know me,” he said, tears streaking down his cheeks. He’d begun crying, which made me cry, too. “No one gets me like you, Maeve. I love you.”

It was true. I knew Callum and he knew me. We’d grown up together, had seen each other through the worst and the wickedest of times. We’d been together so long it was like a marriage, and I wasn’t sure who I was without him. Not really.

“Don’t give up on me,” he pleaded, kissing my face and running his fingers through my hair. “Don’t give up on us.”

So, I stayed.

For a while he was my Callum again. We took late night drives through the hills, smoking as we admired the views. We had movie nights and went on breakfast dates. He sent cute texts and came home when he said he would, bringing me flowers one time, doughnuts another.

A week after everything went down, he brought me into one of the guest bedrooms on the other side of the house. He’d had mirrors installed on one wall and a ballet barre across the other. “I know how much you miss dancing,” he said. “Maybe this will help you heal.”

It was the most thoughtful gift, better than anything I could’ve hoped for, and I knew I’d been right to overlook his most recent transgressions. “I love it,” I told him, tugging him into a hug. “Thank you.”

I texted Bria a picture of the room later that night, promising I’d show it to her one day in person. I wanted her to see how good Callum was to me, wanted her to understand.

You deserve it, she said.I miss you.

But slowly, subtly, things began to shift again. Callum’s phone would buzz at all hours and he’d step out of the room to take the calls. He’d come home late from his meetings, offering flimsy excuses about traffic or last-minute errands, and my phone calls often went to voicemail, my texts returned late if at all. The sweet gestures became less frequent until they stopped altogether.

When a two-day work trip to San Diego turned into four days, I knew we were right back where we’d started.

I started checking all the closets and hidey holes in the house for drugs, but I couldn’t find any. I figured he’d just gotten better at hiding them, because deep down I knew he was still in the game.

I could tell when he was coked up, too. It made him giddy and confident, but also sharp and aggressive. We argued viciously one night, and in a fury, I locked myself in the bathroom with his stash. I was tempted to flush it down the toilet but decided on a whim to try some myself to see what the big deal was. I wanted to piss him off, but once he realized what I’d done, he thought it was hilarious.

I was flying too high to stay mad and we fucked like animals that night. I felt connected to him in a way I hadn’t in a long, long time, even though it was chemical. And then I woke up alone the next day, achy and depressed. Coming down felt terrible. I couldn’t understand why he’d want to go through this over and over and realized that he’d probably been doing a lot more than I’d thought.

I didn’t want to stick around, but I couldn’t leave. I thought maybe if I could help him get clean things could go back to how they were. I’d scroll through years of pictures on my phone with blurry eyes, going back in time. School dances, parties, sneaking out of my room, sneaking into bars. Dates at Coney Island and Fenway Park. Photo booths, late night study sessions in college, sleepovers. Skiing in Switzerland, swimming in Bali. Graduations.

A snatch of music floats from a car passing by on the main road. I blink, coming back to my ballet room, where one of Mozart’s sonatas is playing on the speaker connected to my phone. Sunlight glimmers through the trees outside the window, a soft breeze accompanying it. I find my reflection in the mirror, trying to remember the last time I was truly happy.

The nagging voice in the back of my head grows louder with each passing day, whispering that I deserve better than this constant uncertainty and emotional whiplash.

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