Page 122 of When Hearts Awaken

The image on my phone is seared into my mind. I can’t get it out. I can’t get rid of the feeling of ants crawling on my skin, of black grime sticking to me.

Fifty-five. Fifty-Six. Fifty-seven.The twirls continue. They are chaotic, sloppy, but I don’t care. Because if I stop, I’ll need to take another shower again. I’ll have to find more needles to poke myself.

But I’ve already tried that—my usual coping strategies aren’t working.

I thought I was over this. I thought I got better. I thought I was healed. I thought the past was in the fucking past!

A manic chuckle rips out of my throat. What will the girls think of me now?

The Taylor Peyton they thought they knew died a long time ago.

What will they think of this impostor? Are they disgusted with me? Will they leave me just like Camden and Alexis did?

Flashes of the ruined baby shower slam through my mind.

Grace’s eyes widened in horror after she scrambled out of her chair to reach my side as I heaved onto the floor. The girls immediately rushed over to see if I was okay as my world obliterated around me. I remember seeing Lana’s horrified face when she picked up my phone from the floor and saw the photo before handing it to Grace.

Dismay crossed my sister’s face. Millie had her hand over her mouth. Olivia looked at me in pity.

It’s over.

I can’t hide anymore.

Everyone knows.

And unless I stop investigating, give up on finding out what happened that night to get closure and to put the bastards away, whoever this asshole is will leak the photos to the press.

Then the whole world will know. My career, my life…everything will be over.

I snatched the phone from the girls and ran out the door, my mind in a daze. I don’t remember how I ended back up at ABTC. The first thing I did was to take a scalding shower and stab myself with a needle from my locker. It didn’t work.

Nothing is working. The panic won’t recede, but is spewing out instead—a cataclysmic volcanic eruption I can’t stop.

Ballet. I’m ballet. Ballet is me. The pain and control I have as Taylor the ballerina…it’s my last ditch effort.

Stop thinking. Stop it.

“You’ll never be rid of me, Fly Harriet,”the monster whispers before chuckling.

“She’s going to come, isn’t she? Enjoying your first cock?”

“No!” I shriek and fall to the ground.

My pulse riots in my veins and every muscle inside me protests as I stagger back up and throw myself into the fouetté turns again. Black swan. Odile. I’m the best Odile. I can be better.

Tears streak down my face as I hurl myself into more spins. Higher. Faster. My muscles cramp and tear, agony searing into me, but I don’t stop.

“I’m TaylorfuckingPeyton-Anderson, badass ballerina, and you won’t beat me!” I holler at the darkness.

Suddenly, powerful arms snake across my waist and haul my body off the floor.

The monsters in my nightmare are here again. I won’t let them take me. I’ll die before I let them steal from me again.

I let out a bloodcurdling scream, my fists punching and legs kicking, hitting the beast behind me. A few deepoomphsreach my ears, the madness teeming in my blood, but I don’t stop.

A hand clasps my chin tightly and I feel the monster’s arm banding me flushed against his chest.

“Minx, minx. It’s me. It’s me. You’re safe. You’re always safe.”

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