Page 118 of Savage Scream

“It’s nearly your turn, Dee.”

I nod, butterflies having a party in my belly, and as Miss Adele hurries back into the concert hall, I suck in a deep breath, summoning Hush to shake off my nerves.

“You’ve got this,” Jared insists, leaning forward to kiss me before giving my arse another audible slap.

He’s so feisty these days, and I can’t wipe the grin from my face as he strides out of the room to go into the auditorium where his parents are already seated.

His relationship with his mum and dad has improved over the last few months. Janine enjoys it when I come over for dinner, spending girl time together. I still don’t talk all that much to people, but I make an effort to talk to Jared’s parents.

There’s been less and less signs of empty wine bottles of late, and more signs of them going out on dates and having a social life, something that pleases Jared a helluva lot.

My nerves rear up again as I refocus on the fact that I have to get on stage soon, and I call on Hush to do a better fucking job at calming me.

I can do this.

I can do this.

I chant encouragement in my head as I make my way backstage, letting the song I’m about to dance to fill my mind as I practise the dance for the millionth time in my head.

I can do this.

Once I’m side stage, I stand in the wings with Miss Adele as she watches a little dancer, probably only eight years old, smash out a jazz routine that involves flips, turns, and a lot of sass.

Man, I wish I could have that sort of confidence.

I swallow thickly as I look past the wings to the darkened audience beyond. You can barely see any faces with the lights shining so brightly on the stage.

I can do this.

As the little dancer’s music ends and she death drops to the floor, the audience cheers loudly, whistles piercing, and applause stretching out as the dancer rolls out of her end pose to stand up and give a sassy bow before running off stage the way only a dancer runs. With pointed toes.

I can do this.

“Ok, Dee. Your turn,” Miss Adele whispers from behind me, giving me a gentle push towards the stage.

For a fleeting second, fear rushes through me and I think I can’t do this.

Then I remember Jared’s words.

“When people watch you dance, you make them feel too.”

I CAN DO THIS!

I step forward as the lights fade to black, running on stage to take my starting position, my heart thundering in my ears as I call on Hush to give me courage.

If I can slaughter a person, then I can dance on a damn stage.

When the lights slowly brighten, I close my eyes and wait for the music to begin. The moment Knife by Mary Lambert starts to play, I don’t even have to think. My body just moves, like I’m a puppet, controlled by the music and emotional lyrics.

Right now, I’m not DeeorHush.

I’m Elodie Porter.

I barely register the bright lights, or the audience beyond, my mind completely engrossed in the emotions in the lyrics as I let my body tell a story. It’s a story of grief. Of loss. And it hits home so rawly, that as I dance, tears fall from my eyes, letting myself feel the pain I need to leave behind forever, and move on.

It’s not until I’m in my end pose, curled in a ball of emotional suffering, that I snap out of the zone I was in, and all I hear is complete and utter silence.

Shit.

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