Page 66 of Spinning Out Of Control

KIRA

I wait all morning for the anger to come. I need it. I crave it. I want the fire, the flames licking at my skin. I want the tense coil of my gut and overwhelming desire to release my fury through ferocious screams while my fists annihilate a punching bag. But the anger doesn’t come.

Instead, I’ve been slowly overtaken by numbness. The thick fog rolls in, engulfing me in its suffocating dullness as I go through the motions of feeding Pancakes and walking to Spin Sync. The absence of anger sits heavily on my chest, a confusing paradox of feeling everything and nothing at once.

I’m not surprised by Jonathan’s actions. After everything we’ve gone through together, his inherent shittiness no longer shocks me. It’s the impact of his actions that kill me. How quickly the morning show hosts jumped to believe him, to join in on his decimation ofmy character. We’re a few centuries past Salem and yet the townspeople are still so willing to gather in the square to watch the witch burn.

Normally on a Saturday I like to show up early to shoot the shit with my teammates, film some social media content and even hang out in the lobby with Spin Sync members heading into their various classes. Today, I time my arrival at the studio so that I can have the locker room to myself while I get ready for class.

Everyone who is working today is teaching or prepping on the production floor. Save for a few pitying looks from stragglers in the lobby, I’ve avoided all human interaction since I left Rachel and Amir’s place this morning.

Sinking into the chair at my usual vanity in the locker room, I take in the dark circles and bags under my eyes. My face is ashy, devoid of life and color, as though I haven’t slept in days.

How is it that just a few hours ago, I was warm and safe in Ren’s arms, surrounded by my favorite people and feeling like my life finally made sense? And then this morning, he was going to say it. He was going to tell me he loves me. I could feel it, but I couldn’t hear it. I didn’t want the first time he said those three words to me to be when I couldn’t feel anything but static humming beneath my skin. When he says it, I want to be able to say it back with all the joy and security that his affection gives me.

My mind slips into the worst-case scenario for amoment, wondering if Warren is going to serve as a constant reminder of everything Jonathan took from me. Will I constantly be looking over my shoulder, waiting for the other shoe to drop?

No. No, I won’t. Ren is not Jonathan. He is not my damnation; he is my salvation, and when I’m finished wading through these dark waters, I’ll be ready to love him with my whole chest.

I should send him a message and reassure him that just because I’m not okay, that doesn’t mean that we’re not okay. I pull my phone from my pocket so I can send him a quick text, but I’m distracted by my Spin Sync scheduling app. The bright red notification indicator is staring back at me, and my stomach sinks. I only get notifications when someone drops from a class within half an hour of start time and there’s no one on the waitlist queue who is able or wants to take the spot.

There are thirty-five notifications waiting for me.

Bile rises in my throat, and I swallow down the urge to vomit. Any hope that I was holding on to that Jonathan’s interview was a figment of my imagination or that no one else in the world was watching the most popular live podcast on the internet flies out the window.

With the exception of my three best friends, my entire class cancelled, and no one is taking their place. No regulars, no first ladies, no movie stars. For the first time since my premiere ride, my Saturday Killa Sixty class is going to be…empty.

My bottom lip trembles as I lower my face into my hands to muffle my scream. All the work that I’ve done in the last ten years, the connections I’ve made, the relationships I’ve built, the people I’ve tried my best to help and inspire. All of it has been burnt to nothing but smoldering ashes because of the fragile ego of one man who couldn’t leave well enough alone. I gave Jonathan my best years, my dedication and support when he never deserved it, all the while ignorant of the knife he held to my back. I’ve been dead to him for so long, but he can’t stop himself from dancing on my grave.

If he wanted to destroy me, it looks like he’s succeeded.

I look down at my phone, reeling at the cursed app showing me a room full of nearly empty bikes and thinking about cancelling the whole thing and spending my morning drafting my resignation letter instead. But when I look at the front row, at the first three bikes closest to mine and the names of my best friends on the reservations, something emboldens me. I can’t undo the damage that Jonathan has done. I can’t control the negative spin of my reputation. I can’t stop the spiral of the spins taking over my brain or the effect all of this will have on my health.

The damage may be done, but that doesn’t mean I have to take it. I did that once, bowed my head and took years of hell from the man in the hope that my understanding would one day pay off.

Fuck that. I’m not going with grace this time. I’mJason Vorhees. I’m Carrie after the prom. I’m Billy Loomis at the end of Scream, and I’ve got one last gasp in me.

If I’m going down, I’m going down swinging.

The “would’ve, could’ve, should’ve” will haunt me either way.

Kira

I know how much you hate this, but I need a favor. I’m sending you a playlist, can you swap it in for my ride this morning? We can keep the class plan the same so no changes to the metrics. I’ve just…

I’ve got a lot of shit to say, and I need the right music to help me do it.

Producer Jackie

Don’t worry about the class plan, we’ll clear the feed, and you just do what feels right. You know I’ve got you, Kira. Consider it done.

I give myself another glance in the mirror. I’m not going to bother with makeup. I’m not going to throw on a bright pink lip or body glitter to mask my feelings. This is probably my last time stepping on to that stage and I’m not going to do so as anything less than my authentic self. I pull my hair into a messy bun on top of my head and spritz myself with water. I choose to wear black leggings, a black sports bra and black cycling shoes–a somber look for my final procession.

Outside of Studio B, a production assistant meets mewith a sympathetic smile as she helps me suit up in my mic strap and my shoes. I take a deep breath, steadying myself before walking into a silent room instead of the throngs of cheers and applause. Without the energy of a crowd to feed off of, I’m relying on the power of the music to help carry me through the next sixty minutes. The playlist I sent to Jackie is a lot longer than sixty minutes, but I know that the songs in the lineup will help me hit the beats I want to hit before I make my final bow.

I open the door and carefully descend the stairs. I grip the railing and close my eyes, bracing myself for the silence below. But when I reach the last step…

Applause. Loud, chaotic, obnoxious screams and cheers erupt from all around me. I snap my eyes open to find that every bike in the room is full and there are more people standing on the edge of the room. Rachel, Dottie, and Georgie are on their normal bikes, with Amir, Stephen, and James behind them.

---