Page 85 of Dance of Ruin

The second the words leave my lips—and possibly before that, when the thought first enters my head—it’s like I’ve been filled with pure venom.

Like I suddenly want to commit violence on a biblical level.

Naomi’s mouth twists.

“No,” she hisses icily. “Ididn’t.”

Her voice is sharp and cutting.

“They didn’t—” She pauses, collects herself. “I’ve never had sex. Like, actual sex.”

I stare at her, jaw tight. “C’mon?—”

Her eyes flash. “I’mnot lying. Why are you pushing this? You’ve seen the fucking video.”

The words slam into me like a punch.

And then, I feel it. Confusion. Rage. All coiled around the same truth I’ve been ignoring.

“I don’t want to talk about the fucking video,” I bite out.

“Why—”

“Because I havezerofucking interestin watching you with someone else,” I snap viciously.

The silence that follows is heavy and thick.

I may have just crossed a line I can’t retreat back over.

Because the problem is, my reaction isn’t due to some pathetic reason like being turned off that she has a past.Ihave a past. Everyone has a past, and I’m not some fragile little fuck who can’t accept that.

No, my reaction is based on surging, throbbing, neon green, lividjealousy.

And that was never supposed to happen. That’s not what thisthingbetween us was meant to be.

This wasn’t about feelings, or jealousy, or being territorial, or literallyanythingbut using her, breaking her, and ruining her.

But I think we’ve managed to wanderwayoff that trail. At least, I have.

And now I don’t have any fucking clue how to find my way back.

18

NAOMI

My skin is coveredin a sheen of sweat, making my leotard stick to the small of my back. My muscles scream as I push myself again and again andagain.

I’ve lost track of how long I've been dancing. I do know the rest of the company left ages ago. But me and my wonderful imposter syndrome decided to punish ourselves by staying late, working alone on stage in the darkness of the theater, a single light shining down.

My quads burn, my chest is tight. I’m sweating through the bodice of the Odile costume I’ve donned, since it's got some feathers on one shoulder that I wanted to start getting used to.

I don't stop dancing. Stopping means thinking, and I can’t do that right now.

I hold my pose at the end of the variation, chest rising and falling, then plié deeply to propel myself straight into another turn. I bobble the landing a bit.

Goddammit.

I try the transition again.

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