Page 31 of Dance of Ruin

I’m not okay.

But I’m going to class.

If not, I’ll fall apart.

If I don’t dance, I won’t know who I am anymore.

I throw my hair into a quick bun, zip up my hoodie, and walk out into the pale morning.

The cold wind bites at my skin as I walk to the subway. I try to forget his hands. Try to forget the sticky residue on my stomach, the panic climbing up my throat when I opened my eyes and realized I was naked and alone.

The bed was stripped. The lights were off. The camera was gone. Actually,everythingwas gone from the studio, except the bare boxspring I was lying on.

Naked. Sore between my legs.

Cumon my fucking belly.

Those first few numb hours are a blur. I remember throwing up on the floor, and then finding my bag riffled through, with some cash, my iPad, and a pair of my fucking underwear missing from it.

My mother’s libretto ofSwan Lakewas also gone.

After that, I threw up again, yanked on my clothes, and ran out.

The nurse who saw me at the nearby clinic was kind. She’s the one who examined me and told me there was no evidence anyone had had sex with me. They’d used their fingers on me, though.

In me.

That’s when I vomited yet again, somehow.

She also told me they’d run the semen sample from my skin through their database, but nothing had popped up. Her face had twisted when she told me she legallyhadto report this as a crime, and that when I was ready, she was going to need my real name.

I just nodded when she smiled again and walked out of the room to get the paperwork and the in-house therapist.

The second she left, I ran.

Today, I’m going back to the one place I’ve always felt safe, the only place that still feels like it belongs to me.

The ballet studio.

* * *

The back doorof the Zakharova Theater is traditionally where all the dancers meet up at the start of the day to shoot the shit, bitch and moan, or smoke before we go inside to destroy ourselves at the barre. Usually, Ilovestanding out here with my friends.

Today, it feels foreign.

Lyra, Milena, Brooklyn, and Evelina are already there, huddled together. Lyra looks like a wreck—eyes puffy, hair hastily pinned, terrible body language.

Then they spot me.

"Naomi!" Milena says, breaking from the group to rush toward me. The other three follow. “How are you feeling?”

Horrible.

Disgusting.

Violated.

I shrug tiredly. “I’m…okay. It was just a stomach bug.”

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