Page 27 of Sweet Nightmares
She was a meek, pathetic, quiet doll when she was with her husband, and with Nightmare and her friends, she was both lighter and stronger, like a dragonfly—able to metaphorically lift twice her body weight.
But the strangest thing was that she could say she had friends; and incredibly, her friendships didn’t end with Quinnevere and Constance, because their trio was soon joined by two more. Jevon, a quiet, astute but messy young man, and Giselle, a vibrant, colorful acrobat who worked at the Viridian alongside Constance. There was something about Jevon’s mess that comforted Jane. His suits were always wrinkled, and his cravat was tied loose and off-center, but there was beauty in it. Jane wasn’t remotely interested in him romantically, and he never once made any advances toward her.
He was the first safe man she’d ever been in a relationship with, and it meant all the more that it was so platonic. Giselle and Constance also came to mean the world to Jane. They both had vibrant energies that twisted together, got knotted, and clashed, but there was something magical about it all.
But of course, it was Quinnevere who truly meant everything to her. It was remarkable getting to know her, getting to see the fruit of Jane’s sacrifice. Quinn was brilliant and talented, although her closed-off nature and unwillingness to feel emotions hindered her dancing skills. Technically, the girl’s dancing was perfect; she just lacked acting and artistry, but with time, Jane was convinced she’d get better and that, maybe one day, she would grow to be a better dancer than Jane had ever been. But it was Quinnevere’s mind that Jane was most proud of. The girl was a genius. She was the youngest apprentice medical examiner in the history of University Square.
Jane had only watched Quinnevere do one autopsy, but it was the most fascinating thing she’d ever seen.
And all of it warmed Jane’s soul. Before she had often wondered if her sacrifices—the orphanage, her husband, the abuse—were worth it, but after spending only a moment with her sister, she’d do it all over again—a million times.
Quinnevere was imperfectly-perfect. And so were the rest of Jane’s friends, and Jane loved them more than she knew was possible.
The group was like a tree. Giselle and Constance were orange and yellow leaves that had fallen off the tree and were violently dancing in the wind, while Jevon was a breakable branch attached to the tree. Quinn was the trunk, stubborn but fierce in her loyalty and personality. And Jane was the roots, digging into the ground and anchoring them all down.
It was a beautiful group of friends, and for the first time in her life, Jane was truly happy.
The only problem was that her husband was beginning to get jealous, which never boded well.
Chapter Ten
Age 24.
Dying felt worse than she imagined, and, unfortunately, by the very nature of her existence, Jane had imagined dying many, many times.
Every time her husband assaulted her with his hands, feet, and dick, every time her husband’s debt collectors cashed in her body as their price, and every day since Nightmare stole dance from her.
She imagined dying.
Jane didn’twantto die. She simply imagined it. Sometimes, it was the only thing that gave her comfort. Jane knew, one day, all of this would be over. She knew she had a future with safety and peace—that this was only temporary.
She didn’t know how she’d escape her horrific circumstances, but she knew eventually she would. Because men could take everything from her, but they would never take her fight, and they’d never steal her happiness.
She could have joy amid chaos. She could find happiness in a sea of pain.
She could find peace in dying. Because somehow, she knew she would die young. It was a feeling that clawed at the back of her neck—a knowing.
Yet knowing still never truly prepared her for it. The shock, the pain, the hurt. Knowing it would happen only made the process harder.
Because Jane was dying, and her husband was murdering her.
She reached her hand up to the necklace holding Nightmare’s ring and screamed in her head.Help. Help me, Alexei.
Jane didn’t want to die. She wanted Nightmare to save her. She wanted a knight in shining armor. A hero in ancient poems. A prince to swoop in to rescue her from her pain. She wanted to live—to survive the night.
Shehadto survive this final assault. And it would be finally, because she was leaving him after this. She’d never return to his house, and she didn’t care what the consequences were.
Bring them on. She’d take on anything to be rid of this wretched man.
Jane knew she shouldn’t have stayed with him. Of course she knew. She should never have gone back to her monster after she lost the ballet—honestly, she should never have gone back to him after she’d met Nightmare.
But she had, and she hated herself for it.
Other women stayed in terrible situations because they loved their abusers, they had children to protect, or for a multitude of different reasons. Jane stayed simply because she hated change. After all, there was safety in what she knew. She stayed because it was easier than leaving, than facing a world with no money and nowhere to go. Kordelia wouldn’t let her continue to live in the Viridian without paying rent, and her husband controlled the pot of gold Nightmare had created. He controlled everything.
And now Jane didn’t have dance to fall back on. She had nothing. So, staying was easier. But she was now realizing that staying would be her end. Ever since Jane met her friends and found some happiness, her husband had been escalating.
More broken bones. More black eyes. More burns, cuts, and scars. Just more.
