Page 22 of This Is Love
RYA
My eyes flutteropen when my alarm goes off at 3:40 p.m., but just as quickly, I slam them shut again. The pounding in my head that started after Hazel left me earlier hasn’t abated, and the tightness in my chest simply won’t let up. Behind my eyes, flickering images of this morning’s discovery taunt me. I slowly draw in a deep breath, attempting to calm myself. Hot on the heels of last night’s events, Logan’s and Jaxon’s deceit has shaken me.Badly.
The fact that I need to get my ass to the studio so I don’t lose out on the rehearsal time I signed up for is the only reason I finally unbury myself from the warm cocoon of my bed. Drowning myself in sadness isn’t productive when I have to rehearse for auditions tomorrow.
I slip from my bed, immediately seeing stars. Exhaling, I put my hand on the mattress and wait for the feeling to subside. Is it the drugs still in my system? The headache thumping my skull from the inside out? Lack of water or food? Probably all of the above. A moment later, the door creaks as it opens, and Hazel shuffles back into the room. “Are you okay?”
I nod, though I’m unsure whether she means physically due to how she just found me or if she actually wonders if I’m somehow miraculously past the earlier upset she witnessed, even though she’s clueless about the cause. “Yeah. I’m good.” I shove my feet into a pair of flip-flops, then turn to grab my shower caddy.
“I thought we could talk for a minute.”
I pause with my back to her. My jaw tightens, as I have no bandwidth left to explain things to her at the moment. Rubbing a hand over my face, I sigh as I turn to face her. “Look. I’m feeling a little sad and disappointed and a million other emotions all at once. I’ve gotta shower so I can get to rehearsal. We can talk after.” I say all of that while looking anywhere but at her. I know she was just drunk last night, but… those text messages hurt. And yeah, we just aren’t connecting lately like we usually do.
It’s not until I finally meet her eyes that I notice Hazel’s face has paled. “So do you not want to go to rehearsal together today?” She frowns. “I’m confused. I thought we were going to give each other feedback again.”
She’s right, we had planned to do that. But— “I need some alone time. You know I process when I dance. Today has been a lot. Too much to get into when I have to get going.” I shoot her a tight smile and lift the shower caddy between us. “I really need to get moving or I won’t make it on time and someone else will claim my hour. You know how people are when a studio room is open.”
She wrinkles her nose. “Vultures.”
“Exactly. I promise we’ll talk later.” I step close, hooking her neck with my free arm and pulling her in for a squeeze. “I’m just having a rough time lately. I’m overreacting to everything, and I don’t want that to affect us.”
When I release her, she peers at me with narrowed eyes. “Okay. Take this time to get your head right, then.” Her facesuddenly breaks into a smile. “I’ll allow you a few more hours to wallow, then we’re gonna eat junk food and watch a movie when you get back from rehearsal. And talk. Definitely talk some things through. Okay?”
“Yes. Sounds great.” I exhale, winking before I turn to go. “See you later.”
“You better.”
Twenty minutes later,I bolt to the upper floor of the gymnasium that houses private rooms, as well as one of two women’s locker rooms in the building. I have the final studio hour of the evening and am already three minutes late, which has me feeling frazzled. I hope no one has noticed the room I signed up to use is standing empty. Pushing on the heavy door, I fly inside on a mission to get to my locker, grab my pointe shoes, and make a hasty trip down the hall. The need to run through my choreography a time or ten before tomorrow is gnawing at me, heightening my apprehension about the whole thing.
With my head pounding, I make a mental note to force some water down soon. I’m no doubt dehydrated. The nurse had warned me that I needed to up my fluid intake today, that I’d feel better for it, but— I simply haven’t been able to, and I can’t figure out why I’m like this. I don’t have a clue whether it’s my body physically rebelling against the drugs that’d kicked my ass or that mentally I’m just in one of those moods where I can’t seem to do anything I know is good for me. It’s a problem. One I’ve fought my entire life.
I rub a hand over my face as I head past aisle after aisle of lockers in the expansive locker room. One could assume my issue has to do with becoming aware of the fact someone is out there who attempted to harm me… but I don’t even think that’s it. My issues are more likely stemming from the feeling of betrayal that’d taken root inside me after walking in on Jaxon and Logan together this morning. I was plenty upset before that, but the ache in my chest only began when I stumbled upon them.
I wet my lips as I get to the final row of lockers against the back wall of the room. Turning, I lift my gaze from my feet and jerk to a stop. I blink. Once. Twice.What the fuck? A breath stutters out of me, and I whip my head around, terrified of what—or who—I’ll find here with me… but I’m alone.
Alone with an entire row of open lockers, the contents of which are strewn about the floor. Nerves prickle all along my spine, and my palms dampen as I fight to swallow past fear. Who would do something like this? Why?
Struggling to comprehend the chaos before me, my eyes roam over the jumble of destroyed clothing and sports equipment, my stomach flipping as a wave of nausea rolls through me.Oh, fuck. No. Nonononono.As I stand there, frozen in shock, my breath comes out in short, sharp rasps. I lift one hand to my chest, clenching at the oversize sweatshirt I’d thrown on before leaving the dorm. Fighting to calm myself, I try to swallow, but it’s like there’s something lodged deep in my throat… and when it finally lets loose, it’s a wretched sound, full of disbelief. This can’t be happening.No. Please no.Not today. Not right before the audition. Not my pointe shoes that were perfectly and painstakingly broken in. Anguish crashes through my head, making me dizzy enough that I drop onto the bench, staring at the pink ribbons sticking up out of the chaos.
I lurch forward, falling to my knees, and tug at the ribbons. As I pull them free, my worst fear materializes in the form of amangled ballet-pink satin and leather.Shit. I turn them over in my hands, desperate to see if maybe they aren’t as bad as I’m thinking, but they are. The ribbons are partially torn from where I’d so carefully sewed them on, and there are a couple of slashes in each shoe, rendering them unusable. Tears spring to my eyes. Shit.Fuck.
Somehow, I manage to drag in one breath, then another, then I finally pull my phone out of my pocket. Unlocking it, I tap to open my contacts and jam my shaking finger down on Hazel’s name.
While it rings, I try to steady myself, but it’s proving near impossible. My chin trembles, but I lock my jaw shut. In my ear, Hazel’s voice tells me to “try texting instead, you know I won’t answer.” Grimacing, after the beep, I shoot out, “You need to come check your pointe shoes and whatever you were going to wear for the audition tomorrow. Someone tore up the locker room and emptied half the lockers. I don’t know. I don’t know what to do.” Closing my eyes for a second, I shake my head, jabbing at my phone to end the call before tapping out a quick message of warning to her in case she ignores her voicemail.
You’ve got to come check your locker.
There’s shit everywhere.
My pointe shoes are fucked.
Going to get my backup pair from home.
There’s no way I’ll be able to go all the way home and back in time to run through my audition piece. And frankly, at the moment, I’m too shaken to do anything at all. Opening my contacts again, I quickly find and call my mom’s number, but that goes to voicemail, too.Shit. Auditions start at eight in the morning. I’ve gotta get my shoestonight. While my mind spinsfor a solution, I realize why she didn’t answer. It’s Saturday. My parents have done date night every Saturday without fail for as long as I can remember. Dinner and a movie. And because they use the time to reconnect, they have a phones-off rule.
What the hell am I going to do? I blink, my next inclination is to call Logan, followed closely by a strong urge to have Jaxon here at my side because he’s so good at calming me down when I’m freaking out. I bite my lip, blinking back the tears obscuring my vision. But the two of them kept things from me, and my heart is so bruised, I can hardly draw a breath without the pain of it cascading through me again. I can’t. I just can’t.
Exhaling hard, I pull up Evermore U’s free ride messaging group. I might be shit out of luck, though, because it’s Saturday. The student group that offers the service is a little hit or miss. Fridays are usually not an issue, but there’s something about Saturdays; there are simply far fewer of them willing to help out. Maybe it’s simply that they don’t want to deal with drunk people two nights in a row. Who knows. I fire off my desperate message that I have to get home tonight and how long it’ll take to get there, then allow myself a few seconds to sit in the middle of the disarray.
