Page 55 of Lyrical (Academy of Stardom 2)

20

York

Ican’t help myself.

I thought I’d got a lid on my emotions around her.

I fucking haven’t.

And by the brief flash of pain in Pen’s eyes, she thinks all this hate I feel is aimed at her.

It isn’t.

It’s aimed atme.

I fucking hate myself.

I hate myself for watching Pen unravel her soul and cut herself open at Grim’s club and not doing anything to stop it.

I hate that it wasn’t me who climbed into the cage and fucking choked Malik Brov for putting his hands and lips on her.

I hate that I let her believe I would ever consider making a deal with the bastard.

I hate that I didn’t chase after her, that I didn’t check in with her at any point this past week to see if she was okay.

I hate that Zayn did, that he was the first to chip at the walls encasing her heart.

I hate that I’m still torn when it comes to her.

I hate that nothing is clear as it was, that I don’t know what the fuck to do.

But mostly, I hate that she’s here now hurting again, because I can’t seem to get over my fucking self and really tell her how I feel.

So I let my steps do the talking. I leave my face a blank mask, because even though I’ve always been able to read Pen’s expression to see her innermost thoughts, Pen’s gift is not just expressing herself through dance, but reading us in the same way. I dropped dance the moment she left us, refusing to open myself up to anyone like that again. I didn’t want anyone else to be able to read me.

Just her.

Just Pen.

Just Titch.

Coming back here was a means to an end. We have a goal, an end in sight. That’s it. That’s all. Except now it’s so much more than that. Now, I’m faced with Pen on a daily basis and reminded of all the things I want. That I never stopped wanting.

And I hate myself for that too.

Kate Bush sings about being hurt by someone unintentionally, reflecting my growing thoughts about Pen’s decision to walk away and how none of us acted. Pen hurt me. I hurt her. We were fucking blown apart from the events of that night three years ago and all that pain was echoed once more in the way she danced at Grim’s club.

Now I’m an open wound. A goddamn mess.

Slamming my feet on the floor, I let my emotion seep into the boards. My steps speak for themselves. I don’t think my feet have ever moved this fast or with such intention. Pen watches me, struggling to hide the emotion on her face as I move around her in a circle, slamming my feet against the boards, ripping up all the rules of tap and making this dance my bitch. She flinches with every step, her jaw tightening, her eyes glassy.

Both of us are oblivious to the other dancers in the room.

There is onlyus.

There has only ever been us.

And I fucking hate that she walked away from what we had.

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