Page 67 of Lyrical (Academy of Stardom 2)

Not hip-hop.

Butlyrical. He dances to express the words of the song and every damn move he makes is like a knife gutting my stomach. York was correct. Heishurting, and it’s painful to watch.

But that doesn’t make this right.

I danced the way I did to prevent myself from getting raped.

He’s dancing to hurt me.

With every step he rips up the friendship we had as kids and leaves it in tatters across the studio floor. With every jerk of his torso, and snap of his limbs, he shreds my heart.

The tears come this time, and there’s nothing I can do to stop them.

If Xeno notices my tears, it doesn’t prevent him from sliding the knife in further.

He glares at me, every sinew and muscle taut and angry as he dances. There’s no softness to his movements, there’s no empathy in his gaze, no understanding.

Just anger. Raw, painful anger.

He thinksI’vegot a nerve wanting to reconnect. He doesn’t believe I deserve them. Well, fuck him.

On the other side of the studio, Xeno drops his head, his shoulders stiffening as he breathes heavily. My stomach tightens, and my heart squeezes painfully. He’s so fucking lost in his anger, and I hate it. Why can’t he let it go? Why can’t he allow himself to see past his own pain?

“Xeno…”

His head snaps back up at the sound of my voice and his eyes narrow.

Fuck.

Xeno sprints towards me, all that anger and pain forcing his legs to move, then he throws his legs out in front of him and slides across the floor. I stiffen, waiting for the moment of impact, but his feet meet the front chair legs and he pushes me across the floor a few feet from the force. My heart hammers inside my chest as he looks up at me from his position on the floor.

“Xeno, stop,” I whisper.

My voice comes out weak, and I hate that. It doesn’t reflect how I feel inside. I’m angry, livid, and so utterly heartbroken. Swallowing hard, I wipe at the tears on my face and maintain his gaze. I want him to know that I hurt just as much as he does, that he doesn’t get exclusive rights to pain.

He shakes his head and grits his jaw then pushes upwards onto his feet and continues to dance. Every step is as angry as the last. By the time he’s finished, I’m as heartbroken as I was that night at Rocks when I walked away.

“Now you know howIfeel,” he grinds out, striding towards me, a light sheen of sweat covering his skin. “Get out of my studio, Pen.”

But I can’t seem to move. Instead, my gaze drops from his eyes to the tattoo on his right arm that I’ve seen from a distance but haven’t looked at closely before now. There’s an anatomical drawing of a heart surrounded by a diamond shape. Three of the points have circles and the lowest point merges with the bottom of the shattered heart, broken pieces falling into a coin with large cracks running through it.

Apenny.

I reach for it, my fingers stroking over the shattered heart, and resting on the coin. Beneath the Queen’s head is a name.

Tiny.

“Xeno?” I question, looking up to meet his gaze once more.

“You broke me first,” he accuses, echoing the title of the song.

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