Page 1 of Shattered Rhythm

CHAPTERONE

Olivia

The stars twinkle in the deep blue night sky above my head. Is this heaven? Is this what the afterlife looks like? The pain in my leg is unbearable, like nothing I have ever felt before. I hope that heaven doesn’t feel like this, or I would feel betrayed.I attempt to lift my head, but it only makes the pain heighten, and a scream rips out of me. The physical trauma is only topped by the emotional one.They are gone. I am all alone. My eyes water as I try to get my head around what just happened.

“S-sweet girl, the paramedics are on their way. Hold on just a bit longer. Everything will be okay,” says a familiar, elderly voice, breaking through the haze of pain, andI recognize her immediately. It’s Mrs. Brown, our neighbor. I need to tell her to run, to get away from me. Nothing will ever be okay again. I try to open my mouth to tell her just that, but my vision grows hazy, and the last thing I hear before blackness consumes me are distant sirens.

* * *

Liv

I sit up straight, panting from the nightmare, rubbing my eyes, still foggy from sleep, and take in the bare room. It’s dark, and the only things in sight are two bags near the kitchenette. Slowly, I remember I’m in Florida, in my new studio apartment.Everything happened almost a year ago, and I’m safe here.

I set the alarm clock early because I needed to unpack, buy some groceries, and plan out the week before starting at Florida Atlantic University tomorrow. I’m going to complete my Bachelor of Fine Arts in dance, something I’ve been working towards while touring and performing with Liam. Studying online was fine, but I never had the chance to experience real college life. As a junior, I’m eager to dive in and see what college has in store for me, but I decided to skip the dorms. I’m too socially awkward to feel comfortable sharing such a small space with a roommate, and my nightmares and strange schedule would only make things worse.

I just got the keys to the apartment yesterday evening when I arrived here. I rented the apartment without seeing it first, all over email. I’m happy that it’s located in a decent enough area, but it doesn’t look as good as the pictures the real estate agent sent me. The apartment is not in the best shape, but this whole situation was more last minute than I anticipated, and I just had to take what I got. It was the only apartment still available near campus, and I was just happy to have found something. As soon as I’ve settled in a bit, I can go out and search for something better. It would need a garage, though. I splurged on a green Mini Cooper convertible to get around, and I’m not thrilled with just parking it outside in front of the complex.

I rummage through one of my bags until I find a set of fresh underwear, socks, a pair of leggings, and a matching sweatshirt. After gathering my things, I make my way to my tiny bathroom to freshen up, washing my face and brushing my teeth. I left my long brown hair in a bun for the night, so I pull it out and brush it, letting the waves fall nearly to the top of my butt.I need a fresh haircut.

As I apply moisturizer to my face, I debate whether or not to wear makeup today. The dark circles under my olive green eyes tell me I should, but I don’t feel like it. I’ve been having nightmares six out of seven days a week, and it’s taking a toll on me emotionally and physically.

I sit on the toilet seat to put my socks on and can’t help but chuckle. The bathroom is more long than wide, with a bathtub in the corner, and if I reach out with my hand, I can touch the door. Liam once said that when you can touch the bathroom door while sitting on the toilet, it’s the ultimate sign that you are poor, which is such a trust fund baby thing to say.

Liam and I both come from wealthy families. His father is the head of one of the biggest healthcare companies in Canada, which owns lots of hospitals and clinics. My father was the head of the cardiology department at one of his hospitals. While my father worked hard for his position and taught my brother and me kindness and modesty, Liam’s father came from old money and has always considered himself to be part of the upper class. He showed Liam by example how to be entitled, and it’s rubbed off on him more and more over time. I can’t help but wonder how my father and Liam’s father could have been such close friends despite their differences.

Liam wasn’t always so impossibly spoiled, but his father’s influence has changed him. It may have also gotten worse with the fame and money we both made together. Towards the end of our career, we were considered stars in Canada and made a ton of money with performances and by monetizing our YouTube videos. If I hadn’t been the shy and timid type that I am, or had my family to ground me, I may have gotten a big head too. It’s crazy what fame can do to you and how much the fake world and fake friends can influence you if you’re not careful. Plus, if something happens, they all turn on you in the blink of an eye.I learned that the hard way.

I put on my leggings and debate about the sweatshirt. It’s already late August, but it’s still incredibly warm here in Florida. I didn’t consider the weather when I chose this place as my new home. All I wanted was a life by the beach, surrounded by palm trees and happy people, without the harsh winters. I mentally face-palm at my shortsightedness.Of course it’s going to be warm here.

I have scars from the night that ruined everything and the surgeries that followed. The biggest one is a surgery scar that runs from the front of my upper right thigh to the middle of my shin. Since there were three operations required to fix my shattered knee, it’s a big and ragged scar. It doesn’t bother me much since I can wear thin leggings, and if it gets too hot, I can still wear shorts. It would just mean I had to endure the stares and dirty looks I’ve become accustomed to. The scars on my left shoulder and forearm bother me more. They’re ugly, and I have to fight the negative feelings that come with them every day, but what’s even harder to handle are the panic attacks that come from looking at them. My own body triggers my PTSD, which is something I have to deal with every day. It’s not a constant thing and it’s even rare these days, but when I’m overwhelmed or in a bad headspace, just looking at my scars can take me back mentally to when I got them, which is the last place I want to be. So I hide them, not just from others, but more importantly, from myself.

The past year has been the most challenging time of my life, both emotionally and physically. I was used to months-long, grueling schedules full of long rehearsals and intense workouts on very little sleep. Being perfectly fit and looking my best all the time was a full-time job, but going through physical therapy, learning how to walk again, attending trauma therapy sessions, and just trying to keep on living while everyone I loved was gone and everyone else seemed to be against me, that was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.It still is. Even though my life has been forever changed and I am all alone now, I’m determined to live as happy a life as I can. If not for myself,I will do it for them.

I get out of the bathroom and search for the schedule I left somewhere on the floor.Note to self—I need a desk.Checking it, I see that my week starts with a choreography class at nine am, followed by dance history. Thanks to the credits I earned while studying online, the workload this year should be manageable. I even managed to snag a class free Friday. I’m feeling both excited and nervous at the same time, so I double-check the map of the campus to make sure I know my way around. When I’m done, I grab my purse and keys and get out of the apartment. It’s sunny out, so I put on my sunglasses. Even from a distance, I can smell the salty sea air.I can hardly wait for my new life to start.

CHAPTERTWO

Liv

It’s already getting dark outside when I come back, and I’ve struggled to carry all the bags from my car up the few stairs to the entry of the complex and into the elevator. I may have gone overboard with everything I bought, but the apartment was bare except for the bed and built-in closet, and I needed at least the necessities. Whoever said shopping isn’t therapeutic truly hasn’t done it right, and I didn’t even get any clothes. There was no time. I needed a desk, a desk chair, a TV stand, and a TV, which will all be delivered tomorrow in the early evening. Then I needed a laptop, a new phone and number, kitchen utensils, toiletries, groceries, and so on. I’ve already brought all the bags up to my fourth floor apartment and have only one more trip to the car to get my espresso machine. The box is so huge, I almost didn’t get it into the small trunk of the Mini.

I’m walking up the stairs with it in my arms, my whole upper body hidden by the box, when a deep voice asks me, “Do you need help with that?”

I just want to decline when the box is taken out of my hands. “Oh, that’s kind of you, but I got it, thanks.” I smile at the stranger, reaching out to take my espresso machine back, but he just looks at me with wide eyes, like he is shocked to see me.

Oh god no.Please don’t let me be recognized on the first day, and not in my new apartment complex of all places. I try to rationalize the situation, thinking maybe he recognizes me but can’t remember why I seem familiar. So I go on the offensive and tell him my new name in the hopes of throwing him off track.

“Thank you for your help. I’m Liv Michaels and just moved in here. What’s your name?” Saying my new last name out loud is going to take some getting used to.

“Gunner” he just says.

“Thanks for the help, Gunner,” I say, trying to break the awkward silence.

I take a closer look at him, noticing his muscular build and bald head. He has some dark stubble, kind grey eyes, and a scar through his left eyebrow, cutting out some hair. He’s older than me, maybe in his mid-twenties, and he’s tall, possibly around six-foot-three, especially compared to my five-foot-four. His black suit and earpiece give off a bodyguard vibe, making me wonder if he’s actually part of a security detail for the complex.

“Are you a security guard here?” I ask.

Gunner blinks, still looking a bit dazed. “Uh, no, I’m not a security guard for the building, but I work for a security firm,” he says with a small smile.

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