Page 1 of For Us

PROLOGUE

The stage lights shone brightly, casting a warm glow on Lizzie's skin as she took her final step forward. She knew her smile was wide and inviting, with the confidence of a born performer; she'd practiced it endlessly in the mirror earlier. The audience erupted into applause, their cheers an intoxicating affirmation of her hard work and dedication.

"Thank you!" she called out, waving to the sea of faces before her. The blinding lights made it difficult to see anyone in particular, but that didn't matter. Right now, this moment was hers, and she soaked it in like a sponge.

As soon as she exited the stage, Lizzie hurried down the dimly lit hallway toward her dressing room. The sound of the audience's approval still echoed in her ears, but it had already begun to fade. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, the adrenaline wearing off as reality began to set back in.

The moment she set foot in her dressing room, Lizzie allowed her smile to fall away like a discarded mask. The room seemed smaller than before, the familiar scents of makeup and hairspray failing to bring her any comfort. With each step closer to the mirror, Lizzie felt more and more like a stranger in her own body.

"Alright, Lizzie," she whispered to herself, staring at her reflection. "You did it. Now just breathe."

Lizzie's chest heaved as she let out a shaky breath, her legs giving way beneath her. She collapsed into the plush chair in the corner of her dressing room, feeling the weight of the performance bear down on her. A cold sweat dampened her skin, and she could already feel the encroaching threat of anxiety clawing at the edges of her mind.

Did I... did I mess up?she wondered to herself. Her hands trembled, clasped tightly together in her lap.No, no, Lizzie, you were great,she tried to reassure herself, but doubt gnawed at her heart like a ravenous beast.

Her mind raced as she replayed every minute of her act, meticulously dissecting each moment with merciless scrutiny. The graceful twirl that felt slightly off-balance, the brief, almost imperceptible hesitation before launching into her final pose. Each perceived flaw amplified until it consumed her thoughts, obliterating any trace of triumph that had lingered from the applause.

"Stop it!" she muttered through gritted teeth, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. But her mind refused to relent, dragging her deeper and deeper into the relentless storm of self-doubt. "Five, six, seven, eight," she muttered frantically, her fingers tapping out the rhythm against her thigh as if trying to physically banish the mistake from existence. "I knew I should've practiced more."

Her tear-filled gaze locked onto her reflection in the mirror.You're a wreck, Lizzie. Just because you didn't nail that one move doesn't mean it's all over.Her own words of encouragement sounded hollow and unconvincing, even to herself.

Maybe they didn't notice, she reasoned, desperately clinging to the hope that the audience had been too captivated by her performance to spot any errors. But the thought brought little comfort, for she knew that she would always be haunted by the knowledge of her imperfections.

As Lizzie sank further into her thoughts, she couldn't help but feel as though she were teetering on the edge of some dark abyss. The pressure and expectations she had placed upon herself threatened to swallow her whole, leaving nothing behind but a hollow shell of who she used to be. And yet, in the depths of her despair, there was one thing that remained certain: she would not let this moment define her. She might stumble and falter, but she would keep pushing forward, striving to become the best version of herself.

"Come on, Lizzie," she whispered, her voice wavering. "You're stronger than this."

Just then, a faint creaking sound drew her attention away from the mirror. Lizzie's heart skipped a beat as she turned towards the source of the noise. In that split second, the dressing room door flew open and a man emerged from the shadows, brandishing a gun.

"Don't you dare scream," he hissed, his voice low and menacing.

Lizzie's eyes widened in terror, her breath catching in her throat. She instinctively raised her hands in surrender, unable to comprehend what was happening.

"Wh-what do you want?" she stammered, her voice barely audible.

"Move. Follow me. And stay quiet," he ordered, his cold gaze never leaving her face. "I know about your secret, Lizzie."

Her stomach churned at the mention of her secret, but she knew she couldn't let him see her fear. She nodded silently, trying to keep her breathing steady, but the questions kept coming. Who was this man? How did he know her secret?

And most importantly, what did he plan to do with her?

"Walk," he commanded, gesturing towards the door with the gun.

With no other choice, Lizzie forced herself to take one shaky step, then another, feeling the weight of the gun pressing into her back like an icy blade. Her thoughts swirled chaotically, searching for any way out of this nightmare. But deep down, she knew that there was no escape, not when her darkest secret was on the line. She'd rather die than let it be exposed.

"Keep moving," the man growled, his impatience evident in the tightness of his grip on the weapon.

As they made their way through dimly lit corridors, Lizzie tried to memorize their path, her mind working overtime to formulate a plan. She knew she had to act fast before it was too late. But for now, she could only follow the man's orders and hope that an opportunity would present itself.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked, her voice trembling with fear and anger. "Why are you doing this?"

"Shut up," he snapped, giving her a shove forward. "You'll find out soon enough."

They found their way to the exit, and Lizzie felt as though she were stepping closer to her doom with every step. The air outside was heavy with humidity, clinging to Lizzie's skin like a film. It was so dark that she could barely see the street in front of her. The gun pressed against her back was a constant reminder of the precariousness of her situation, yet it also fueled her determination to find a way out. But could there be a way out?

"Turn left here," the man commanded, his voice low and menacing. Lizzie obeyed, feeling the damp pavement beneath her feet as they entered a narrow, dimly lit alleyway. The scent of rotting garbage filled her nostrils, and she tried not to gag.

"Can't you tell me what you want?" Lizzie asked, her voice quivering. She hated herself for showing her fear, but she couldn't help it.

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