Page 37 of Corrupted Union

It’s not so unreasonable. And besides, what else do you have to do? You’re trapped here.

That’s when I noticed what was packed beneath the toys. My dance clothes. He’d packed every single piece of dance gear I had—sports bras, tanks, leggings, tights—all of it. He even had both pairs of my lyrical shoes at the bottom, and there was a note inside one.

I want to see you dance again. Just for me.

My heart skittered haphazardly.

There might have been others watching the last time, but even then, I’d been dancing only for him. Not that I’d admit it aloud. He probably just thought it was hot, but he didn’t realize dance meant so much more to me. Dancing was an expression of my soul. The one outlet I allowed myself. Giving him that part of me meant so much more than he could know.

I selected a tank and shorts and went to change. With my mind turned toward dance, I could think of nothing else. The one silver lining about returning home was the dance studio my parents had built for me in the basement. I had twenty-four-hour access to the perfect wood flooring, adjustable lighting, and a wall of frosted glass mirrors. Down there, I could escape the myriad of questions running circles in my head and simply feel the music.

I danced for two solid hours.

It felt incredible—so relieving that I even had the capacity to handle a text that had come through from Stetson.

Stetson: I know you said you’re sick, but I’d like to come by. I’m getting worried.

I sat on the ground cross-legged and typed my response.

Me: Mom and Dad insisted I stay with them, so there’s nothing to worry about. I’m already feeling better.

I was desperately curious how much he knew. Had his father or Hannah told him I’d been by the other day? He’d never mentioned it. We’d texted some about superficial things. I hated stringing him along, but I also felt shitty about breaking up over text. Considering how unexpected it would be, even a breakup over the phone would be unnecessarily harsh. Stetson was just as much a victim in all this as I was.

Stetson: That’s good to hear. You need for me to talk to professors or anything?

Me: I’ve emailed all of them. It shouldn’t be a problem, but thanks!

Stetson: K, get some rest. I’ll come see you tomorrow. ??

Me: ??

I wasn’t sure if Keir would be okay with Stetson coming over. I made a mental note to ask as I set my phone on the ground and lifted my gaze to the mirror. I’d never liked mirrors, so my parents hadn’t questioned when I’d asked for frosted glass in my studio. The effect was perfect. I could see the flow of movement without any distracting focus on details.

Like now, I could tell my hair was probably a mess in an auburn pile on my head, but I couldn’t see enough to stress over it. I used a small magnifying mirror to apply my makeup. That was it.

Who hates mirrors but wears makeup religiously? It didn’t make sense to most people, which was partly why I’d stopped trying. Other girls couldn’t relate to me, which made me a loner in school. As I got older, I learned to better mask my irregularities, but I was still that messed up girl underneath it all.

Stop, Ro. Stop right now. Negative self-talk is beneath you.

I huffed, not sure anything was beneath me.

My phone dinged. I turned it over, surprised when it wasn’t Stetson.

Keir: I’m taking you out tonight. Wear something nice.

Going out was the last thing I’d expected. Wouldn’t it be dangerous? What if someone I knew saw us?

Me: Would this look like a date??

Keir: Yes.

Me: What about Stetson? I can’t be seen going on a date with someone else.

My phone rang.

“Hello?” I answered with a question because even though I knew it was Keir, I wasn’t sure why he needed to call.

“Tell me you’re not serious.”

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