Serial

Chapter Nine

I felt like I could've slept for days after meeting with Kyle. The experience had drained me so completely that I wondered if it was possible for someone to suck out your soul just by being around you. Because that's what it felt like. Like he'd drained the life out of me with that one conversation.

I walked through quicksand the rest of the day, opting to go straight home and to bed without indulging in any of my usual nighttime rituals. No stretching at the barre or repairing my ballet gear. I couldn't even get myself to visualize my audition scene, even though my mood probably would've lent to a realistic portrayal of a girl being driven mad with fear and sadness. Instead, I locked my door, turned off my phone, pulled back my covers and retreated from the world I was coming to despise.

Why would anyone choose to live with their eyes wide open if this was what they saw every day? Until now, I'd lived to create beauty but now all I could see was darkness.

My sleep was troubled and the dreams I had were nightmares. Not in the sense that they were filled with death, but they were made up of my own personal hell. The worst one had me going onstage to perform a solo to a ballet I didn't know, nor had I shown up to any of the practices for. I had no idea what steps came next or even what dance we were performing.

When I awoke, I felt emotionally hungover, but with a new day came a new perspective, and I was too much of a control freak to hand the reigns of my life over to someone else.

I couldn't let Kyle bring me down because then he'd win. And I wouldn't be one of his victims. Not anymore. I would do all the things I'd threatened to. Change my address to a PO Box. Get a new number. Anything I could to ensure he would stay out of my life. Considering the evidence they had against him, there was no logical way I'd ever have to see him again.

So, as unpleasant as my ordeal with Kyle had been, it was worth it for it to be over.

It was even relatively easy to get myself out of bed and down to the studio the next morning. We didn't have class, but I wanted to spend a few hours working on technique. And since Zhara owed me for ditching class, it didn't take much to convince him to meet me there for a partner sesh.

Four hours after Zhara and I had started dancing, he finally collapsed on the floor and refused to lift me anymore.

"Come on! Just a few more times. We haven't hit the lifts perfectly ten times in a row yet," I said, exhausted but pushing through it.

"I don't even work this hard for a man, what makes you think I'll do it for you?" he exclaimed, practically out of breath.

I frowned and then dropped down beside him.

"Because I'm your partner. And because it'll make you a better dancer. And because you don't want to have to dance Giselle with Scarlett," I said, pulling at his arm to try and get him to stand back up.

His hand went limp as he gave me his signature bitchy face. "Girl, whiney is so not a good look on you," he said. "And at this point, I'll dance with whoever won't make me lift them right now."

"Zhara," I complained, though I was growing tired, too.

"No means no. I'm done being your chocolate jungle gym. Find another man to climb on," he said.

"Hmph," I said, lying down on my back dramatically.

"There are better ways to work out your aggression, by the way," he said, turning his head and looking at me as we lay on the floor a foot away from each other.

"What are you talking about?" I asked, my face pulsing with heat.

"I mean, seriously, find a man to climb on. Or under. Either one will work," he said. "Whatever's going on with you, whether it's fear or anger or frustration, a little good, old-fashioned physical action could go a long way to curing it."