Dangerous [Bradley Simpson] Sequel to On the Floor (novella)

Chapter One - Beautiful

It had been six years that I lived without friends, without trust. Six years, I locked myself away in three different cities, trying to protect myself. But more than that, trying to protect the others. I thought that maybe if I disappeared, like I was so good at doing, they would forget about me. That way, no one would feel pain when I died. But unfortunately, I haven't died yet.

"Ms. Morelli?" I heard a little girl call out.

"What is it, Delta?" I asked, looking over to the source. Delta was a tiny girl in kindergarten with thin white-blonde locks and a face that seemed to enchant your mind at her whim. But of course, I had become immune to it now, as we began the second half of the school year.

"The movie stopped." She informed me.

I looked at the TV screen that was playing Annie, now a blinding blue.

"You weren't paying attention, were you?" She hummed.

"You caught me," I snapped my fingers.

She smiled.

"Okay," I sighed. "Sit tight, guys."

I stood up from my desk and went to take the movie out just as the group of five year olds began to chat amongst themselves. After my great escape from London, I became a music teacher back in America, under a new alias -- Adelaide Morelli, with a new social security number, and a new birthday, which I ignored completely. No matter what, my age would only change on May 9, whether my name was Charlotte Glover or Adelaide Morelli.

Throughout the rest of the school day, I re-watched the musical with all my students aged five up to eleven. A movie on the first day back was irresponsible (Two of the other teachers scolded me before the clock struck noon), but today was January 6, 2021. And while that date had no significance to anyone but me, it was presented as an unofficial holiday in my classroom. Because three years ago, on January 6, 2018, I was inches away from slitting my wrists with a loose scrap of metal I had found outside of my cage, eager to bleed to death at the hand of my own rather than hers. That is, until a man in a badge whisked me away to see the sun and the clouds once more. And the weight of that day was still brooding, particularly today of course, and I was completely drained. The mere thought of droning on about composition and pentatonic scales all day made me want to claw off my own skin.

I was hoping that the excitement for my weekend in Seattle would lift my spirits, but it did exactly the opposite. Each day was weighed down with looming anxiety. All I knew was that no matter what, I had to arrive in Seattle on Saturday morning, and I had to find a way to sneak backstage after the show. Couldn't be too hard, right? I was an expert at backstage discretions and getting myself into places I didn't belong. No matter how many times the logical, and more sensible, side of me kept screaming 'no,' my heart was full of determination. I craved to be Charlotte again, and the only way to do that was to destroy the thing that destroyed her. But I couldn't do it alone. As Adelaide, I was weak.

When seven o' clock arrived that cold Saturday evening, I could feel my insides crawling with fear. As I approached the gate, trying to avoid any physical contact with all the teen age girls fighting to get inside, I kept mumbling to myself sweet affirmations. This was the fuel that kept my feet moving. I had to do this. For Charlotte.

When I arrived inside, I went straight to the bar for a glass of water (believe it or not, I quit drinking before I even came back to the states). There was a busty girl with bouncing brown curls framing her petite face behind the bar, who reminded me of my old friend, Allison. I began to wonder where she was now, as the girl approached me. I had always hoped the past six years were treating her well, despite the way our friendship had ended.