Oh, Jesus. No, no, no…
I started gasping, trying to stand up, but I couldn’t get my legs under me. Where was the figurine I had? I just had it in my hand.
“Wh—what did you give me?” I growled.
He grabbed hold of me, hauling me off the floor and holding me upright with his arms wrapped around me.
“Shhh,” he said.
But I shook my head again and again. No.
Please, no.
“What are you going to do?” I choked out. “What do you want?”
I tried to pull away—tried to stand up—but my brain was slipping sideways, and I couldn’t get control of my limbs.
“I just wanted to hold you,” he said. “One last time.”
Hold? What? His voice was fading, like it was in stereo down a long tunnel.
“Just wanted to hold you.” His voice loomed somewhere over my head as my eyes started to close. “And say I’m really fucking sor—”
“What?” I asked, giving out and falling into him. “I can’t understand you.”
“Don’t let me go,” he whispered in my ear. “Don’t let go.”
“I’m gonna…” My mouth was so dry. “I’m gonna send you to jail.”
His lips rested against my cheek, and I thought I felt his body shake with a silent sob.
But as I fell into sleep and oblivion, his words were sharp and clear in my ear. “Then you better hope I never get out.”
Winter
Present
I sat in the theater, listening to the latest rehearsals for the annual Nutcracker performance and remembering when I was up there with all the little kids, too. The stage was larger than life, and I still remember leaping around as the snow fell, barely registering the audience, because the world up there was far too beautiful to look anywhere else.
Someone squeezed past me in my aisle seat, sitting next to me.
“How are you?” Rika asked.
I just gave her a small smile.
There were no answers to that question. Saying “fine” would seem comical.
I clasped my hands in my lap, chilled from the air, and I dipped my mouth under my thin scarf, breathing out to heat myself up.
“Come stay with us,” she said.
She’d made the offer ever since the haunted house the night before last, but I felt numb now, and I didn’t want to run. I wanted to win.
“You’re helping me,” I pointed out. “I appreciate it.”
We met yesterday about her and Michael sponsoring a performance, and it wasn’t much, but it was a path to get out on my own. They’d get their money back with ticket sales—if I were fortunate enough to have any—and whatever was left we’d split as profit. But she’d called earlier today with more ideas, including a tour. Maybe scouting other performers who weren’t getting seen. She was really into it, and it was nice to have another person excited for my dancing. Other than Damon…
“You look a little dangerous,” she mused. “Like you’ve got ideas.”