“This isn’t the leg you broke,” he says and shoves me right back, so that my back hits the toilet tank, and I hiss out a breath. Now my bruises from the other night have bruises.
Dammit. “Rafe—”
“I said.” He pokes a finger into my chest, and his jaw clenches hard. “Start talking.”
Fuck. “Old injury, okay? Flared up when I broke my leg and started using this leg more. Then the change in the weather didn’t help.”
“Knee injury? What kind? And how old?”
Of course Rafe would ask. He can figure this out. He knows. He’s the one training us every Tuesday night at the neighborhood gym. I used to go before I had the shit beaten out of me—twice—and finally ended up with my leg in a cast.
I open my mouth to tell him the truth and to hell with it all, but the nightmare returns full force, sucking the air from my lungs, and ice washes down my back. A violent shudder rocks me, and Rafe grabs my shoulder.
“Look at me, Seth. Hey, l said look at me.” He’s, like, an inch from my face, our noses almost touching. “What the fuck happened to you today?”
“Got a call this morning,” I whisper. “From my mom’s lawyer.”
Silence stretches between us. Long seconds pass.
Then Rafe draws back. “Fuck. I thought she was dead.”
Yeah. Me too. And worst of all? It was easier then.
“Is she here? In Wisconsin?”
“No. She’s… in Indiana. In jail.” My heart is hammering again, so hard I think I might break a rib.
“Okay.” Rafe rubs a hand over his face, then rakes it through his hair. “It’ll be okay, buddy. Just take it easy.”
I wish that were true.
PART II
Monday is quiet. Tuesday is made of sunlight. Wednesday kinda drags but is good. Thursday is peaceful. By Friday there’s an itch between my shoulder blades, an unease in my mind. Friday rolls by, bright and perfect.
I should know better. Quiet is an omen of disaster. The quiet before the storm, and when it rains, it pours.
Chapter Eight
Manon
It’s cold inside the dance academy. The heaters haven’t kicked in yet. A place where dancers exercise all day needs to be cool, or we’d all die of heatstroke.
Not we. They.
I hang my head and curl a little into myself on the hard chair outside the advisor’s office. It’s the cold, I tell myself. Not the fact I’m already an outsider in the place I’ve lived most of my days for a year now. I remember like it was yesterday, my joy when I found out I was accepted, my excitement as I packed my stuff and told my dad goodbye. When I attended my first class. Such a high.
Can’t believe it’s ending. Feels like a nightmare.
Which reminds me of Seth. His nightmare scared me so badly I shiver just by remembering. The way he fought with the covers, calling for someone, calling for help. Grimacing in pain. Desperate to escape from the grip of something terrible.
And I couldn’t help him.
I sigh and lean my head back against the wall. It was just a bad dream. He was okay when I left. Well enough to snap at me and tell me not to touch him.
That stung. It hurt.
It shouldn’t have. I don’t understand why my chest aches thinking about it. I wanted to be friends with him. Like I told him, I like him.