I just want it to stop. Please.
I quickly head up to the loft to get ready for bed. Pajamas, teeth, meds, then I find myself starting haggardly at myself in the cold glare of the bathroom mirror.
Another anxious, shuddering shiver creeps down my spine.
What the fuck was inside my friend that made her so afraid?
And what’s inside me?
15
DOVE
My dadalwaysinsiststhat his men drive me into Manhattan for ballet. But I always make them drop me off a few blocks away because Ihatethe idea of being chauffeured in a bullet-proof luxury SUV.
Bag slung over my shoulder, I start to walk the five blocks to the theater. As I do so, I set my guilt aside and open Lark’s diary again.
Dear Boo,
I found three dozen black roses in my locker when I opened it this morning at school. Like legit LOCKED INSIDE.
God, I fucking love him.
My heart wrenches a little as I turn onto Madison Avenue and start down the last two blocks to the Mercury. My eyes drop back to the page.
OMG, he spanked me last night!!! Like a LOT lol. And it was super fucking hot. Maybe that’s why he got me the roses, likean apology. But we were both there, and we both know that I didn’t need ANY sort of apology. He asked if I wanted to try it, and I did, and I got SO FUCKING WET. Like I was leaving a puddle on his jeans lol.
A nauseous feeling curdles in my stomach for invading her privacy like this and snooping into her sex life.
For imaging the scene as she describes it, but withmeover Bane's knee instead, soaking his pants as he spanks my ass.
What's wrong with me? I’m the worst best friend ever.
I think I might disgust myself.
The dark, familiar itch grins to life inside me. The gnawing, clawing, evil within me that whispers in my ear to do terrible things.
You want the needle. You crave that sweet escape.
You want to watch your blood seep out from your open flesh.
You want to jump and end it all.
I inhale sharply and then exhale slowly. Again. Again. Again.
My hands are shaking and my face is colorless as I reach the entrance to the alley that leads from Madison Avenue to the back door of the Mercury Theater and close the diary.
You don’t need those things.
You aren’t that person anymore.
You embrace life now.
I squirrel the book deep in my dance bag and take yet another cleansing breath before I walk down the alley and join the crowd already gathered there.
This is where the dancers tend to congregate before and sometimes after rehearsal. Brooklyn described it to me once, really well I thought, as an “in-between place”: somewhere to stop, take a moment, and forget about life, bills, heartache, drama, and anything else that isn’t dance before we enter that world.
Because inside that building, whether at the barre, in the practice studio, or on stage, the outside world doesn’t matter.
