Lacey
One year ago…
The city lightspass by in a blur of color, twinkling and bright like glittery promises in the night sky. There might be stars up there somewhere. It’s hard to tell in the middle of the city. I don’t have time to look up and enjoy them anyway, so there’s no point in even wondering.
I slow to a stop at a red light as my phone pings. I already know who it is without having to pull it from my purse, but I do anyway. It’s not his fault I’m beyond exhausted. He means well. I know he does. Hell, he might be the only one who cares.
L: I don’t like that you’re out driving so late. You need to let me get you a driver. I’m worried about you.
Another message comes through.
L: You better not be reading this while you’re driving.
The corners of my lips twitch, but I’m too tired to smile as I toss my phone into my purse and wait until the light turns green.
Cars buzz along the streets around me, but I hardly notice. The throbbing in my temples is too distracting. By now, I should be accustomed to these ballerina buns, but it seems like no matter how much I work or how long I do this, I still struggle. Just to be enough. Skinny enough. Elegant enough. And according to my mom, I’ll never amount to any of those things because I don’t work hard enough.
I’d like to think practicing over eighty hours a week would be acceptable, but maybe I do need to do more.
At another red light, I reach up and pull the pins from my hair, sighing as strands of my overly processed blonde hair come out with them. Traffic is heavy since it’s the weekend, so my stop seems longer than usual. At least I’ll have my hair out of this painful style by the time it’s my turn.
Just as my long blonde tresses come free, my scalp aching, I get my fingers in to massage it, and the light turns green. Taking a deep breath, I ease off the brake.
My stomach growls, so I automatically reach for my water bottle since it’s past seven in the evening and I’ve already eaten my calorie limit for the day. I suck through the straw, but there’s not even enough for a sip left, and that was my fourth and last bottle of water for the day.
Shit.
I’ve got to learn to pace myself.
Control. It’s all about control.
Tears form in the corners of my eyes.
I would do just about anything for a cheeseburger right now. Or even an apple. I’m so hungry.
Shaking my head, I let out a deep breath and force myself not to think about food. There are more important things to focus on. Like my opening show this next weekend.
I’ve been prepping for this for years. And finally, this is it. The moment my mother has been waiting for all my life. And maybe, just maybe, this time next year, I’ll be in New York, dancing on Broadway.
The lights of the city center dim as I get farther away from the dance studio. With each block I pass, I get even sleepier. Only a few more minutes until I can fall into bed for six hours.
Another red light and I pick up my phone to look at the next message.
L: Don’t let her put extra pressure on you. You’re a star, and you’ll shine no matter what. You’re a Ricci after all.
My chest aches, and I hover my thumb over the screen to reply, but the light finally turns so I toss my phone back into my bag.
As soon as I drive into the intersection, I’m blinded by lights so bright they could light up a football stadium. Wheels screech loudly, sending a sharp shiver down my spine, right before what sounds like a bomb goes off. Everything happens so slow, but so fast.
Glass explodes like a bomb, sending fragments flying everywhere.
My gym bag, purse, and water bottle bang around as I’m tossed upside down, held in place only by my seatbelt. Metal against metal crunching and other horrifying crashing sounds are all I hear. I’m screaming, but I can’t hear it. My heart thuds harder and faster, everything around me spinning and moving.
Almost as quickly as it happens, it stops. Everything goes eerily silent for what feels like an eternity. That’s when the most excruciating pain hits. I try to scream, but nothing comes out. Something warm and wet drips down the side of my face. I touchit and pull my hand away to stare at the sticky, crimson blood coating my fingers.
Oh, God.
My surroundings seem fuzzy as my head rolls back against the seat.
