But Scottie’s question is ringing in my ears.
Why don’t you leave him?
And the answer – the real one, the one I couldn’t say at the bar – rips through my skin, clawing its way into the light.
Because I’m afraid of what might happen if I try.
And I’m so done with that.
‘I said,’ my spine straightens, one vertebra at a time, ‘I’m a person. Not a possession or an accessory. Not something you get to parade around and put away.’
My hands have stopped shaking. The old Ava – the one who didn’t buckle, who believed her own voice had value – is still here. Buried, maybe. But not gone.
Nevin’s expression goes slack.
I keep going, months of silence rushing out in a torrent I can’t control. ‘You treat me like an object. You speak for me. Over me. You introduce me as “your ballerina” and then mock my career to strangers.’ I close in, reckless with adrenaline. ‘”Coat rack.” That’s what you called me. At the Burns Supper. In front of people who shook my hand ten minutes earlier.’
‘Ava, I?—’
‘No. You don’t get to interrupt this time. You’ve interrupted every conversation I’ve tried to have for months. You’ve told me what to wear. Who to talk to. How to smile.’ My voice cracks, then steadies. ‘You’ve been sanding me into sawdust, piece by piece.’
A vein ticks in his temple. ‘You don’t know what you’re saying.’
‘I know exactly what I’m saying.’ My tone is calm. The same control I use at the barre. ‘I see you, Nevin. Not the charmer or the guy who buys flowers and books spa days. The one underneath.’
‘That’s not?—’
‘Your parents are awful to you.’ I say it with no sting. ‘Your mother is a cold snob, your father is a bully, and you’ve spent your whole life trying to prove you’re good enough for people who will never give you that. And I’m sorry. I really am. That’s unjust and cruel, and you don’t deserve it.’
Recognition flickers in his face. He smothers it quickly.
‘But it doesn’t give you the right to become them.’ I hold his gaze. ‘It doesn’t give you the right to make me feel small so you can feel big. That’s not love. That’s toxic and abusive, and I’m sick of it.’
His features cycle through shock, confusion, pain, and a flash of guilt he buries before it fully surfaces.
Then his expression hardens. ‘You think you’re so clever.’ His voice comes out venomous. ‘Standing there, psychoanalysing me. Throwing my family in my face. You think you’ve got it all figured out?’
‘I think I’ve waited too long to say any of this.’
‘No.’ He plants himself right in front of my face. ‘What you’ve done is let another man get inside your head. Scottie fucking Kerr, of all people. The saddest bastard on the team. And now you’re parroting his bullshit, pretending it’s insight.’
‘This isn’t about Scottie.’
‘It is.’ He jabs a finger at my chest. ‘The question is whether you’ve fucked him yet, or if you’re just working up to it.’
I don’t flinch at the accusation. I’m past flinching. The instinct to survive him vanishes. Now I want to find his deepest fracture and dig into it.
‘You’re not pissed off because Scottie looked at me.’ I speak quietly. ‘You’re mad because someone finally did. You’re a weak, sad human being, and you can’t stand anyone outshining you. And everybody knows it. I’m embarrassed for you.’
Silence rushes in to fill the vacuum. For three seconds, Nevin doesn’t breathe. The colour drains from his face.
‘What did you just say?’
I don’t look away. ‘You’ve spent months making me small enough to fit in your pocket. And now someone’s noticed me anyway, and it’s killing you. Not because you want me. You stopped wanting me the moment I stopped fighting back. This – us – is over.’
His breath comes fast. His hands curl into fists at his sides.
‘I’m leaving you because I’m done.’ The sentence is a stone dropped into still water, ripples spreading outward. ‘I don’t know where I’m going, but I’ll figure it out. I should have left months ago.’
