Page 61 of Lovely Venom

“Of course.”

“I used to think I was safe because I locked everyone out so nobody could ever hurt me again. But that also meant I could never let anyone in to love me either. You can still have the life you want, whatever that is. You just have to let yourself.”

My throat tightens as I take a moment to collect myself before I speak.

“That seems to be a recurring message in my life lately.”

“Maybe the universe is trying to tell you something,” she says. “And maybe you should start listening.”

I offer her a wobbly smile, and we change the subject, catching up on other things as we do our hair and makeup. Midway, I pause to help Kenzie with her lashes, and she helps me with my hair. But as she’s removing the pins, she frowns when she notices the fading bruises on my neck.

“What happened?” she asks.

“It’s a long story, and not really worth repeating.”

“It wasn’t the stalker, was it?” She worries her lip between her teeth.

“No. Far less dramatic than that. It was a drunk with daddy issues.”

“The absolute worst.” She rolls her eyes. “But you’re okay?”

“I am,” I assure her.

Truthfully, Marco is the least of my concerns right now. I’m just relieved there wasn’t a note from the stalker when I arrived. That alone will make the night a good one.

After hair and makeup, Kenzie and I do some stretching and warm-ups together before it’s time to dress. Our costumes are elaborate, often consisting of corsetry, stockings, garters, and well-placed pieces of adhesive tape.

Tonight’s ensemble is circus-themed, and my costume is complex, with a lot of pieces. The black leather bra is overlaid with a strappy harness and anchored by gold O-rings at the center of my chest and waist. There’s also a high-waisted pair of leather briefs with garter straps, fishnet stockings, gloves, a choker, and black knee-high dominatrix-style boots.

The opening number is always a big performance. It’s our first chance to pull the audience in and let them know what to expect for the evening. This particular act can only be described as organized chaos. It has a bit of everything, including human carousels, jugglers, dancers in tight formations, contortionists, a couple of Strongmen, and of course—aerialists.

We all have to be at the top of our game, working together like a million moving parts in one big machine. This is why we practice every show an insane amount of times until it’s ingrained in us like muscle memory. But it doesn’t matter how many performances we do, the vast majority of us still get nerves.

Ten minutes before every show, our stage manager Meredith gathers us into a circle. We shake out our limbs, do some breathing exercises, and then hold one note in unison until we inevitably start laughing. It’s a good way to break the tension, and tonight when we finish, I’m feeling pretty centered despite the turbulence of the last few days.

When it’s time for us to take our places on stage, the usual madness unfolds with last-minute costume adjustments, sound checks, and Meredith doing her final walk-through. Describing it as a circus would be accurate.

The aerial tech checks the flight harness that’s hidden beneath my briefs and secures the flight line. I confirm that I’m locked in before it retracts into the ceiling where it’s obscured by lighting.

On Meredith’s cue, the music plays, and we begin the performance to the low instrumental build of Circus by Britney Spears. The idea is that the stage is already alive, so when the curtain rises, that’s exactly what the audience sees.

The ringmaster commands center stage with the crack of a whip, while dancers hold small, rigid formations. I’m currently stationed in the cane line, where our choreography consists of floor taps with circus-level precision.

After twenty seconds, a few of us exchange restless glances. Then one of the aerialists intentionally misses a beat, and the formation starts to crack.

I’m the first to break away, spinning the cane in my hand as I stroll toward center stage in search of something more exciting. The other aerialists follow, moving toward their positions as I approach the ringmaster in silent challenge.

Circling around, I size him up as the illuminated circus sphere descends from the ceiling above me.

On the beat, I stop in front of him, shoving my cane against his chest. He grabs it and stumbles back in confusion as I slip my wrist through the hand loop attached to the circus sphere. To the audience, it appears as if it’s all that’s holding me up, but behind the sphere, the flight line engages, and my rig catches tension.

I’m pulled upward, disappearing into a haze of smoke and lights. While I’m obscured from the audience, a backstage tech fastens a cropped ringmaster jacket onto me using magnetic closures.

The music shifts, and I begin my drop, spinning rapidly while the other aerialists descend from thick ropes on both sides of the stage. Midway through, I slow the turns and execute a split extension, back bowing gracefully just before I reposition myself for landing.

It’s a smooth transition onto the stage as some of the ensemble cast closes in around me. Once I’m concealed, the flight line releases and vanishes into the ceiling.

The other dancers break away into two line formations, and I adjust my lapels as I confront the ringmaster. The music cuts, and the entire cast freezes when I yank him closer for my examination. When he submits, I remove the whip from his hand and dismiss him before I turn to face the crowd.