Chapter 19 #4
I executed my routine, muscle memory carrying me through complex sequences while my mind floated somewhere between present and past. My body knew these movements intimately—the arch of my spine, the flex of my thighs, the controlled fall into gravity-defying holds.
Each transition flowed into the next like water, like violence, like sex.
As I completed my final sequence—an inverted split that required core strength most people couldn’t fathom—I allowed myself to meet Rowan’s gaze directly. A challenge. Something electric and dangerous crackled between us across the crowded room.
His expression revealed nothing, but his posture shifted subtly, weight transferring forward like a fencer preparing to advance.
I smiled at him before dismounting, knowing he witnessed my very deliberate provocation.
Back in the dressing room, I wiped away sweat and changed into my street clothes. My body hummed with residual adrenaline and something else, something that had more to do with Rowan’s presence than the dance itself.
I reached into my bag, snagged my water bottle, and took a long swig to quench my parched throat. I was eager to leave, knowing Rowan would be at the bar nursing his sickly sweet fruit juice concoction. Where he will station himself every night from now on. Every single time I dance.
The thought should have irritated me. Instead, I smiled.
Reaching the hallway leading from backstage, I stumbled. My legs felt strange—disconnected, like they belonged to someone else. I tried moving forward, and my bag slipped from nerveless fingers, contents scattering across the polished floor.
What the fuck?
“Whoa there, easy now.” A feminine voice accompanied strong hands catching me as I pitched forward.
My vision blurred, edges going fuzzy and indistinct. Fear crystallized in my chest, sharp and immediate as a wave of heat blasted through me.
Have I been drugged?
“Please.” The word emerged slurred, my tongue thick and uncooperative. Fear threatened to take over, but the drug’s effects were quick, forcing me to accept my helplessness once more.
“Jules!” The woman holding me screamed, and suddenly the scent of cotton candy flooded my senses.
Jules. I can trust Jules. Can I trust Jules?
Thinking was becoming difficult. Fire erupted beneath my skin, consuming me from the inside.
Too many sounds—the music pounding through walls, conversations bleeding together into incomprehensible noise.
Too much light—every bulb felt like staring into the sun.
Sensations burned through me as if my clothes had transformed into sandpaper, abrading flesh with every breath.
I squeezed my eyes shut and clamped my hands over my ears, but I still heard and felt the music throbbing through walls. Each bass note shot agony through my skull.
A hand touched my cheek, cool against my burning skin, and I looked to see who it was.
Two pairs of eyes, one piercing blue and the other rich brown, stared back at me.
The woman beside Jules possessed sharp, angular features that suggested Indigenous heritage, though her pixie-cut hair glowed neon blue beneath kohl-lined eyes that looked ripped from anime.
She appeared like a manga character manifested in three dimensions, and the incongruity made my drugged brain stutter.
A glowing haze surrounded them both. Jules was bathed in pink warmth while her companion was haloed in a deep inky purple. What was I given?
“She’s been drugged, Jules.” The blue-haired woman half-guided me, half-dragged me towards a room.
Jules’s voice carried panic I’d never heard from her before. “There’s no way. Nobody would dare do something that stupid. Certainly not while he’s actually here, in the building.”
“Well, for someone who claims to be omniscient within his domain, I think he could benefit from a little humility.” The other woman’s voice dripped sarcasm.
“Don’t you fucking start, Celine.” Jules hissed, and I couldn’t stop the laughter that bubbled out of me. It had been a long time since I heard Jules swear.
You sound just like when I failed to transition from a sneaky-v to a cradle spin.
“What did she just say?” The woman named Celine asked.
Jules said, “She’s delirious. Poor girl. On her first night, no less.”
“It’s one hell of a welcome,” Celine said as she lowered me onto a reclining chair, the soft and supple leather cool against my burning skin. “Does she have someone here with her? She keeps whispering a name.”
Celine is a pretty name too, I wanted to say, but I couldn’t form the words with my mouth. My eyelids were too heavy to keep open. My hearing suddenly felt muffled, like I was underwater, but I caught the sound of Jules rustling through something.
“Yeah, her friend or boyfriend is at the bar. Here, let me apply a cool compress. She’s burning up.”
There was a blessedly cold pressure on my forehead, and I reached up to caress Jules’s arm. Oh my god, that feels so, so good. Don’t stop.
“Well, that is interesting,” Celine said. “You don’t suppose somebody slipped her. . . you know?” Her voice trailed off, but her tone held a terrible implication.
“No, don’t be ridiculous. Nobody would—"
“Yeah,” Celine interrupted, “You said that already. ‘Nobody would dare.’ But Jules, just look at her.” She gestured to me before she continued. “The kid’s exhibiting all the early symptoms. Disoriented, uncoordinated, flushed, feverish, elevated heart rate, heightened physical sensitivity.”
There was silence before Jules said, “Maybe she was just roofied?”
A hand ran down my arm, causing me to shudder, moan, and hiss. It felt like ice against my molten flesh, like a million kisses tickling across my skin. No. Stop, I thought even as I leaned into the touch. Rowan. Please come, Rowan.
I wanted only him to touch me right then. I needed his hands on me. I wanted choice in whatever was happening to me, and it was him.
“Convinced?” Celine asked.
As I curled into myself—trying in vain to contain the inferno that raged within me—Jules’s voice sounded distant. “What should we do?”
Celine laughed. “Well, I am certainly not fucking her. She’s not my type. So. . .”
“Right.” There was a long pause before I heard Jules’s voice. “I’d better go get Rowan.”