35. Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Seven
ANDREA
I’ve been having a recurring nightmare about what happened at Elite—or rather, what could have happened. I’ve tried not to bother Julian with it, but after what he told me what happened to him, it’s been killing me inside. My mind can’t let it go.
I completely dissociated during one of my classes yesterday morning.
Nadya had sent me home and asked the other instructor, Vivian, to cover the rest of my classes.
No matter how many times I try to tell myself I’m overreacting, I can’t move past it.
I’m reminded of my weak limbs and go dizzy, nausea churning in my stomach all over again.
Julian has recounted every detail of that night from the moment he arrived countless times for me; bless his heart. We haven’t mentioned our almost kiss or the fact that we’ll be going to Maine in four weeks to see my family. To say I’m nervous is an understatement.
Without a doubt, I’m certain Carter’s been reporting to my grams about my relationship status who has in turn been keeping my parents updated.
Thanks to my cousin, my parents have been checking in on me nonstop after he told them what happened at Elite.
It’s hard to be annoyed by love, but even I have to admit it’s smothering at times.
I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready to face the life I had before this one.
I’m not the same girl I was when I left.
Ever since I woke up from my coma, I’ve seen life differently.
I’m not some fragile, broken girl anymore.
My only hope is that my parents can see that.
Now that I’m back in the studio today, I’ve given myself an agenda; something not in my usual routine.
I’ve taken it upon myself to ensure Sybil doesn’t lose her spark and passion for ballet.
She’s only thirteen and has a lot to give to the industry.
Even after the pep talk in my office, she’s still holding back. I know it and her parents know it.
It’s why they agreed to private sessions and why I’ve granted her a solo performance that will take place at the end of the season.
She needs something to push her—to motivate her.
I’m taking a more mature route with her routine.
I study her movements now as she floats across the room to an instrumental version of “Someone You Loved” by Lewis Capaldi.
She moves with the precision and maturity of someone who’s ten years older. She not only tells the story with her body, but her face as well. It’s now that I realize my mistake as a teacher. I have not allowed her to shine in the way she deserves and that all ends now.
The song eases into an ending and she finds her pose, holding it until it dissipates entirely.
Finally, as if she’d been holding it the entire time, she releases a breath as she lifts her head.
Her eyes latch onto her parents who stand in the corner of the room.
They arrived mid-routine and Sybil was so into her performance that she didn’t notice them come in.
Adela’s eyes shine with unshed tears as Thomas massages her shoulders in affection. “That was beautiful, my love,” she says, her voice thick with emotion.
Sybil lets a smile break through her shyness and looks at me. “It was?”
I nod, smiling back. “It was, sweet girl.” I jerk my head toward the locker room. “Go grab your bag. I hear an ice cream cone is in your future.”
She squeals, jumping to her feet to take off in a sprint.
“Careful, Sibs!” her father calls after her. I laugh, loving that she’s acting more like herself again already.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen her this excited,” Adela tells me as I walk over to them.
I smile softly. “Your daughter is an exceptional dancer and because I care about her, I must ask you again about moving her to the next level.” They both share an uncertain look.
“Sybil thrives when she’s challenged. Otherwise, she gets bored, and I don’t want her to pair ‘ballet’ and ‘boring’ together. ”
By the crinkle in Thomas’s brow and Adela’s flattened mouth, they’re not all that convinced.
They bid me farewell with a “We’ll keep it in mind,” but I’m not sure they will.
I fear that it’ll be Sybil’s downfall. Someone with her talent is not meant to blend in.
If she’s not standing out, she’ll fade away and with it, her love for ballet.
Twenty minutes later, I’m in my office going through the budget for costumes when I hear thunder boom outside, causing the windows to rattle.
I get up and walk out of my office to look outside.
The wind whistles past the front door, pushing it ajar slightly.
I rush forward to close it, twisting the lock shut.
I glance at the clock on the wall to see it’s a quarter past eight in the evening.
At the sight of it starting to rain, I know I’ll be staying put for the time being. An aggressive storm like this one should pass rather quickly and I planned to be here another hour or so anyway.
Walking back into my office, I hum to the song playing on the speaker on the desk. The moment I sit back down to continue overseeing the budget, the lights flicker. My heart jumps in my chest and I’m quickly back on my feet.
Knowing Nadya holds onto candles that are used for performances, I speed walk to her office. The lights flicker again.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” I grumble. Once in her office, I go straight for her wardrobe and swing open the wooden doors. I grab as many as my arms can carry and the second I step back into the hall, the lights go out and I’m cast in total darkness.
My heart pounds in my ears, but I keep it together. It’s only a power outage. You’re not about to be murdered.
There’s an ominous feeling when I enter my office and even though I know it’s in my head, I freeze in the doorway. Is that the coat rack that’s been there since I can remember or is it a man with an axe?
Then, something bangs on the front door, and I drop to the floor causing the candles to roll and one to break, the glass skittering across the wood. “ Shit .”
“Andrea!” a muffled voice shouts. My spine straightens at the familiar sound of it and I slowly rise back to my feet, a frown firmly in place.
Rounding the corner, I find Julian Havord standing on the other side of the glass door. His hair and clothes are soaked and his chest heaves.
Confused, I rush over to unlatch the lock and swing open the door. He steps inside, dripping a puddle beneath his feet. His wet black hair sticks to his forehead and his eyebrows are drawn together. His gray eyes sear into mine and I feel them like a physical touch.
He’s not wearing a tie and a few of the buttons on his white shirt are undone which tells me he was at home. “What are you doing here?”
His jaw ticks and my eyes follow it. “You didn’t come home, and I was worried. ”
You didn’t come home .
I swallow thickly at his words, but something flutters in my stomach. “I’m sorry, I taught a solo class this evening and stayed back to work the budget.” I notice his shivering then and worry gnaws at me.
“Oh.” His shoulders deflate in relief. His eyes roll down my body, but not in a sexual way. I’m wearing an unzipped gray jacket and underneath it, pale pink leggings and a black leotard. His eyes flick back up to mine. “So, you’re. . .well?”
Having him worry about me shouldn’t feel like I’ve just won an Oscar, but it does something to my heart that’s getting harder and harder to ignore as time passes.
“Yes, everything’s—”
He steps around me, frowning. “The power’s out?”
“Uh, yeah, it just happened actually. You have miraculous timing because I was two seconds away from convincing myself my coat rack was the hash-slinging slasher.”
“A what?” He looks confused and I let out an awkward laugh.
“You know, uh, SpongeBob?” Nothing. “The yellow sponge dude and his starfish sidekick that’s as dumb as the rock he lives und—”
“I know what SpongeBob is,” he says, amusement lighting his eyes. “Though, I didn’t watch many cartoons growing up.” He moves further into the building, and I follow, matching his slow pace.
“What kind of kid doesn’t watch cartoons?”
When he comes to a stop, I lift a brow at him. When he turns to stare down at me, his eyes bounce between mine. “The kind that was never allowed to.”
Suddenly my question feels insensitive and my heart sinks to my stomach at the thought of a younger Julian losing his childhood.
Where mine is filled with trips to the beach, cookouts, boat rides, and the most awful holiday family photos, his is filled with something else. Something dark and painful.
He carries it with him, like a dead weight on his shoulders. I can see it in the way his eyes flicker with emotion at the most random times. It’s there; steady and haunting.
My childhood was goodnight kisses and being tucked into the same bed in the same room every night. How many houses did he live in? How often had he been kissed goodnight? Can he count all the times with his hands?
“Julian—”
“Do you, uh, mind if I stick it out here for a while?” He scratches his neck as an uncertain look crosses his face. “It’s pretty nasty out there.”
I glance at his clothing and attempt to recover from his clear dismissal of the topic. “Not at all. I was planning to wait it out anyway. The company will be nice.” My lips purse. “Though, I don’t have anything dry for you to wear. Unless you’d like a tutu?”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “I’ll pass on the tutu but thank you for the offer.”
I press my lips together. “A shame. I really would have liked to see that.” I step past him but then come to a halt, remembering the broken pieces of glass in my office.
“What is it?”
I glance at him over my shoulder. “I dropped a candle, and it broke. My phone’s on my desk. Do you have yours?”