Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 33433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 167(@200wpm)___ 134(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 167(@200wpm)___ 134(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
I spend hours fucking her, loving her, ruining us both.
She drips sweat and cum, cries and babbles, begs and pleads. And when I finally fall on top of her, too exhausted to move again, every last piece of my heart is in her hands.
But hers is in mine too, right where it belongs.
She cries at the airport, big tears that threaten to shred my heart into pieces. I almost say fuck my career and get on that plane with her. But she needs to know that just because we're in different states, it doesn't mean this ends.
She needs to trust herself to be strong enough and trust me when I say she's good enough. So I let her get on that plane by herself, even though it fucking kills me.
And I stand in the parking lot, my feet rooted, watching it take off, carrying my whole goddamn heart with it.
Chapter Ten
Sophie
Returning to the real world after spending the weekend with Harlan is a brutal kind of cruelty. As soon as I step into the studio in the morning, I want to turn right back around and leave again.
"I hope you didn't overeat on your little vacation," Greg snaps, eyeing me up and down. "We have a complicated lift, and my back is still fucked up from lifting you last week."
He's a liar and we both know it. Never once has he gotten injured lifting or dancing with me. He just hates being the man in photographs beside a fat ballerina. He'd kill for his girlfriend, Jessa, to be in my place. But even if I left today, she wouldn't replace me. There are three other ballerinas in line ahead of her, and he knows that, too.
"Hey, Greg?" I bat my lashes at him. "Why don't you go fuck yourself with that superiority complex of yours? It's the only thing on this planet that finds anything about you even remotely attractive."
He opens his mouth to say something else, but I just turn on my heel and move to the opposite side of the studio to start warming up.
Unfortunately, the choreographer is no nicer than Greg. Apparently, my face looks bloated. I'm not keeping up. I'm not arching high enough, my leg isn't straight enough, my feet aren't pointed enough. In short, I'm a disappointing mess.
Greg just smirks through every correction.
By the time we're finished, I'm sweating, and I've never wanted to quit as much as I do right now. Instead, I hang back, waiting for everyone else to clear out so I can practice on my own.
I pause after an hour to check my phone, my heart racing when I see a message from Harlan.
Harlan: I miss you already, ballerina.
I bite my tongue, tears springing to my eyes. God, I miss him, too. So much it's unreal. It feels like a weight on my chest, crushing the air from my lungs.
I try to call him, but it goes to voicemail.
"I just called to say that I love you," I murmur before hanging up. I try to pour all my feelings into the steps, but it's just not working today. To be honest, it hasn't worked in a while. Not since I slapped Greg on stage. Maybe not even before that.
Harlan asked me why I stay if I hate it here. For the first time, I don't think I have an answer. I'm dancing with people who hate me, just to prove a point…and I'm no longer even sure what that point is.
This isn't what dance is supposed to be.
This isn't how it's supposed to make you feel.
I drop to my ass beside the barre, reaching for my phone again. My hands shake as I type out a text to my mom.
Me: I need a favor.
It doesn't even take her a full minute to text back.
Mom: Name it.
I type out and delete my text three different times. And then I settle on:
Me: Can I come over?
Mom: You don't even need to ask, sweetheart. I'll be right here, waiting.
That's the thing I love about her. She's always there, no matter what.
I'm a ball of nerves as I pace the living room where I grew up, too restless to sit, too anxious to stop.
Mom just watches me from her perch on the arm of the sofa, her expression soft. "You look different, Soph."
"I feel different."
"You had a good weekend with Harlan?"
I spin to face her, suspicious. "Who ratted me out? Was it Sidney?"
"Oh, Sophie." She laughs quietly. "Your brothers didn't have to tell me anything. I know you. You were mad enough to spit nails before you left, and no one pisses you off that much unless you care."
"Greg pisses me off."
"That little worm is the exception," she growls, her eyes narrowing. "Is that why you're here now? Did something happen at practice?"
"No. Well, nothing more than usual." I roll my eyes and then resume pacing again. "I think…I guess…" I huff, trying to figure out how to say what I want to say. "I want to quit."