“How did that feel?” York asks as we head out of Studio 5 an hour later.
“Better than I’d hoped,” I lie, plastering on a fake smile. Truth be known, for my first real attempt at dancing since everything has happened, it sucked.
York frowns, reaching for my hand, but I fold my arms across my chest, not wanting him to feel how badly being back in a dance studio is affecting me right now. I’m covered in a sheen of sweat, not just from the physicality of dancing but because of my warring emotions, and my hands are shaking uncontrollably. Right now there’s this huge expectation to be able to dance like I had before my brother came back into my life like a wrecking ball. The Breakers want me to embrace dance for them, for me, and I want to, so badly, but that other side of me, the newer, more violent part, won’t allow me to fully embrace it, not until David’s dead.
It’s fucked up.
“You aced it, Pen,” Clancy says, giving me a warm hug and a huge grin, hiding the fact that it was, in fact, a trainwreck.
“You don’t need to do that. I know I wasn’t at my best. I still got shit to work through,” I admit, giving her a weak smile and internally cursing myself. I’ve never had a problem keeping up with choreo, but in that lesson I couldn’t follow the steps. I kept fucking up, too distracted thinking about Lena, about my mum, about my bastard brother and what he’s going to do next, about the Breakers’ need for me to be that girl they love and failing so fucking spectacularly.
“You’ll get there. We all have bad days,” she says kindly, squeezing my arm.
“I need to go to the toilet. I’ll only be a second,” I blurt out, suddenly feeling like I can’t fucking breathe. Pushing the door open into the ladies room, I stride into one of the free cubicles, locking the door behind me. Resting my head back against the door, I force myself to suck in oxygen to fight off the black dots spotting my vision. I really, really don’t need to pass out right now.
“Hey, Pen, you okay?” Clancy asks, moments later. “York’s about to come busting in here.”
“I’m good. I just needed to pee!” I say breezily, even though my hands are shaking, and I want to throw up.
“Okay, cool. I’ll wait here for you then.”
“No, just go to class. I’ll catch you later, yeah?”
“You sure?”
“Clancy. I want to pee, and I don’t want you hearing me. Go!”
“It’s not as if I haven’t heard you pee before. So long as you don’t need a number two, I’m good,” she says, chuckling.
“Clancy!”
“Fine, fine. I get it. You and York are going to have a makeout session and you need to get rid of the third wheel,” she replies, laughter in her voice. “But you might want to wait until the other person in here finishes up before you get down to it, yeah?”
I groan and roll my eyes even though she can’t see through the door. “Tell York to go to class too. I’m good.”
“Is that code for, come on in and take me now, lover boy?”
“No, Clancy. If I wanted to fuck York I would’ve just pulled him in here with me.”
She bursts out laughing. “Yeah, true. See you later, Pen. I really am so fucking glad you’re back.”
“Me too,” I whisper. “Me too.”
When she pushes open the door, I hear York asking her if I’m okay and Clancy telling him not to be so clingy and get off to class. I’m not sure what his response is because the door slams shut, and I’m left with just my thoughts once again. Trouble is, being inside my own head isn’t doing me any favours so I pull out my phone from my gym bag and fire off a quick text to Lena asking how she’s doing for the hundredth time this morning. Chatting with Lena is the distraction I need, and I’m so relieved when she replies almost instantly.
Lena: Gray is about as entertaining as a pig in mud.
Me: I thought they were your favourite farm animal?
Lena: Ha ha. I swear he barely talks, let alone smiles. What’s his problem?
Me: He’s just doing his job. Next week the tutor will be starting. You won’t be bored then.
Lena: Oh, fuck… Actually, Gray doesn’t seem that bad after all.
Me: I thought you might say that.
Lena: Are you certain I can’t go back to school?
Me: Not until this is over.
Lena: I hate this.
Swallowing down the guilt I feel at keeping my sister away from her friends, I heave out a sigh. Me too, Lena. Me too.
Me: It’s not going to be for long. I promise.
Lena: But you’re at school…
Me: With chaperones 24/7. Gray can’t follow you into school.
Lena: Neither can David.
Me: I’m sorry, this is just the way it has to be right now. I love you.
For a moment Lena doesn’t respond, but just when I’m about to slide my phone back into my gym bag she messages again.
Lena: I know it is. Sorry. I love you too.
Standing, I slide my phone back into my bag, take a pee then unlock the door only to come face to face with Tiffany.
“Well, if it isn’t Penelope Scott, and here I was hoping we’d seen the last of your skank arse. I guess we can’t always get what we want, now can we?”
“Fuck off, Tiffany. I’m in no mood for you today,” I reply, turning on the tap and washing my hands.
Tiffany bites out a laugh, resting her perky arse against the wash basin next to mine. “I heard mummy dearest died.”
“Really. You’re gonna go there?”
“What were you expecting, sympathy? Well, you won’t get it from me. Clancy might want to get into your knickers. She might’ve been crying to River about how your mum took one too many happy pills and how sorry she feels for you, but I really don’t give a shit. Boo-fucking-hoo.”
“I don’t expect a thing from you except this bullshit. You really are messed up, aren’t you? Find someone else to bother, because it’s getting boring,” I say evenly.
Not to be deterred, she continues. “Was your mum that disappointed by her pathetic crotch goblin that she had to get high to forget about you and managed to off herself in the process?”
It’s a low blow even for Tiffany. Then again I shouldn’t be surprised, she’s a cold, calculating bitch that will do whatever she can to hurt me. But if she thinks talking smack about my mum is going to do that, she’s barking up the wrong tree. I’ve built up very thick skin when it comes to my mum. I haven’t even cried for her, for fuck’s sake. Does she honestly believe a few spiteful, nasty words will get me to break? Now it’s my turn to laugh as I level my gaze at her.
“Crotch goblin? What are you, five? You’re losing your touch, Tiffany. I thought I told you the first day we met that words don’t hurt me. Now get out of my way, because I happen to have one of my very delicious, sexy-as-fuck boyfriends waiting for me on the other side of that door.” Tiffany’s fingers wrap around the wash basin, her long red nails scraping across the ceramic as her mouth pinches into a hard line, but still she refuses to move. No bother, I’ll just step around her. Swinging my gym bag over my shoulder, I do just that.
“We’re not done!” she snarls, her long, slim fingers wrapping around my upper arm.
I roll my eyes at her. Despite her ugly words, and tight grip on my arm, I’m surprisingly calm. Dangerously calm, actually.
“Did you not hear me? Do I need to repeat myself?” I ask, tapping my forefinger hard against her temple. She flinches, but she doesn’t let go. I see how it is. If she really is gagging for a fight, then I’ll give her one. I’m in no mood to deal with jealous bitches today.
I. Am. Over. It.
“You know what you are, Pen. You’re nothing but a whore who opens up her legs to get what she wants. We all know Tuillard chose you as the dancer for the marketing gig because you’ve been fucking Xeno. Looks like being a teacher’s pet gets you to the top after all, huh?”
“Yeah, yeah. That’s right I fucked Xeno to get the gig. This petty jealousy bullshit is really getting boring. Do you seriously not have anything better to do than try and upset me?” I ask, making sure to look at her from head to toe and back again with a bored expression.
“You fucking bitch!” she exclaims, her face reddening. She hates the fact that she’s not able to get to me and it just makes me smile harder.
“Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard it all before. It’s all just water off a duck’s back…” I say, wiping off imaginary lint from my shoulder. “The truth of the matter is, I’ve got bigger fish to fry than spend any more energy on some jealous bitch who can’t stand the fact that I’m a better dancer, better person, who has not one but four hot as hell boyfriends who love me. It’s no wonder you’re bitter. You’re so fucking ugly that no one wants to have anything to do with you except for Sophie who has the personality of a gnat.”
Tiffany releases me with a shove, spinning away from me to hide her expression. “What’s the matter, Tiffany? You can dish it out but can’t take it?”
“Fuck you, Pen.” Her voice is quiet, and I swear I hear it crack like she’s about to cry. I don’t know if it’s that or the fact her shoulders start to shake that makes me pause.
“Look…” I begin, heaving out a sigh, all of my anger draining out of me at her sudden show of weakness. “We’ll never be friends, but I am done with this shit between us. I don’t know what the fuck I did to make you hate me, and honestly, I don’t care, but I’m willing to let all this go if we just remain civil. We have a routine to perform together with the rest of the troupe for the end of year show and we need to be tight. We don’t have to like each other, but we do have to work together. Let’s just call it quits, yeah?” It’s an olive branch, one she doesn’t fucking deserve, but I offer it to her regardless.
Her shoulders start to shake even more, and her head drops as she leans over the sink. I reach for her automatically, that part of me who gives a shit about people feeling sorry that she’s so upset. “Don’t cry,” I say, but she turns around to face me.
She isn’t crying, she’s laughing.
When her eyes fix on me, I see something all too familiar. It’s the same look my mum and David used to give me. It makes my skin turn cold. Tiffany doesn’t just hate me, she despises me. She steps closer as I back off, and her silent laugh gets louder and louder until she’s cackling like some fucked up evil witch about to slide a poisonous knife into my heart.
“You really haven’t got a fucking clue, have you?” she asks, clutching her stomach and wheezing with black laughter.
“A clue about what?”
“He’ll get tired of you eventually.”
“Who Xeno? Dax? Zayn? Or wait, is it York that you want? Because you’ve been all over every one of them like a fucking bitch in heat since the moment we started here. It doesn’t matter though, none of them want you, Tiffany. They’re mine.”
That just makes her laugh harder. I know I should walk out and leave her to it, but for some reason my feet are stuck to the floor and I can’t move. Behind me the door to the bathroom swings open and York steps in.
“What the fuck is going on in here?” he asks, looking between us both. It doesn’t take long for him to figure out that Tiffany is being her usual nasty self. “Tiffany, what the fuck is wrong with you? Move the fuck on, will you. This bullshit ladyboner you’ve got for Titch is getting tedious.”
“Honestly, York, just leave it. She’s finally lost it,” I say, pushing against York’s chest at the same time as I open the door. I can see he wants to say and do a lot more, but I don’t need him jumping to my defence and getting into shit for it.
“Lost it?” Tiffany hisses. “The only person who’s going to lose everything is you, Pen. I’m the best dancer in this Academy and I’m going to be the one to win the solo dance. You’ll just be some distant memory once I’m on centre stage.”
“You’re fucking delusional,” York snaps.
“And you’re fucking ruled by your dick!” Tiffany screams back, the veins in her neck standing rigid against her skin. She’s got barely enough fat covering her to hide them. In fact, she looks painfully thin. Sick almost. My momentary sympathy, however, is lost when she starts spouting more shit. “You think you’re so special don’t you, huh? Prancing around the Academy like you own the place. Sucking up to every single teacher to get what you want. Even Sebastian, our gay-boy ballet teacher has a fucking hard-on for you.”
“You sad little bitch,” York says, shaking his head, because she really is just that. The girl’s got issues.
“You can’t talk,” she snaps, glaring at York. “She’s got you wrapped around her little finger. Talk about pussy-whipped.”
York throws his head back and laughs. “If you’re calling this pussy-whipped then I’m gonna bend over and take every last, arse-stinging lash and fucking love it.”
“You pig!” Tiffany hisses “You’d do anything for her, wouldn’t you? You disgust me.”
“What can I say? I’m talented like that. It takes a real woman to know how to please her men,” I say with a grin that just infuriates her further.
“Talented at twisting people up inside so all they can do is think about you, you mean!”
“Talking from experience, are we?” York asks, scoffing.
“I don’t get it,” she sneers. “You’re nothing but a worthless, dirty, little, street-rat whore. You were never meant for the stage. No one wants to watch you dance…”
She drones on and on, her barbs and spiteful words familiar. I’ve heard them all before from my mum and David over the years. They hit home, but not in the way she wants them to. They don’t hurt me. In fact, they do the complete opposite. It’s like a switch has been flicked back on and I’m vibrating not with anger, but with the realisation that I can do this, that I can still fight back and dance, I step into Tiffany’s personal space and reach up to cup her cheeks in my palms. She stills, her eyes blazing with righteous anger and surprise.
“Thank you,” I say, stroking her cheekbones with the pad of my thumbs.
“What?” she whispers out, disbelief paling her skin.
“Thank you. I needed to be reminded how that feels.”
“How what feels?”
“To feel hated as much as you hate me.”
“That makes no sense,” she mutters as I lean in closer, my lips brushing against hers in a gentle kiss. She gasps, and I grin as I pull back.
“I keep telling you that words don’t hurt me, all they do is fuel my fire, my passion to prove to myself that I AM WORTHY. All you’ve done with your little jealous outburst, Tiffany, is show me that I am worthy of these men. I am worthy of my place here at the Academy, and I’m sure as fuck worthy of that spot centre stage. So keep on spitting out your bile if it makes you feel better, but know this, it only makes me more determined, not less.”
“I will ruin you!” she spits, but it’s half-hearted and lacks the fire from before.
“Bring. It. The. Fuck. On!” I respond with a grin, and thanks to Tiffany I leave the bathroom with a new resolve burning in my chest. I came here to prove that I’m a good dancer, but I’m going to leave here the best dancer this Academy has ever seen, and not my brother, not the memories of my mum’s hate, or that bitch Tiffany are going to stop me.
