Before I know what’s happening, I’ve snagged Kat’s keys from the table by the front door, left Rylan to his porn, and the next thing I know, I’m pulling up behind the stables and walking mindlessly to the hidden room in the back of the building in the middle of the night.
My hands shake as I turn the handle of the door, shocked that it’s unlocked. I don’t even know why I’m here, torturing myself like this. I push open the door, remembering all the times I’ve done this before. A few times picking the lock to get inside, and then one day, suddenly finding it open, knowing she wanted me in there. Knowing she liked seeing me in the back of the room, quietly watching her dance. Walking down the narrow hallway, I stick my hands into the front pockets of my tux pants, having left the jacket and tie back in the spare bedroom at Kat’s. My feet move faster when I hear a muffled noise in the room at the end of the hallway, stopping abruptly when I get to the doorway and see the cause of the sound.
My eyes quickly take in the state of the studio, dusty and unkempt after what I now know have been years of disuse, and it hurts something deep inside me knowing why it’s in this state. My heart thunders in my chest when I see her standing in the middle of the room. Gone is the woman I saw earlier tonight, with her head held high and an elitist air about her. She’s still wearing the fancy, body-hugging green gown, the same color as her eyes, and she still looks just as stunning in it as she did earlier in the night. But in the cloudy reflection of the mirrors in front of her, I see her clutching one side of her long skirt up by her hip, her head bent forward and her shoulders shaking with sobs. She presses a hand against her stomach like she’s trying to hold herself together and it completely wrecks me. I shouldn’t be standing here, watching her in this private moment, but I can’t turn away. I deserve to see her so broken and devastated. I deserve to feel the pain of her tears and her hurt after the things I said to her, the things I accused her of.
My feet start moving me through the doorway and across the floor in her direction, my eyes never leaving her reflection in the mirror, bouncing back and forth between her beautifully scarred leg and the misery on her face as she continues to whimper and sob, so painfully that it breaks me in half. My footsteps falter as her body rocks forward and back with the force of her crying and I can’t stop my own eyes from welling up with tears, wishing I could take away all of her pain.
I move faster, acting without thinking as I silently wrap my arms around her and pull her back to me, wanting to take every ounce of her hurt and pull it inside me so she no longer has to feel it.
Closing my eyes, I tighten my hold on her, feeling her body shake in my arms, and I just want to go back. I want to go back to the night I wrote that fucking letter, back to the night I walked away from her and make it so it never happened. Make it so she never has to feel even an ounce of the pain that I can feel so acutely as it travels from her body to mine. Right when I open my mouth to apologize, say something—anything—to make this better for her, she yanks herself out of my arms so roughly I stumble forward as she whirls around to face me.
Seeing the pain on her face through a distorted image in the mirror is nothing compared to seeing the stark agony face-to-face as she glares at me with tears streaming down her cheeks.
“I HAVE NOTHING!” she shouts brokenly, dropping the hold she has on her skirt to press her palms against my chest and shove me away.
“It was all I had and now I have NOTHING!” she screams through her tears, shoving against my chest again.
“It hurts! It hurts so fucking much I can’t breathe!”
“I know, baby,” I choke out, trying not to cry right along with her as she continues coming at me, pushing and shoving me backward.
“I can’t stand being in this room, remembering what I used to be, but I can’t stop coming here. I can’t stop staring in that fucking mirror, wanting it all back so much I can’t breathe…I can’t breathe,” she sobs, her hands dropping from my chest and wrapping around her waist as she bends forward.
Every bit of anger that I felt toward her disappears in an instant. I can’t stand seeing her like this. My heart can’t handle knowing she’s in so much pain and all I can think about is taking it away.
I move in a flash and wrap my arms around her once again. I move one hand up to cup the back of her head, sliding my fingers through her hair and pushing her face against my chest and kissing the top of her head, smelling the scent of peaches that clings to her hair, the smell that got me through so many days and nights and made me want to keep fighting.
“I can’t breathe…” she whispers against me brokenly. “I can’t breathe.”
My body starts swaying the two of us gently back and forth as I hold her and let her cry. I wish I had the words to tell her how sorry I am, but I can’t find them as I tighten my arm around her waist, knowing nothing I say will take away her pain. Having her in my arms again, so soft and warm and real, feels like a dream that I never want to wake up from. I’m the biggest asshole in the world for loving how she feels against me while she’s dying inside.
“I can’t even hear the music anymore,” she says softly in between gasping breaths when her sobs start to wane. “I used to hear it everywhere I went. I used to hear melodies that weren’t even playing, choreograph entire routines without even knowing it was happening, and now, I can’t even hear the music and it hurts so much.”
I run my fingers through her long, soft hair and continue rocking us back and forth. She’s rambling, speaking so quickly and so unlike the fierce woman with an attitude I’ve encountered the last two times I’ve seen her that I’m afraid to say anything, afraid to stop her from letting this all out. Finding out what happened to her and realizing how deeply she’s kept all of this inside, I know she needs to let it out before it destroys her more than it already has.
“I just want to be able to look at myself in the mirror and not hate everything I see. I hate it. I hate it so much. And I hate myself for feeling like this when you’re here, so strong and perfect after what you went through.”
I want to laugh at her words. I’m not strong and I’m not perfect. I’m a fucking mess. Moving my hand from the back of her head, I slide it to her cheek and tip her face up so I can look into her eyes. Her skin is so soft under my palm and the flush on her cheeks from crying is so warm against my hand that I have to swallow a few times to find my voice instead of just standing here, holding her face in my hand and forgetting about everything I need to say to her.
“Don’t you dare,” I whisper. “I’m not strong and I’m not perfect. I’m barely holding on and I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry for what I said to you. I know you, I know you’d never give up, and I never should have said those things to you. You are stronger than you even know.”