Healthy?
I want to laugh. Or maybe cry.
Dealing with this breakup in a healthy manner is the least of my concerns. I’m worried about spiraling into a deep depression I won’t be able to claw my way out of. The truth of the matter is that I’m hanging on by my fingernails. I’ve crushed hard on Colton for years. That’s not something you work through in a weekend. I’d given him my love, and it hadn’t been enough. Instead, he’d tossed it back in my face and decided that he’d rather screw as many girls as possible.
Yesterday, I’d spotted him across campus by the Union, surrounded by a fawning crowd of groupies. Clearly, they were all celebrating his newly minted single status. I’m sure panties have been dropping left and right in jubilation.
I’d caught him mid-laugh with a smile curving his lips. Unconsciously, my feet had stopped moving as my heart cracked wide open. For the briefest of moments, our gazes had collided before he glanced away, dismissing me on the spot. The rejection, along with the way he’d moved on so effortlessly, cut right to the bone. How I’ll get through the rest of this year—not to mention the next two—I have no idea.
I never thought I’d say this, but graduation can’t come soon enough. I need to get as far away from him as possible. I’d briefly flirted with the idea of transferring universities, but that’s not feasible. Wesley has the best dance program in the state, and I don’t want to bale on Mia. More than that, I refuse to let him chase me away.
So, for the foreseeable future, I’m stuck here with the jerk who shall remain nameless.
“I’m not pretending,” I mutter. “I’m choosing to move on and forget about him.”
“Same thing.”
“Not at all.” Before she can argue, I add, “I really need to get to class.” I give her a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you tonight, all right?”
She nods. “Yup. Whatever I end up ordering, I’ll make sure there’s enough for both of us.”
“You’re the best.” With that, I haul ass toward the fine arts building. Mia might think that I’m running away from my feelings, but she’s mistaken. I’m simply putting them behind me and moving forward. What else am I supposed to do?
Once inside the studio, a puff of relief leaves my lips, and my shoulders loosen from around my ears. I didn’t realize how tight my muscles had become until they relaxed. I drop my bag along the wall and peel off the scarf and jacket. I’m twenty minutes early, and there is only a handful of students in the room warming up at the barre or rehearsing steps.
The next to come off are the leggings and shirt until I’m stripped down to a black leotard and tights. I grab my shoes from my bag and slip them on my feet before settling on the floor and stretching. There’s something comforting about the routine. Dazzling sunlight pours through the floor-to-ceiling windows as a tinge of sweat hangs in the air.
“Bonjour,” Monsieur Dupre greets as he saunters through the entryway. He’s dressed entirely in black from head to toe. And yes, he looks hot as fuck in a way that only attractive European men with an overabundance of confidence can pull off.
My hand rises in a wave as a smile trembles across my face when I think about Zoe propositioning him.
And his partner.
One of the girls on the floor hisses my name, and I blink back to awareness. She jerks her head toward the corner of the studio, where our instructor unwinds a scarf from around his neck. “Sorry.” I press a hand to my chest and raise my voice. “Did you call me?”
“A word, s’il vous plaît.”
“Of course.” I pop to my feet and pad over to him.
A slight frown tugs at the corners of his lips as he scrutinizes my appearance. “You are well?”
I shift uncomfortably under his relentless stare. “Umm, yes.” I’d rather shove bamboo beneath my fingernails than admit I’m upset over a guy. The number one rule in the studio is that outside bullshit stays where it belongs. Outside. We don’t bring it into this space, allowing it to taint the creative energy of the dancers.
“Très bien.” Before I can return the question, he says, “I assume you have submitted an application for the London Contemporary Dance School study program.”
I draw my lower lip between my teeth and shake my head as embarrassment stains my cheeks. “No, I didn’t.” When he mentioned the highly sought-after program a few months ago, I’d kicked around the idea but never bothered to apply. I’d been drunk on my relationship with Colton, and the idea of leaving Wesley—and him—for an entire year hadn’t even been a consideration. I’m ashamed to admit that I’d prioritized him above dance. Considering how we ended, that had been an epic mistake on my part.
Especially since all I’d been was unicorn pussy.
My fingernails bite into my palms as I straighten my shoulders.
His perfectly sculpted brows pinch together. “Why not?”
There’s no way I can reveal the truth. The man would probably mutter in French before banishing me from the program altogether. “I didn’t think I stood much of a chance against the competition.” It’s not a lie.
“The deadline is next week,” he clips out with a glare that makes me feel three inches tall, “submit your application.”
Properly chastised, I bob my head. “Yes, Monsieur.”
When he remains silent, I scurry back to my spot on the floor. My heart pounds a steady tempo as I give serious consideration to the program in London.
Do I really have anything to lose by throwing my hat into the ring?
Not really. The odds of making it through the selection process are minuscule, and it’ll give me something other than the obvious to focus on.
So...I guess in that regard, it’s a win-win.
Chapter Ten
Alyssa
One month later...
The muscles of my belly contract as I click on the email and skim over the first line. I’d mentally prepared myself for a—we regret to inform you...blah, blah, blah.
Instead, it reads—Congratulations! You have been selected...
I blink and scrutinize the first line for a second time, but the words remain the same. It still says congratulations.
Holy shit! How did this happen? I didn’t think I had a snowball’s chance in hell of being selected to attend LCDS. There were only a handful of spots, and the competition was killer. Without Monsieur Dupre practically forcing me to apply, I wouldn’t have bothered. A potent concoction of excitement and fear bubble up inside me. As those thoughts swirl through my head, the dorm room door swings open, and Mia steps inside.
Her lips lift into a smile when she spots me at the desk near the window. “Hey! I didn’t expect you back so soon.”
“The professor cut our class short,” I tell her. “I just walked in ten minutes ago.”
With a huff of breath, she tosses her bag onto the bed before pulling off her jacket. “It’s freezing out there.” Her cheeks have pinkened from the walk across campus.
“Yeah,” I agree, gaze flicking to the window and the thin blanket of snow that covers the ground, “it is.” As far as I’m concerned, spring can’t come soon enough.