The ugly image of my body sprawled on the polished floor takes hold of my mind and refuses to let go.
How much fucking soap will it take to clean up the blood? Will they ever be able to get it all out, or would the floor be stained forever?
Loser. Fucking loser. That’s all you are—a loser. Kara the Loser.
The words repeat over and over in my head until I think I might explode.
Shit.
Self-doubt creeps into the crevices of my mind and spreads throughout my entire body. It oozes through and out of me. There is no fucking way I can do this.
The music starts playing. It’s my cue.
My heart beats wildly in my throat. I’m afraid I won’t be able to breathe, let alone perform. My mouth is dry, and it’s difficult to swallow.
But then I think of my men. I think of Chase and Eric.
Briefly I see their eyes, their smiles, their cocks.
I reach for the silk sheet hanging in front of me. Instead of wrapping it skillfully around my ankle, I end up with my leg badly tangled in it.
Not a good fucking start.
I disentangle myself from the silk and try again. This time, I wrap my ankle up in the silk properly and begin to climb—but then my secondary fear sets in.
I’m scared that the silk wraps aren’t going to hold my weight. As soon as I’m wrapped in them, they’re going to rip and tear, and I’m going to fall onto the ground.
Splat.
I reach up with sweaty palms, trying to focus on the music, the silk, and the climb.
They’re not so different from silk bed sheets, really, when I think about it. I imagine being in Chase and Eric’s bed, with the sheets tangled artfully around me.
It provides a little comfort.
Up and up, I need to move. Turn, rotate, split the leg, and stretch. There’s applause. I breathe a tiny sigh of relief.
But the higher I climb, the harder I will fall.
Fuck.
I nee
d to fucking concentrate.
Left hand around the silk, pulling upward. Up and up, I go.
Weightless in the air, light as a feather. The only thing that matters is the way the silk caresses my body and—here’s the real kicker—making sure that I don’t let go.
I still can’t believe I’m doing this, but I guess that’s not the most important thing anymore.
Chase and Eric believe I can do this. They love me, they care about me, and they’ve been the driving force that’s propelled me this far.
I can’t let them down.
But if I don’t stop fucking worrying, I’ll ruin the routine and all of our chances at the crown with it.
I push all other thoughts out of my mind. I glance below, trying to pick Chase and Eric out from the crowd. I’m too far up to actually make out individual faces, but there are two forms in the seats below that look bigger, burlier, and sexier than the others.