And the realization made my heart break. If it’d been broken already, now it lay in splinters on the floor, shattered beyond repair. I was devastated, absolutely gone with no way out. So there was only one thing to do. I stood then, heart heavy. Expression unreadable, I gestured at the door.
“I see,” was all I said, voice tuneless. “I see. Could you leave now please? My mom and I have had a rough day, and we’d like our privacy.”
“Kitty,” Mr. Lyons protested, looking at me with anguish in his eyes, that blue gaze pleading. I almost gave in, he was so goddamn gorgeous, even now, in the middle of a crisis.
But the thing is, I’ve learned my lesson. Miss Lane’s crazy behavior had exposed the truth, and the big man couldn’t deny it. He could say that I was special, but there were no reasons behind his statement. There was no “you’re special because you’re beautiful,” “you’re special because you’re sassy,” or “you’re special because I’ve fallen in love with you.” I was special because I was young and dumb, willing to let him use my body any way he pleased. And unfortunately, that fades with time. Sooner or later, I’d become a big fat zero, a whole lotta nothing.
So now, I just needed to salvage what was left.
“Please go,” I said, turning my face away. “Just go.”
Mr. Lyons knelt before me then, taking my hands in his big ones.
“You’re special to me Kitty Jones,” was all he growled. “You’re special, don’t forget that.”
His hands felt so warm, so reassuring, but I didn’t believe it for one second. Because I hated that word “special.” It meant nothing, it was just an empty phrase, a mean-nothing, toss-off filler that he was using because we were in a bad spot. So I refused to look at him, jerking my chin away.
“Go,” was my final word, low and trembly. “Go.”
And with that, the big man got to his feet, huge form looming, taking up all the space in the room.
“I’ll be back,” was all he said. “I’ll be back.”
And with long strides, he was out the door. I sat wooden in the chair, heart racing, unable to move as the sound of a car’s wheels screeched outside. That must be Luke and his buddy, with Miss Lane tied up in the backseat. But I didn’t want to think about it anymore, because tiredness washed over me in a wave then. The events of the afternoon had been crazy, and suddenly I was boneless, weak and helpless, collapsing to the floor.
“Kitty!” screamed my mom, scrabbling over to help me. “Kitty!”
But the world grew dark, my vision going black. Because I was nothing. The man I adored had come to save me, but his actions underlined what I already knew. Right now, I was the flavor of the moment, so he’d swooped in like Superman. But there was no substance behind it. There were no reasons behind Luke’s infatuation, other than being young and available. So I gave into the wave then, drifting off. Better to go unconscious than think about the future and what it held. The darkness overcame me, and gratefully, I let myself go.
9
Kitty
Six months later …
“Plié, one, two, three,” I chanted. “Plié, plié, now bow.”
The little girls in front of me giggled, and I couldn’t help but smile. They were so cute, tiny tots dressed up like Tinkerbell in pink leotards with baby ballet slippers. My heart warmed even as I smiled sadly.
Because I’ll never have a child of my own, and these little girls were a reminder of that. Since coming back to Kansas, I took my mom’s advice and opened up a ballet studio in the middle of town. It’d taken some persuasion on her part.
“You can do it Kitty,” Mary encouraged. “You’re talented. People know and respect you.”
“But Mom,” I’d protested, shaking my head. “No one’s going to come. Even if they can afford it, who wants to learn ballet out here? People here like cheerleading and football, and not classical music.”
Mary frowned.
“We liked it, and we’re no different from our neighbors,” she scolded. “What, you think you’re better than them?” Seeing the shamed look on my face, my mom softened. “Honey, just give it a try, please? The rent is really cheap over at the mall, and that tiny space would be perfect with a barre and some mirrors. You’ll do well, I promise.”
So here I was now. Mary had emptied her bank account for the deposit on this place, and lo and behold, but folks signed up for classes. Or they signed up their daughters to be more accurate, and now I had full days spent teaching little girls the basics: how to move, how to balance, and how to feel the music.
Because dancing is still my escape. It’s what brings me joy in these dark times. It’s been a horrible six months, and more than once I’ve finished a day at work, all cheerful smiles, only to collapse on my bed at home in tears.