Kill Switch (Devil's Night 3)

“Here,” Tara said. “Stay like that.”

Walking over, she ran her chilly fingers over the bend in my wrist.

“Straighten them,” she instructed. “Like this.”

And she took my hands and placed them on hers, which were in my ending pose. I ran my hands lightly over hers, feeling the bends in the joints of her fingers, the tendons on the backs of her hands, and the smooth line down her wrist to her arm, so I could emulate it.

“Thanks,” I told her, breathing hard.

I put my hands on my waist, my light, billowy top falling off one shoulder and baring some skin to the welcome cool air of the old, drafty building.

“Again?” she asked.

“What time is it?”

She paused a moment. “Almost five.”

I nodded. I had a half hour, so may as well soak it up before the money ran out.

I heard her steps as she walked over to restart the music, and I counted my own steps from the sandpaper glued to the floor to the center, finding my starting mark.

“You don’t have to stay,” I told her. “I have the driver. I’ll be fine.”

The Torrances insisted on our own personal drivers, and while we sporadically hired them for certain occasions growing up, we never kept any on the payroll. My sister loved the new perk. The new perk that came with her new name.

But I knew the ulterior motives behind the gesture. A driver reported our comings and goings to the one who paid them, so Gabriel and Damon were aware of our every move.

The driver was my leash.

“You know,” she started as the music began, “they offered to pay…for you to continue classes.”

I stopped. “What do you mean? Who?”

“Gabriel Torrance’s assistant called and said to have your classes billed to him,” she told me. “In case you’d like to get on the schedule again.”

She had guided me and offered feedback sporadically since my father left and I could no longer afford her. Bits here and there when she was on her way in or after a class had ended. Or like tonight when she was on her way out.

But this news of Gabriel’s offer was like a slap in the face. Another reminder that I was destitute and couldn’t have the things I’d been accustomed to.

Because of them.

Because of him. This was Damon’s idea.

No one else cared if I continued my dancing except him. He liked it. I was probably the only person who knew that he loved it, in fact. He’d watched me. I’d danced for him a lot before.

Fuck him.

I got back into position, lifting my chin, and craning my neck. “Can you restart the music?” I asked her, ending our conversation.

After a moment, the music cut off and restarted, and I began again, letting the volume of the song drown out everything else. The world swayed around me, and even though I couldn’t see it, I sensed everything.

The space. The scent of pine needles from last year’s Christmas tree. The cold bricks around me that I knew were there. The barre with chalk crusting the wood and the way the ceiling felt torn away and there were miles of sky above my head. I could reach and feel endless.

I was flying.

The singer’s voice burrowed into my stomach, and I broke away from my classical moves and let my hand fall down my body as I slowed, feeling every inch of my skin come alive. My feet ached in the pointe shoes, but my body was alive.

I closed my eyes, the strands of my hair spilling around me and tickling my face. My stomach flipped as I spun, and a smile twitched at the corners of my lips. God, I loved this. I was free here.