Ignite (The Disciples #4) - Cassandra Robbins Page 0,18
listening?” He claps in my face. “Don’t think I won’t evict your skinny ass.” He lets go of the door and I stumble back.
“I’ll have it.” I slam it shut and bolt it.
Ryan sucks. He’s an all-around unattractive man with terrible garlic breath. His dad owns this block, so he’s a trust fund brat. Whatever, he’s a weirdo and has no compassion. Although he was never all that nasty to me. I was hoping he would give me a break, but now, desperation flows through me.
Dropping my dance bag, I try to calm my racing thoughts. Step by step is how I need to handle this. God. Why is everything piling on top of me lately?
“Okay. It’s okay,” I chant. As I exhale, warm tingles of fear snake their way up my esophagus. My stomach flips as I think about being homeless.
I need to get my mind back in the game. First, I’ll get the pole down and tell Crystal I can do double shifts. I don’t even know if they do that, but I’ll ask.
I need clothes, wigs, shoes… God, what am I going to do?
Screw it.
I’m broke and I’ll have to make do. I have plenty of costumes and I own one wig. It’s black and cut in a straight bob with bangs.
I march into my room, purposely ignoring that the place is trashed. Fucking Heather can’t even do moving right.
Swinging open my bedroom door, I go straight to my closet. It’s no use: I’ll have to suck it up and use one of my ballerina costumes. For a moment, I stop and let the bone-deep pain that shows up at the worst times run through me.
“They’re dead. Freakin’ stop, Antoinette.” I freeze. I’m talking to myself way too much. This happens when I’m stressed and scared. Flinging open my closet, I jerk my current clothes to the side to let all the ghosts of my past float out. Logically I know they can’t hurt me.
But they do.
After all this time, I still get that overwhelming dread that I’m bad luck. Nothing but darkness, sadness, and tragedy follow me. I fight back the tears—all they do is make my nose stuffy and serve no purpose. After I take a deep breath, my body calms.
“Stupid.” I sniff them away and reach for a bright red one. It was made for a performance when I was in the chorus, although I did have a small solo. So much time, pain, and discipline… for what?
“It’s a costume. Who cares?”
My parents paid a fortune for my dance tutus, but at that time we were rich, so it didn’t matter. I lift the scarlet tutu up. It’s perfect. I’ll cut the back and add Velcro. None of the other girls have stripped in a tutu, I’m sure. Ripping it off the satin hanger, I swear I get a slight whiff of my mother’s favorite perfume: Opium.
I miss her. I sniff back the tears. She of all people would understand. I need money. She’d tell me to do what I have to do. My mom was a survivor until she wasn’t.
I can’t allow this tonight. Their ghosts need to leave. Stay locked up. It’s how I get up every day, how I move on. As I swallow past the lump in my throat, I acknowledge that I’m stronger than they were. He was weak, and I’m not.
Tossing the exquisite tutu on my bed, I straighten my shoulders and scan the room for some scissors. If I want to be the best at this, I have work to do.
No more past, no more ghosts. I have a chance, and I plan to take it. That feeling I had earlier about something good and wonderful happening? That’s what I’ll hold on to—this job. A pair of sapphire eyes appear and I blink them away.
That feeling has nothing to do with meeting him. It’s about me and how I’m changing my life… and my luck.
AXEL
A loud banging is making my head pound. I try to ignore it, letting the woman’s body distract me as I snuggle my nose in her neck.
“Axel.” Ryder’s voice booms through my room, imploding my head.
“Prez says get your shit together. You’re missing Church, man.” His chuckle is followed by blessed silence.
The blonde rubs her ass on my hard-on. “Morning.” Her Southern drawl wakes me up enough to realize that Ryder is not fucking with me: I did sleep in and I’m late.