Page 3 of Souls and Sorrows

I just want to dance.

“Dio mio. Don’t lie, Ariana. It’s unbecoming.”

Emotion clogs my throat, and the other pointe shoe falls from my grasp. She’s barely even touched me, and already, the studio, my place of worship, feels forever tainted.

“But don’t worry, my beautiful butterfly. I understand you. You’re a temptress,” she says, bringing the lighter up higher and higher until the orange tip of fire catches the polyester material. It engulfs the ribbon slowly, and I watch with a pit in my stomach as it climbs, consuming everything in its path. “Just like your mamma, but we can fix that. Make you useless to these men… so your mistakes won’t cost you your salvation.”

What she doesn’t say:It’s your fault.

Everything ismy fault.

Agony, unlike any I’ve ever known, sears a path up my chest as the ribbon incinerates before my eyes. The flames spread to the heel and shank of the shoe, burning more quickly now that the fire is certain no one’s trying to stop it.

“Please,” I say softly, my hand twitching as it extends toward her.

“Please what?” Her pupils dilate, gaze narrowing. “Don’t you want my help? Or do you think you’re too good for it now? Too old perhaps?”

My nostrils flare. I know what her version of help is.

It’s not this.

Mamma only helps when it benefits her.

“I think you need a lesson in humility, carina,” she murmurs, trailing a manicured nail down my throat. Dropping the shoe to the ground, she reaches with one hand and pats out the flames, letting me see that the garment is unusable now.

Her other hand wraps around my neck, squeezing lightly, and I wonder if she’ll let me see the darkness before she begins.

Most of the time, she makes me endure her abuse and then puts me to sleep. Like a perverted lullaby.

With her free hand, she reaches up and tugs the sleeve of my leotard down my shoulder. Tears well up in my eyes, nausea churning in my belly.

“You might be beautiful now,” she says, and for the first time, I wish Ms. Laurie would show up to rehearsal early. Or one of the other dancers. I wish it were anyone buther. “But by the time I’m through with you, only the most hideous, monstrous creature will be able to love you.”

What I don’t say:I believe you.

Because when she drags me to the shadows of the room, defiling me the way she’s done since I was little, I don’t even love myself.

1

“What’s your poison, sugar?”

Bright blue eyes stare down at me from across the red velvet-covered table. Our server—a blonde with Rebecca scribbled on her name badge—leans forward as she waits for my order, offering a detailed view of her cleavage through the undone buttons of her white uniform.

Her tits are nice, I suppose. I stare at them a beat longer than I normally would, willing my dick to twitch or pulse at their presence.

It doesn’t. Not even when I imagine cupping them in my large hands, rolling my thumbs over what I’m certain would be delicate, sensitive pink nipples.

Nothing happens, and eventually, I tear my eyes from the swells, cringing at the way a smile brightens her face.

In the booth beside me, my twin brother, Palmer, tips his head back and laughs. “Subtle.”

Without responding, I shove the drink menu toward the server, avoiding eye contact. “Vodka neat, please.”

She lingers, likely waiting for something more, something I’m not capable of, before turning on her heels and stalking back to the bar across the restaurant.

“Not interested then?” Palmer drawls, sipping on his raspberry martini.

“Am I ever?”

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