Page 249 of Swallow Your Sorries

Everything’s wet.

I don’t…

What’s happening?

My wavering vision beneath the strong lights flickers from my useless feet to Gant’s unreadable gaze across the stage.

One moment he’s opposite me, the next he’s beside me, dropping to a squat.

“You’re bleeding,” he whispers, but not to me. It’s like he’s talking to himself. He looks dazed. As dazed as I suddenly feel.

Red.

Everything is turning red. From my once pale blue pointe shoes and the white stockings peeking out of them to the stage just under my feet. Dark red is spreading over everything, fast, like ink diffusing through water.

Everything’s growing fuzzy.

Everything’s swaying, including Gant, as he rushes forward to gather me into his arms.

I can’t process anything that’s happening even as I see it. The bright stage lights. Gant’s ghostly white face.

The blood?

The blood!

I peer into his pale face, searching for an answer.

“Didn’t you always say you wanted me to bleed for you?”

“Elle,” his tone is emotionless. Dry. Almost robotic. So unlike the sweet allure of a few minutes ago. “Don’t move—”

“I thought I already had. That I had already bled for you.”

“Elle!” he taps the side of my face gently. “Don’t close your eyes. Someone call the medic!”

My head’s growing so light that it feels like it’ll drift off my body.

“It wasn’t enough? Was it?”

I wasn’t enough.

“Open your eyes, dove,” he says, suddenly frantic, then into the frozen audience. “Call the medic!”

Everything reanimates then.

Dozens of feet dart off toward the exit and rush the stage. I see a blur of white, cotton hair. Ms. Trix. Then I hear the rapid clicking of a cane. Mistress.

But it’s only Gant hovering above me that I can focus on. Or that I try to focus on because everything’s growing faint. But despite the cloud of fog creeping in on me, I have a bout of clarity.

I’m never enough.

I’m never enough.

Not for Jarett.

Not for Mum.

Not for Beaulieu.

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