Page 7 of Masked Sins
I turn and walk away. I have to actively place one foot in front of the other, over and over and over, until I’m pushing a fire door open.
An alarm sounds behind me, but I continue walking down Santa Monica Boulevard, feeling numb.
Feelingnothing.
I don’t even attempt to stay away from more alcohol. Walking through the doors of a bar, I sit down on the stool and order a triple whiskey. My breaths are coming in quick pants, and my hands shake enough to make the amber liquid slosh over the side when I bring it to my lips.
“Another,” I tell the bartender.
He nods and grabs the bottle again, not caring that pretty soon, I may have to be carried out via ambulance.
Let her hate me.
It’s better than her ever hearing those unkind words.
Let. Her. Hate. Me.
And I will drink to cauterize the wounds.
For as long as it fucking takes to erase the burning pain in my soul.
CHAPTER ONE
THE DINNER
Layla
Present, Seven Years Later
“That’s it, Olivia. Spine straight. Good. Lift your arms higher,” I say slowly, observing my student’s posture. Her wiry arm begins to tremble, and I clap once. Everyone drops their arms. “Very good. I know it hurts after a while, but I promise, it gets better,” I say gently.
“Miss Rivers?” Olivia asks, brows furrowed. “Is it snack time yet? I’m hungry.”
I press my lips together as I squat down to meet my twelve-year-old student face-to-face.
“How do you feel about chocolate?” I smirk as I pull a chocolate bar out of the pocket of my zipped-up hoodie.
All the kids squeal, and I smile as we walk over to the bench. They’re restless now that they know they’re getting a treat, and I chuckle as I dole out a generous amount for each of them, followed by string cheese. Growing bodies need all the nourishment they can get.
“My mom says I’m not supposed to eat chocolate anymore,” Jenicka says, brown eyes downcast.
I sigh and crouch down in front of her. “You are a strong athlete. You practice some of the hardest dances in the world. Your body needs to replace all of the lost energy, Jen. Did you know that Olympic athletes need to eat extra food when they compete?”
This gets everyone’s attention. “A lot of extra food, in fact,” I tell them. “Chocolate has carbohydrates, which our body needs to perform well.”
“My mom says carbs are bad,” Olivia says timidly.
“They can be for some people, such as if you have uncontrolled blood sugar issues or are allergic to wheat. But for the majority of us, carbohydrates feed our brains and muscles.”
I could continue. I could tell them how female athletes are looked at differently—specifically dancers and especially ballet dancers. Where male athletes are lauded for eating a lot to perform, females are told to stay thin, to restrict, to make themselvessmaller.
And I’m so sick of little girls getting told this message.
“Some people may say that because that’s what they were taught,” I tell Olivia seriously. “Do you remember what I told you all last week?”
“Don’t make ourselves smaller for other people,” Jenicka responds, happily chewing on her chocolate.
“That’s right. A lot of silly people will insist that you have to be less, but I’m telling you now that you can bemore.You can be big and loud. You can take up space. In fact, it’s your right to do so. Do you understand?”
