Page 14 of Frozen Hearts
That first night, after my performance, I threw up backstage. I came so close to quitting and walking away. It was Tara who talked me out of it. She saw the state I was in, and while she didn’t ask questions, she seemed to instinctively understand exactly how I was feeling.
Every performance gets a little easier to step onto that stage. It’s still not something that comes easily to me, but I’m discovering my inner sexy tigress and learning to love my body—flaws and all.
“Alright, ladies, show time!” Chrissy calls out a short while later, and with one final look in the mirror, I add a final swipe of lipstick and tell myself I’ve got this before heading onto the club floor.
4
RILEY
An invisible weight presses on my chest, making it impossible to breathe. My lungs spasm, my entire body seizing until clawing panic scrapes at my insides, begging me to move, to fight.
I’m trapped in a twisted realm somewhere between reality and illusion. A state where malevolence douses the air in toxic waste, making every inhale feel like glass shards shredding my lungs. Dread turns to ice in my veins, gripping my heart and clenching until it shudders and threatens to stop beating altogether.
My body teeters on the precipice, desperate for oxygen as it screams at me to inhale. Right when I think I’m going to pass out, my airway expands and my eyes snap open.
Fear is a palpable thing, beating a hasty retreat against my flesh as my eyes bounce around the room. In the darkness, my surroundings are warped and twisted, shadows dancing in the corners, morphing into grotesque shapes and distorted forms that have me inching closer to utter terror.
He’s back. He’s here.
I should have known he wouldn’t let me go.
The air grows heavy with my labored breaths, sweat dripping from my trembling body and soaking into the sheets. With numb fingers, I reach out blindly until I find the switch. I flick it.
The room is immersed in a bright, white light that sends the monsters scurrying and hissing into the shadows, and I take my first real breath as I scour the room. The seconds tick by, each one cementing me more firmly in reality as I leave the nightmare behind. However, it does nothing to ease the terror flooding my limbs as I grapple for control of my own mind.
Blowing out a long, shaky breath, I fall back on the methods I’ve learned to quell the panic and ground myself when attacks like this leave me reeling.
You’re safe. You’re in your apartment at Halston. You’re alone.
When I’ve gathered enough moisture to form actual words, I repeat them aloud, needing to hear my own voice. To know this is real. That I am real.
“I am safe. I’m in my apartment. I’m in Halston.” I do one final search of the room before confirming, “I am alone.”
He’s not here. He can’t hurt you. Hewon’thurt you ever again.
My hands are still shaking as I slide one beneath my bed sheet and run my fingers along the lining of my pajama shorts until I find the bumps. The sharp, straight edges are my only source of comfort on nights like tonight.
Breathe in; bleed out.
It’s something I used to take quite literally, but now I use it to find a sense of calm.
More than anything, that helps push away the curling tendrils of black mist still clinging to the recesses of my consciousness.
Relief is a visceral thing, flooding through me as I finger the scars, recalling the solace inflicting each one brought. At the time, it was my only outlet for all the hurt and anger. The only thing that stopped my world from completely spinning out. And when memories of that time resurface, the reminder brings me a sense of calm.
Remembering that I got out. That I am alive.
I scrape a hand down my face, frustration welling as I scour my mind, trying to identify what might have triggered tonight’s nightmare. Nothing obvious stands out, but sometimes it’s not always clear cut. Logan’s warm brown eyes come to mind, and I pause. Is my interaction with him earlier what triggered me tonight? Sometimes it’s as simple as that. As unassuming. I didn’t feel fear in his presence, but I did feel… alive. Drawn to him.
Pushing all thoughts of Logan aside, I blow out a shaky exhale, continuing with my usual routine. My hand trembles as I rest it over my heart, the rhythmicthump, thumpsteadying me further.
“I survived,” I say aloud, voice hoarse and scratchy. Still, there’s a strength in it that bolsters me. “I can feel my heartbeat. The air in my lungs.”
There was once a time when that knowledge would have shattered me. When all I wanted was to die. If it hadn’t been for divine intervention, life’s twisted idea of a joke, or whatever you want to call it, I would be. I’d be worm food in a pine box six feet under, and not a single soul would miss me.
But I’m not.
I’m alive. And I’m fucking fighting to stay that way.
