Page 21 of The Last Pirouette
Her leg throbbed, a dull, persistent ache that spread from her ankle to her hip. It was a physical manifestation of her emotional pain, a constant reminder of her brokenness, her imperfection. She rubbed it absently, trying to soothe the discomfort, but nothing seemed to help.
A wave of nausea washed over her, and she closed her eyes, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill. She felt betrayed, not just by Liam, but by herself. She had allowed herself to hope, to believe that maybe, just maybe, she could find happiness again, that she could move on from the accident and build a new life. But Liam’s words had shattered that illusion, revealing the harsh reality that she was nothing more than a charity case, a broken toy to be played with and then discarded.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, breaking through her despair. She glanced at the screen. A text from Liam.
Hey, you were quiet tonight. Everything okay?
The simple, caring question felt like a lie, a cruel joke. How could he possibly ask that, after what she had heard? Did he really think she was that stupid, that naive? Did he honestly believe she would fall for his act?
She stared at the message, her heart pounding in her chest. She wanted to scream, to lash out, to tell him exactly how much he had hurt her. But she couldn’t. She was too numb, too exhausted. She just wanted to curl up in a ball and disappear.
She read the message again, her eyes tracing the familiar words. Then, she watched the three little dots appear and then vanish as he typed something else. A longer explanation? More lies? She didn't want to know. She didn't care.
With a deliberate movement, she turned her phone face down on the comforter, letting the screen go dark. She silenced the ringer and ignored the vibration as another text came through. The weight of his unanswered questions pressed down on her, heavy and suffocating. But she couldn't bring herself to respond. Not yet. Maybe not ever. The screen remained dark, a silent barrier between her and the world, a symbol of her broken heart.
Chapter 14
The physical therapy room, usually buzzing with a low hum of effort and witty banter, was uncomfortably silent. The air was sterile, smelling of disinfectant instead of the familiar, faint scent of their shared exertion. Harper stood by the parallel bars, already stretching, her posture rigid and perfect. Her focus was internal, a carefully constructed wall of ice radiating from her, turning the shared space into a tundra of emotional distance.
She raised her leg, pointing her toes with a precision that bordered on aggression. Every movement was sharp, controlled, a stark contrast to the fluidity she once possessed. It was almost as if she were punishing herself for every millimeter she fell short of perfection.
Liam entered, his usual easygoing smile faltering as he took in the room's atmosphere. He shuffled his feet, the squeak of his sneakers the only sound breaking the silence. He'd even made an effort to coordinate his outfit today - a clean hockey jersey, a fresh pair of athletic shorts. Usually, he threw things on without a second thought. But he'd felt... compelled to present himself well. Now, he just felt foolish.
"Morning," he said, trying to inject a note of lightness into his voice.
Harper offered a tight, dismissive nod, her eyes fixed on some distant point on the wall. "Liam," she acknowledged, the word clipped and devoid of any warmth.
He tried again. "How was your morning?"
"Fine," she replied, her voice flat.
He hesitated, searching for something, anything, to latch onto. "Uh…good?"
Harper executed her physical therapy exercises with a chilling, mechanical precision. She moved through the routines without looking to Liam for pacing or support, treating him as if he were just another piece of equipment in the room. When he stumbled slightly on a balance exercise, she didn't react, continuing her own set without a flicker of acknowledgment.
He watched her, a knot forming in his stomach. It wasn't just the silence; it was the deliberate way she avoided him. He shifted his weight, trying to ignore the sting of her coldness. He’d thought… he’dhoped… that they were building something. Something real.
He pushed the thought away. Maybe he was imagining things.
He attempted to bridge the gap with their usual lightheartedness. He pulled at the hem of his shorts, trying to find a starting point. "You like my socks?" He lifted one foot, revealing a bright orange sock paired with a blue one. "Thought I'd add some… pizzazz."
Harper barely glanced at his feet. "Interesting," she said, without a hint of amusement.
He dropped his foot, his face flushing. The orange and blue felt less like pizzazz and more like a neon sign flashing 'idiot.'
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Rough night. Guess I didn't exactly nail the laundry thing."
He attempted to engage her again, desperate to break through the ice. "So, uh… anything exciting happen to you last night?"
"No," she said, still focused on her stretches.
The conversation was a series of failed connections. Each of Liam's attempts at warmth was immediately extinguished by Harper's arctic indifference. He felt a growing sense of frustration, mixed with an unfamiliar feeling of hurt.
He tried one last time. "You seemed pretty happy yesterday. Texting me, making plans for today. What happened?"
"Plans change," she said, her voice brittle.
That stung. Liam flinched.
