POV Akhyra

Simone's mother, who insisted I call her Naomi, is a petite woman who moves around her kitchen with the energy of a dozen sous-chefs. She talks animatedly with her hands, sometimes waving around any utensil she might be holding on to. 

When Naomi opened her front door about an hour earlier and found me on her porch, she had let out such a long shriek that I worried the neighbors might think that a burglar had broken into the house.

Naomi fussed over me with the lovely mannerism of a church auntie as she welcomed me inside her home. She had already begun preparation for Manje Midi, the meal of noon, which is the most consistent meal of the day for Haitians. 

I offered to help, but she would have none of it, waving me off me with a wooden spoon the only time I'd been bold enough to bypass her instructions and step near the stove.

Come to think of it, it's probably a good thing she doesn't want me touching any food. Catastrophe always seems to follow whenever I'm in a culinary environment. 

"You know I almost cried in relief when Simone told me you were part of the show," her mother reveals. "I knew you would be such a motivation for her because this little girl is not one hundred percent invested," she concludes in a weary tone. 

This remark jolts a memory from last month when Enchanted Shadows hadn't debuted yet. One day after coming out of rehearsals, Simone had joked that her mother would disown her if she knew about the band. 

"From what I've seen, Simone is really dedicated to her craft," I tread carefully. "Maybe what she needs is exploring other interests outside of dancing."

"Other interests?" Naomi repeats as if the concept sounds bizarre. Then she turns to face me. "Do you have other interests outside of ballet?"

That question takes me by surprise. 

"I don't, but there are dancers who pursue different artistic endeavors besides ballet."

"Oh my sweet child, that's the difference between you and the others. You're one of the greatest because you focus solely on nurturing your talent."

I want to argue that it doesn't have to be that way for all ballet dancers, but I can tell that Naomi would miss my point somehow.

We both hear the front door open and close before a familiar voice calls out, "Mom, I'm home." 

"In the kitchen," Naomi answers. "Come say hi to your dear friend."

I force the muscles of my face to not grimace when I hear the words "dear friend." 

"Someone stopped by?" Simone asks eagerly.

Her footsteps accelerate until she appears in the room and stops short upon seeing me seated at the table. Her smile falters instantly, but she quickly puts it back on when she notices that her mother is staring at us with dreamy eyes.

"Oh, hey Akhyra. You didn't say you'd come."

"It was a last-minute decision," I answer, which is true. "There's something about the show that I want to discuss with you."

"O...Kay?" she mutters dubiously. 

I can see the gears turn in her mind as she tries to figure out the real reason I'm here. I inform Naomi that we're going for a walk down the block. She reminds us that food will be ready soon and I assure her that we would make it back in time even though I know that depending on the conversation that I have with her daughter, there's a chance I might not come back to eat with them.

We exit the house and walk in awkward silence for a few minutes until Simone finally speaks up. 

"What did you and my mother talk about?"

"Ballet mostly. I didn't tell her about the band if that's what you're worried about."

"There would've been no use anyways," she answers. "I'm not part of it anymore."

Her voice is detached, but I can tell that it's only a mask. 

"You quit?"

"No, I was kicked out."

"Why?"

I doubt she wants to talk to me about what happened, but surprisingly, she answers.

"Jasmine and Caleb both decided that I wasn't seriously committed, and they wanted someone willing to make more sacrifices." 

"Can they do that? What about the songs?"

"Caleb is the songwriter, I was only vocal, so yeah, they can. I can't even blame them because we had this opportunity to do a demo with an indie label one day, and I missed it because I had rehearsals for Enchanted Shadows."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Are you though?" The bitterness of that question stings like the crack of a whip. I stop walking to face her.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

When she meets my gaze, the mask of indifference she'd been wearing up until this moment is nowhere to be seen. Her eyes are veiled in animosity. Given what I've discovered this morning, I'm not at all surprised by her expression.

"You're the one who claimed that no one on the waitlist had enough talent to be picked by Madame Laroche. So excuse me if I don't believe in your sympathy right now."

The last piece of the puzzle suddenly clicks into place. Simone had started avoiding me around the same time that I got caught up in the Brittany-Ambrose drama. 

"I didn't know you were on that list."

"It doesn't matter whether you knew or not," she hisses. "You clearly think that you're better than everyone else."

"That's because I am better. But I admit that I could have phrased that differently back then."

"Do you even hear yourself?" She scoffs bitterly. "Would it kill you to be a little more humble sometimes?"

"Well, I might not be humble, but at least I don't go around backstabbing people who used to be my friends." I pause for her reaction, but she just stares blankly at me, deciding to play dumb, so I continue. "I had someone investigate who talked to the press about my phobia. This is something I shared with you because I trusted you. How could you do this?"

Valentino brought me proof of Simone's culpability this morning. I was drinking a protein smoothie as I read the file, and the glass had slipped from my hands, shattering on the floor in a cacophony of broken glass. I can only imagine what she would've told the press if I had also confided in her about my childhood. 

"Don't even try to make me the villain here," Simone barks. "You've achieved every possible milestone in ballet, and yet you're still craving for more. You make no place for anybody else to have a chance to fucking catch up! So what if you're dealing with a little media issue? Boo hoo, look at me people don't like me anymore when I'm the most famous ballerina in the world. Girl please."

Now that Simone's rant is over, her chest is heaving and her eyes are two windows of blazing rage. I don't know what I'd expected by coming here. Maybe I'd hoped that Simone would at least feel guilty about what she did but looking at her now it's clear that she doesn't regret her actions. 

"Well, it looks like you had a lot on your chest," I say. "Since you've achieved your goal of making Madame Laroche drop me as a potential character, let's see if you get the role since I'm the one who's stopping you from achieving good things."

There's nothing left to say, so I walk away. As I retreat from her to go back to my car parked on the other side of the road, the memories of the weeks I've spent being Simone's friend scroll through my mind. That day she took me to Caonabo is a memory that I'll always cherish because it made me discover that I could enjoy the company of a crowd. Those times, we visited many restaurants to try out their Mimosas and rank them as if we were some sophisticated food critics. The day I gave her the friendship bracelet. All of those moments will always have a special place in my heart.

When I get back inside my car, I'm grateful that I hadn't retracted the roof because I can comfortably cry without worrying that someone might see. I don't know how long I stayed there, my whole body shaking under the waves of violent sobs.

People warn you about romantic heartbreaks, but friendship breakups hurt just as bad.

It's ironic how Brittany, from whom I kept my distance ended up being the one who sustained me on stage to prevent an inevitable fall while on the same day that my so-called friend's revelations about my trauma traveled around the internet.

***

I have a golden rule to limit my intake of sugar when I'm on a performance streak, but it's a Sunday, no show tonight. I shamelessly plow through a pot of Ben & Jerry's as I recount my shocking discovery to Lucian. We're seated on my couch with my legs on his laps while he's massaging my feet.

"This is brutal," Lucian declares when I finish telling him about my conversation with Simone. "The way she implied that you should dim your light in order for others to shine reeks of jealousy."

"I think her mother is partly responsible for this animosity that she developed toward me. She once said that her mother was obsessed with me and I thought back then that it was a lovely exaggeration but meeting Naomi has left me with the impression that she's raising Simone to be another version of me. That was very disturbing to see."

"Being under that kind of parental pressure can surely mess with someone's head," Lucian remarks. "But that's not an excuse for what Simone did. Instead of talking to you about the way she felt she chose to go to share with the world something that you trusted her to keep a secret. This is not on you."

The rational part of my brain knows that, but I can't help rethinking about the despair in Simone's voice.

"I know I'm not exactly a joy to be around most of the time," I say with my eyes downcast. "And I was so focused on the Ambrose thing I didn't think of checking on her, so maybe I made her that way."

"Hey, don't do that," Lucian reprimands softly. "The people who know you well, that includes Hannah, Valentino, and I, we don't expect perfection from you. We're all humans with our own flaws, and we wouldn't trade the person that you are for the world."

When I meet his eyes, he leans down to place a gentle kiss near my ankle.

"Thank you for not saying something cliché like, I'm perfect the way I am."

He gives me a rueful smile. "We both know you would've given me hell for it."

I put down my ice cream and move toward Lucian to straddle him. His hands grab both of my thighs, bringing me closer. We savor the tension of anticipation for a few seconds before closing the gap between our lips. When I reach down to unbutton his jeans, Lucian covers my hands with his and pulls away.

"I promise, I don't need foreplay, " I protest.

"It's not that." Lucian exhales with a troubled expression. "I came here because I wanted to talk to you face to face about something."

"Sure, tell me." I begin to move away to get off his lap, but Lucian keeps my body firmly in place.

"No, stay here. I need you to remain near me for what I'm about to say."

"You're starting to worry me. What's going on?"

He gives a kiss to one of my arms wrapped around his neck. "I'm aware that after the day you've had, this is bad timing, but we need to have this conversation before things get too bad."

"I don't like this," I say instinctively. His body language is off, and the expression in his eyes tells me that whatever he's about to say will both hurt us.

"Akhyra, I think...."

"No."

"You didn't even let me finish."

I don't need to hear it. Ever since he confessed his secret to me three days ago, I was anxiously waiting for Lucian to crack.. I lean forward to press our foreheads together. 

"I know what you're going to say," I whisper. "You want us to break up because now that I know your secret, if the media finds out, they will come after me as well."

Lucian is speechless for a moment, then recovers. "You know they will. Look at how they're already tearing you apart. You don't need to be associated with a murderer right now."

"I appreciate the concern, but in case you forgot, I'm used to being dragged by the media."

Lucian sighs in frustration, and this time, he's the one who puts me down, creating some distance between us. 

"Akhyra there's already a journalist after me," he informs me. "It's only a matter of time before he exposes what I've done."

"Who is it?" I demand. 

Lucian groans, visibly exasperated. "That's not the point," he asserts. "I can't let you be involved in this shitstorm when it's going to hit. The consequences on your reputation would be disastrous. And I'm sure your father would hate to see you get entangled in that mess."

"You're very naive if you think that not being together will prevent the media from attacking me."

"I'm thinking about the long run here. If I get prosecuted for what I've done, there's going to be a trial. Who knows how long it will take and the outcome? You can't possibly want to go through that."

"Do not speak for me!" I cry out as I stand up. 

Lucian's eyes follow me as I begin to pace the room. I can't sit still anymore, or I might explode. This conversation isn't going the way that I anticipated.

"I'm just trying to look out for you."

I stop pacing to shoot him with a murderous glare. "By breaking my fucking heart?" A manic laugh escapes me. "Wow how magnanimous of you."

He winces at my words as if he'd swallowed something bitter but the resolve in his tone doesn't dissipate when he speaks again.

"You're the one who said that if one wants to break up they need to provide a valid reason. When the media will get a hold of this, suppose that we stay together no matter what happens, then the media will no longer see you as a prima ballerina. They'll dub you as the girlfriend of a murderer. You've sacrificed too much to build a legacy. I can not let it get tarnished because of my past. This is my valid reason."

We stare at each other in silence. My world is collapsing, and I'm helpless to stop the downfall. 

"So this is it then," I manage to say despite the pain of a thousand needles poking at my heart. "You want to break up."

"I'm doing this because I love you." Lucian looks like he's about to cry, and I have to fight the urge to walk over there and shake some sense into him.

"I'm going to ask you a question to give you one last chance to give up on that stupid decision," I warn him. "Are you sure that you want to break up?"

"It's the only solution," he pleads.

"Are you sure?"

"I don't want you to get hurt."

"Answer the goddamn question!"

"Yes, that's what I want!" He snaps. "You can't force me to stay with you."

His declaration knocks the oxygen out of my lungs, and I rear back as if I'd been slapped. Regret flashes in Lucian's eyes, and he opens his mouth to speak, but I don't give him the opportunity. He's said enough. 

"Indeed I can't," I agree. I point in the direction of the door. "You're a free man now, leave."

Lucian walks out without another word, and when I hear the door close, I realize that my dear old friend, loneliness, has made its grand return into my life.