𝒓𝒉𝒚𝒔
After spending the entire day enduring glares because of my absence the day before, Noah and I stand in our usual corner, interacting with no one but each other.
Fuck those people, honestly. With endure I don't mean trying to not let it kill my barely existent confidence—I mean trying to not fucking lash out. So far, I've met two types of people in the industry. One of them are like Levi, someone who genuinely cares about his dancers or the people he dances with, who'll reassure you that being sick is fine and no dancing when you're injured. The other are like these people, glaring at you for not dancing even though you might've been sick or hurt for all they know.
I wasn't. I could've danced if I pushed a bit further.
Yeah, being a dancer's tough, you're going to have to dance through a lot of pain, but there's a difference between pain and something that could harm you and ruin your dancing career forever.
I was never told I should dance when I was sick or injured. Levi always discouraged it. But you see it so frequently, people who are praised for it, that in your own, perfectionistic mind, that's what you have to do to be a good dancer.
Thank fucking god I never got injured doing that, but I could've.
Thank fucking god I have Noah here because I don't want to talk to anyone who assumes I wasn't sick or injured.
Thank fucki...
No.
Fuck.
There I go again.
Complaining about something I've been. Hell, this time I'm complaining about these people judging me for something they were right about. Why should they assume I was unable to dance when I wasn't?
"Go talk to her, Rhys," Noah whispers to me.
"That's not—" I interrupt myself. No, it wasn't what I thought about, but it's something I've been thinking about, and I've been thinking about Eli, about how bad of a shape Aiden told me he's in.
I'm willing to go back to River Bay for him. I haven't told Noah about any of it yet.
The room is starting to empty. Catherine's always one of the last people out, but that's only by a couple of minutes and I need to make a decision now.
I hand Noah my bag and grab his face, kissing him. "You can eat without me."
"Good try. I won't." He smirks for a second, then put a hand on my arm, squeezing lightly. "Whatever happens, I'm 100 percent sure it'll turn out good for you. What happens to her isn't your problem."
Great. He still doesn't understand that you can feel guilty even when you hate someone. In fact, you can feel so guilty you'd rather let an abusive man walk free than put him in prison. You can feel so guilty you lie to your relatives and to CPS.
Guess an attempt at putting him in prison would be worthless. Politicians can't be put in prison.
I leave Noah without answering, crossing the room.
Catherine's talking to someone. Apparently just meaningless small talk, because he tells her goodbye when he sees me.
She gives me one of those fucking smiles. "Rhys," is all she says. There's no sour undertone or any indication at all that she hates me or that I ruined her life, but there's no polite asking what I want to talk about either. It's like she's trying to discourage me from talking to her.
