Page 47 of Broken Desires
“I…” Ethan starts to say something, then stops. What can he say? Some obstacles are just too big, and we both know it.
Liam had mentioned before that we didn’t have a future, but he never got into the details. If I’d known just how impossible things were, maybe I could’ve guarded my heart better. Maybe I wouldn’t have fallen so hard, wouldn’t have let his actions and looks convince me there was something more. Before I knew it, hope had crept in, that same hope I had been avoiding for so long.
Now, there’s this anger bubbling up inside me, ready to explode, but I’m just too drained to let it out.
“I would like to go home now if you don’t mind. I can call an U?—”
“No need. I’ll drive you,” Ethan insists.
Slipping into the sweatpants he offered, I roll up the legs and follow him to the door.
The question that’s been gnawing at me escapes as we near my apartment. “How could you not have known? You’re tech savvy.”
He steals a glance at me, his shoulders tensing under the weight of my unintended accusation. “I’ve been asking myself that all night,” he confesses, pulling up in front of my building. The engine hums in the background as he turns to face me, a hint of frustration in his face. “And just for the record, I’m no tech wizard. But I did some digging. Liam Ashford exists, alright. He’s Alexander’s cousin.” The way his eyes light with anger at the mention of Alexander reveals his own sense of betrayal. “I’m sorry. If I had known…” he trails off.
I cut him off with a practiced smile. “Let’s not get stuck on it. We should focus on Eva and Cole’s wedding, right? That’s in six weeks.”
His shoulders relax, and he nods, returning my smile. “Yeah, we’ll have plenty to do.”
“Thank you, Ethan. I’ll see you later,” I say, stepping out of the car and into the solitude of my apartment.
Once inside, the facade falls away, and I collapse onto the sofa, pulling out my phone.
I have four notifications.
Eva: Ethan told us, I’m sorry. We’re coming back today, and we’ll talk if you want.
I want to tell her she doesn’t need to rush, that I’m okay, but I have to admit Eva’s motherly presence is a balm to my soul, and I’m selfish enough to accept that.
The other messages take my breath away and add a layer to the pain I already feel.
BB: I’m sorry for leaving this way - I realized I didn’t say goodbye.
BB: *Missed video call*
BB: Sorry, I didn’t realize the time. I didn’t mean for you to find out that way. I’ll call you again in a couple of days. I’ll miss you.
“You’ll miss me?” I snort out loud.
I draft a message asking what exactly he didn’t want me to find out—the crown or the fiancée? But my fingers hesitate, and I delete it. Engaging with his lies brings me no peace.
Me: No problem. Please accept my condolences on your recent loss. Wishing you and your family strength in this challenging period.
I text back, a message that distances my heart from his deceit.
As I put down my phone, the anger and hurt bubble up, threatening to overwhelm me.
Dance
I stand, a decision made. I won’t let his actions define my healing. Dance has always been my refuge, a way to express the inexpressible. It’s time to lose myself in the movement. To find strength in the dance, to let each step wash away the pain, to remind myself of who I am beyond the hurt.
I quickly change into my dance gear, grab yesterday’s sports bag, and head to the modern art building. Today, I don’t care if other students are around or if they see me dancing in silence. My goal is to immerse myself in the one passion that’s always been my sanctuary, the one thing that has never betrayed me.
Finding the main studio occupied, I settle for a smaller one. I lace up my pointe shoes and let the dance consume me. I dance with abandon, allowing each movement to wash away the layers of hope, disappointment, doubt, and tears. I dance until all that remains is the sensation of warm muscles and tender, albeit sleek, skin. I dance until my mind and heart quieten, settling into a familiar zone of soreness and exhaustion, yet one where peace also resides.
Eventually, I come to a halt, my body sore due to the intensity of my escape. Sitting down, I wince as I remove my shoes, confronting the evidence of my overexertion—bleeding feet. Standing with difficulty, I limp to the small bathroom to prepare a warm Epsom salt bath. The relief that washes over me as I sink my feet into the water is immediate, drawing a moan from my lips.
It’s in this moment of physical relief that I confront the emotional truth. I need to accept the end of what was with Liam. More importantly, I need to recognize the value this painful experience has brought into my life. It has allowed me to see myself as worthy, as someone who deserves happiness. It has given me the strength to sever ties with my toxic parents and to rekindle my love for dance.