Lyrical (Academy of Stardom, #2)

by Bea Paige

“I see the fear in your eyes, girl. This isn’t the place for that. Do what you need to survive.”

I’m not a victim. Not tonight. Fuck that. Dax might knock his opponents out with lethal punches and kicks. Zayn might slash his victims with the sharpened point of a knife. York might crucify his enemies with fists that break bones. Xeno might torture his adversaries with something far worse. And Jeb might ruin lives with threats to the ones I love. But tonight I’m fighting back.

I’ve had to endure years of my brother beating me. I’ve had to suffer a lifetime of my mum’s words belittling me. I’ve had to withstand judgement from people who don’t even know me. I’ve had to live the past three years in a permanent state of fear. This is my chance to take a little of my power back.

“You think that’s going to prevent him from taking what he wants regardless?” Grim asks, her voice low, angry. Her reaction surprises me. I really didn’t think she’d give a shit. “The moment’s over. Besides, who wants to fuck with a gun aimed at their heads?” I say with false bravado as I nod towards Beast who still has his gun clutched in his hand.

I may have a thick skin but I’m fucking scarred from all the fighting. I might be able to take more than others. I might keep fighting back, but I’m only human and everyone has a breaking point, including me. Some days I’m strong, I’m fierce, and others I’m on the verge of breaking, my edges fraying. I can feel myself unravelling. This back and forth, this push and pull, the ups and downs, acting strong but feeling weak, it’s taking its toll. I put up a front to the world, never really revealing who I truly am deep inside, even to the ones I love the most.

I want my fucking life back. I want to live. I don’t want to be afraid anymore. I don’t want to be afraid for my sister. I don’t want to be afraid for my life. I don’t want to be afraid of my feelings. I want to live. I want to be free.

My chest heaving as he watches me. My heart might be broken, it might bleed but it still beats. It. Still. Fucking. Beats.

“You may be the Breakers, but you will not break me,”

Love is chaotic, agonizing, complex. It’s like DNA, no one really knows the depths of its power or can unravel its mysteries. Love is just there, it’s something that exists and we’re all just a bunch of people either looking for love, are in love, or are heartbroken without it, because of it.

You dance with passion, with fire. You fucking slay me. I’d willingly burn up in your flames, and suffocate in your ashes, if it meant I could hold you close again. If it meant you’d let me in.

I’m here when you’re ready to talk. I won’t push you, but I’m not backing off either. The others can do what they want. You were mine first, so it’s only right you’re mine first again.

Do I listen to my heart or my head? I don’t know what the fuck to do. Right now all I can do is dance.

“I know a lot of people, Pen, but not one of them is as special to me as you are.” His gaze softens, and I don’t know if it’s the soft lighting, the sensual atmosphere, or the sound of Rag‘n’Bone Man singing, but I swear to fuck actual stars shine in Zayn’s night-time eyes.

Did I want to sleep with him? Yes, of course I did, and I know he wanted it too, but tonight wasn’t about that. Tonight was about starting again. It was about reconnecting. It was about friendship and, ultimately, it was about trust.

And by the brief flash of pain in Pen’s eyes, she thinks all this hate I feel is aimed at her. It isn’t. It’s aimed at me. I fucking hate myself.

There have only ever been two obsessions in my life. I’m dancing one of them and looking at the other.

She’s the defiant little girl beneath that oak tree, bruised and battered but never beaten. She’s the woman with secrets that weigh her down, but will not end her. She’s the dancer that inspires passion in others. She’s her. She’s Titch.

He really has changed, but he doesn’t get to pin that on me and use me as an excuse. No. No fucking way. “I’m not responsible for how you choose to behave, Xeno. Yes, I walked. Yes, I broke your hearts, but I haven’t seen you for three goddamn years. I didn’t make you into this person. You did that all by yourself,” I say, swiping at the tears rolling down my face. “You don’t get to blame me for that. You don’t get to blame me for everything you’ve done in his name whilst we’ve been apart. So don’t you dare accuse me of breaking us first when I lost all four of you to Jeb way before that night.”

Why is love so fucking painful? Why does it have the power to bring us to our knees?

But at least I’m willing to try, despite everything against us. At least I’m willing to look past the damn graveyard of our friendship and attempt at building bridges. Xeno’s a motherfucking coward.

Over the years my pain has become its own entity, growing within me, suffocating me as it became this monstrous thing. I don’t want to feel that way anymore.

But something else happens too. A sense of understanding. I need to set my pain free and the only way I’m going to be able to do that is by sharing the truth. I need to tell the Breakers what happened that night. I need to tell them the truth and let the chips fall where they may. Then and only then will I be free. And maybe, just maybe they’ll be set free too.

I let it all out, and on the back of my tears, I realise something fundamental. Whilst I’ve been struggling, living in a dingy council flat with my bitch of a mother, trying to take care of my baby sister and trying to make ends meet, the Breakers have slept in clean sheets, in warm clothes, with food in their bellies and friendship in their hearts. They’ve had each other throughout it all, and whilst I might’ve had my sister, it hasn’t been easy. I’ve not been able to relax once in the past three years. I’ve just kept going. Looking after Lena, dealing with my mother’s shit, my brother’s threats and Jeb’s demands all the while striving for something better, something more. I’ve done it all. I’ve carried all that stress. On. My. Fucking. Own. That hurts.

Though right now the space doesn’t feel big enough for what I’m witnessing, because Dax takes up the whole damn studio with his presence. He’s like a goddamn hurricane trapped inside a glass jar.

comeuppance.

Below the spinning, sparkling girls, I dance. Every step is a word. Every line of my body, a story. I tell my tale right here in the club named the same. For some it will just be a pretty dance, a performance to thrill, but this isn’t for the gangsters that surround me. This is for the Breakers. This is for them.

use every single part of my body to express how I feel. From the tips of my fingers to the tops of my toes, I burn the fucking canvas with my dance. I feel. Boy, do I feel.