I twist on my feet and walk towards the door. “No! You’re staying.” “Get out of my way, Zayn,” I say, trying to step around him. He simply blocks my path, planting a firm hand on my shoulder. “I can’t do this.” “You face this. Right the fuck now,” he replies, twisting me around. He wraps one arm around my waist and lifts my chin firmly, his fingers digging into my skin, forcing me to look. “Do you see that? Do you see how you brought them back to life? You did that with dance, Pen. Dance brought us back together,” he repeats, hammering his point home. “It healed us. You stop dancing, then what
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