I couldn't feel my leg. 

I couldn't wiggle my toes.

The pain burned as though acid was being poured on my skin, and my vision blurred. 

"Leslie?" Ethan brushed my hair. "Oh, my God…" His hands moved from my face to my shoulder as he scanned my body to determine what was hurt.

"My leg,” I cried and looked into his eyes. The fear that radiated from them told me to be afraid. "Jerry?" I asked, not knowing exactly what had happened.

Ethan shook his head and his eyes filled with tears. "He was going after you. I had no choice."

"Where were you?" I cried, desperate for answers.

"He made me drive his car to the shop. I ran home, and when you weren't at the party I rushed here." He cupped my cheeks and kissed my lips. “I saw him touching you. I heard your screams.” His voice cracked.

"Is he . . . dead?" I winced as I tried to move.

"I don't know." His voice was so low it caused a chill to run up my spine.

“Ethan . . .” My lips quivered. “I can't feel my leg. We need to call for help."

He nodded and kissed my head. "It will all be okay. I promise."

And just like that he was gone.  

When the garage door closed, reality hit me. My leg was broken, and Ethan’s father was lying under a shelf with his skull cracked open, the pool of blood only a few feet away.

I screamed. 

I screamed until my voice grew hoarse. 

I screamed until my throat felt as if it were on fire.

I screamed until it was completely silent and there was nothing left inside of me.

I didn't know that my dream of dancing was over, but I knew whatever I shared with Ethan, the pure innocent love we had, had been tarnished by Jerry.

I lay on the cool cement floor for what felt like hours, sobbing until someone came to get me. When the door swung open, I heard my mother screech. My father rushed to my side.

“Leslie . . . Are you hurt, sweetie? What happened?”

I couldn't answer him. All I could do was cry. My mother kneeled beside me and grabbed my hand. From my peripheral, I could see my entire party had shifted from my house to inside Ethan's garage. My eyes scanned the garage for Ethan. I needed to look at him. I needed to know it would all be okay, like he promised.

But he wasn't there.

Four men counted to three and then lifted the shelf off my body. In unison, everybody gasped when they saw Jerry's motionless body underneath it, a pool of blood surrounding him. My mother quickly turned my head away and that was when I noticed my foot was bent in the opposite direction. I hadn’t broken my leg. I had obliterated my ankle.

This had to be a nightmare. This couldn’t be happening.

I looked at my parents who were both staring at me with concerned eyes. “I can still dance, right?” I asked past the tears in a hopeful tone.

My mother’s lower lip quivered and she nodded. But there was something in her eyes, something I had never seen before, something that caused a shiver to run up my spine. It told me everything I already knew deep in my gut. Dancing was out of the question—permanently. I bit back a sob and allowed her to hold me tight as she shielded me from the pain.

Minutes passed, but it felt like a century before the ambulance arrived. The cops walked in first, surveyed the premises, and asked everyone to leave. That was when I finally spotted Ethan. He stood in the corner with his mother and Charlie. I needed more from Ethan in that second than I ever had in my entire life. I needed him to give me a sign that everything would be okay.

But he never did. He never met my eyes. He refused to look at me.

My parents both walked alongside the stretcher as the officers spoke to the other group of EMTs that were crouched down near Jerry.

It wasn't until I was almost out the door when I heard one say, “He has a pulse. He's unconscious, but he has a pulse.” 

My heart rate sped up and it felt impossible to breathe. My eyes darted to Ethan, and I watched as his knees hit the ground.

Jerry was still alive.

* * *

The world around me passed in a blur. That my ankle was broken didn’t matter to me as much as the fact that Jerry was still alive. And for the life of me, I couldn’t get the image of Ethan dropping down on his knees out of my mind. I wanted to know what he was thinking, what he was feeling. What the hell was going to happen to us?

When we arrived at the hospital, I was rushed to see an orthopedic surgeon. Their mouth's moved but I couldn’t hear anything. The only thing that reverberated in my head was Ethan was nowhere to be found and Jerry had a pulse. The man who tried to rape me was still alive. My mind raced at high speed but I kept forcing my shattered ankle out of my head. I still refused to believe that to be true.

My skin began to itch and I reached to scratch my cheek. It was then I realized I had been stripped of my clothes and put into a hospital gown. An IV was jammed into my arm and for the life of me I couldn't remember how it got there.

“Leslie, sweetie.” My dad gripped my hand. “The doctors say you’re in shock.” His voice was low, as though he were speaking to a small child. “We all are.” He held my hand firmly. “But everything will be okay. They're taking you up to surgery now and we will be right here.” Tears welled in his eyes, and his eyebrows pinched together.

“I'm okay, Daddy,” I said, not feeling an ounce of pain. “I'm fine.” I sat up on the bed. “Really, I’m fine. I just need to find Ethan.”

My father’s strong hand rested on my shoulder. “Leslie.” He said my name in a stern tone. “Listen to me. Your ankle is badly broken. They need to go in there and fix it before you have permanent nerve damage and won’t be able to walk.”

There had to be a misunderstanding. I wasn’t in any pain. I looked at my mother for some kind of reassurance, but her back was pressed against the wall and she was crying.

“But I’m fine. I just need to get to Ethan. I’m fine.”

“It’s the morphine drip that’s making her like this,” I heard an unfamiliar man’s voice say.

Was he right?

I lay back on the bed and closed my eyes. Tears slowly slid from the corners. “Daddy?” I turned back to face him. My voice broke with each syllable. “I'll be able to dance again, right?”

“Yes, sweetie.” He brushed his hand along my hair. “The doctors will do everything they can and you'll be able to dance again.” I smiled and closed my eyes once more.

That was the first time my father ever lied to me. 

* * *

When I woke up, my throat hurt and my body felt as if it weighed a ton. Peeling my eyes open, I spied a doctor talking to my parents. My mother still had that look of death in her eyes, and my father's arms were crossed as he listened to every word the doctor spoke.

“Dad,” I whispered. They grew silent as everyone turned to face me. “Mom, what is it?” All she could do was shake her head at me. 

"Leslie, I'm Doctor Weiss. I performed the surgery on your ankle.” He spoke in a calming tone. “You’ll be a bit groggy for the next few hours, but that's the anesthesia wearing off. Your surgery went beautifully. You’ll be in a cast for the next six weeks, and then we’ll start physical therapy right after that. I believe you'll have to do at least three months of physical therapy before you are able to walk without a cane.”

I sat up on the bed, wincing at the pain that radiated up my leg. “That’s impossible.” I shook my head. “I leave for Juilliard in three weeks.” I glanced over at my mother. “Mom, tell him!” My mother ran her hands under her eyes and shook her head before turning on her heel and walking out of my room.

The moment I needed my mother the most, she left.

“Dad . . .” I cried. “I can dance, right? I can go to Juilliard? They’re expecting me.” I couldn’t control the tears that dripped down my cheeks. “I got in. Out of thousands, they only picked twelve girls. They picked me!” My hands rushed to shield my face. “Tell him I can't do physical therapy. I have to go to New York.”

“Leslie, sweetheart.” The somber tone of his voice broke my heart. “Unfortunately, you won't be able to go to Juilliard.”

This had to be a nightmare.  

Dr. Weiss cleared his throat. “Leslie, when the shelf fell on your ankle, it tore your lateral and medial malleolus. The bones around your talus are being held in place by plates and screws." Dr. Weiss held up the X-ray of my ankle.

I gasped when I looked at the black film. There were six small screws on the inner part of my ankle, and one long screw from the outside into the bone. I would never dance again. 

“I'm sorry, Leslie. With time, you might be able to dance socially, but you will never be able to dance professionally.”

I leaned back on the bed and closed my eyes. “Go away,” I muttered under my breath.

“Leslie . . .” My father tried to calm me, but I didn't want anybody's pity. 

“Go away. Leave me alone!” I screamed as I covered my face. I heard my father sigh before he and the doctor walked out of my room. I dropped my hands from my face and scanned the empty room. Everyone and everything I had ever loved had vanished from my life.

Every memory tarnished.

Every dream broken.

I was alone.

Completely alone. 

* * *

It was a week before my eighteenth birthday.

A full month had passed since the day I was supposed to leave for Juilliard. Nearly two since my dreams were shattered, along with my ankle. Ethan and I had planned out this entire day. After we were done with school, we would take a walk through Central Park and head over to Serendipity III. We were going to split a frozen hot chocolate and spend the night at his place.

We had mapped out every single day of our first summer in New York, from our meeting spot in the departure lounge at the Arizona airport to how we would transform ourselves from tourists to New York natives.

Now I sat in the hospital room, by myself, waiting for a nurse to take me to physical therapy. There were no special days planned. There was no hovering mother to watch my every move. There was no loving boyfriend to hold my hand. My days now consisted of waking up, eating breakfast, and participating in physical therapy.

The only person who visited me was my father when he was done with work, and the detectives who insisted on getting my version of the story over and over again. According to my father, Ethan wouldn't speak to the police. He just sat in an interrogation room completely silent. It was up to me to tell the cops what happened, so I told them the truth—it was self-defense. Jerry was attacking me, and Ethan saved me by hitting him over the head.

Apparently, they weren’t happy with my story. The detectives were in my room three times after my initial debriefing, and when they walked in for a fourth time, I reminded them I was a minor, and until I had a legal guardian or a lawyer present, I wouldn't be saying anything else. Having spent well over a month in the hospital watching Law and Order on re-runs, I knew my rights. 

* * *

I arrived back in my room after therapy, exhausted and in pain. They had removed the hard cast but I still wasn’t allowed to put weight on my foot. Who knew moving your foot back-and-forth for an hour caused such exhaustion and pure agony? When Megan, my therapist, wheeled me back into my room, I spotted a coat sitting on the table. Instantly, a smile appeared on my face. Was that Ethan's coat? Had he finally come to visit? It was wishful thinking, but it was my birthday after all.

As we moved further into the room, I realized it was my father's coat. My smile faltered and I pulled myself onto the bed, shifting until my back rested on the firm mattress.

“There you are, kiddo.” My father walked back into the room holding a cup of coffee. “I left work early to spend your special day with you. When I got here they said you were in therapy so I figured I'd go down to grab you a treat. I bought you a glazed donut.” He lifted up the white bag.

What was the point of watching my weight now? “Thanks, Dad.” I took the bag from him. He leaned forward and kissed the top of my head. "How was therapy?"

"Great," I said with zero enthusiasm.

"Leslie." My father pouted. "You have to give it a try."

"I did. I am." My voice grew angrier. 

"Fine." My father sat at the edge of the bed. "What's really going on? You don't seem like yourself.” 

I scoffed and shook my head. Did he really have the nerve to ask me that question?

"Do you really have to ask?" I didn't wait for him to respond. "Mom is gone. Ethan hasn't called or even come to visit me. I won't ever dance again. I had to call Julliard and tell me them I'm not going. Everything I loved has turned to shit!" My words came out in hysterical, uncontrollable sobs. "You keep me locked in here when all I want to do is go home.” I paused and wiped the tears from my cheeks. “Why hasn’t he come to visit me? I told the cops it was self-defense. Did they arrest him and you don't want to tell me? Is that it?"

"Easy there, Leslie." He grabbed my hand. “I don’t want to see you upset on your birthday.”

"Why hasn't he come? Why!" 

My father sighed and ran his hands through his peppered hair. "Right now I want you to focus on therapy."

"They arrested him, right?"

"No. There is a lot going on, but there is no charge of attempted murder. It was self-defense and Joyce isn't doing so well, so Ethan has been busy with that. Plus, I asked him to give you some space."

"What? Why!" I slammed my hands against the comforter.

"I want you to rest.” My father was flippant as he took another sip of his coffee.

How could he just dismiss me that way? Couldn’t he see what this was doing to me? "I don't want to rest, Dad! I want to see him. I need him to know I don't blame him."

My father’s eyes bore little compassion. "I'm sorry, but unfortunately you're our number one priority. Getting you healthy is my main concern.”

Whether it was a stern act to keep me focused or his true intention, I was full of rage. "I hate you!" I cried. "If you wanted me to get better you wouldn’t keep me locked in here.” I covered my face with my hands and sobbed. "Get out! Get out! Get out!"

I felt the mattress move and I knew he had gotten up. "I know you're mad now. But this is for your own good." He kissed the top of my head when he was finished speaking his clichéd words. Defiantly, I turned away from him. Unless he was allowing Ethan to visit, I didn't want anything from him.

* * *

Weeks turned into months. Doctors said I was depressed. Others said I was defiant and throwing tantrums because I didn't get what I wanted. But I simply felt numb. The light inside of me had died. The lotus flower that once bloomed through the muck had withered and wilted away.

When they brought in a therapist to speak to me, my father was worried. I had been in rehab for almost three months. My ankle was healing and I was finally able to walk with the help of a cane.

It dawned on me one morning that no one else lived in the hospital like I did. Yes, people stayed for weeks at a time depending on their injury, but I was perfectly healthy and still there was no discharge. I began to ask every day why I was still there and the answer was simple. Your father has requested this.

And like that my depression worsened.

"Leslie," My father said in a low tone. I was picking at my lunch when he walked in the room. I didn't pull my gaze from the soft cream wall. "Sweetie, we're all worried about you. Talk to me, Leslie."

I shifted on the pillow and looked over to him. I hated that he kept me in here like a caged animal. I hated that my mother never came to visit me. I hated that Ethan never called. 

"I want to leave." I whispered and glanced over at him. "I want to get the hell out of here."

"Okay. We can make arrangements to move you to a different facility." 

"No!" I sat up on the bed, fueled with urgency. "I don't want to be in a hospital anymore. I don’t know why you’ve kept me here for so long but I can’t do this anymore. Don't you see, Dad? I want out! Out of this hospital, out of this town. Out! I want to go to college like I was supposed to."

"Juilliard—"

"Fuck Juilliard!” I yelled, shaking my head. “I was accepted to other schools, too. Please, Dad. Let me leave this place. Let me go on with my life."

I watched as my father weighed his options. He nodded as he reached out to hold my hand. “Let me make a few phone calls tomorrow and I'll come back.”

“Thank you.” I whispered as the tears blinded me. 

* * *

My father returned the following day with a manila folder tucked under his arm.

"I made a few calls." His voice was low and hoarse. "But first I want you to understand a few things.” I nodded.

“It was my choice to keep you in here. I didn’t understand the type of man Jerry was until you were lying in a hospital bed. He had men follow him and it was my fear that with him being injured they might come after you. I didn’t feel you’d be safe at home given your mother is currently unstable. So, I want you to know I’m sorry for keeping you here for the past three months, but I did it to keep you safe.”

He reached out and held my hand. “I called the dean at UCLA and explained what happened. Luckily, he was my history professor when I attended and he remembered me. I know it's not Juilliard, but if you want, they will accept you. The fall semester starts next week, but you can do a late registration." 

I didn’t wait for him to finish. "I'll take it."

"Leslie." He paused and glanced deep into my eyes. "This is your career, your life. Don't make a rash decision just because you don't want to be here anymore."

"Dad, if I can't dance like Mom, then I want to be successful like you are,” I admitted. 

My father sighed and pulled me into his arms. "I'm so sorry, kiddo. I thought by keeping you here I was keeping you safe."

"It's okay," I cried. "I just want to leave now."

My father pulled away and framed my small face with his big hands. "You'll still need to continue with physical therapy. I've talked to Dr. Weiss about a referral."

I nodded. "And Mom?" I couldn’t imagine a world where Darlene was unstable.

"She'll be all right. She just needs a little time." I knew it was a lie but it was a lie to protect both of us.