The beaded necklace hangs from my rear-view mirror and matches the beads hanging from my keys. The new music mix is playing through the stereo and the framed photo of my siblings lies on the front seat, but the drive back to Buffalo in my new little car could be better.

With no company, I’m left to think. My fingers restlessly drum the top of the steering wheel. Turning up the music, I try to drown out thoughts of Andy, and how I feel about my family pushing me to get a life as if they don’t need me anymore.

Part of me wishes they didn’t, but I know they still need me; and that’s fine. I’ll be there for them no matter what. I’ll give them the stability our parents never did, and make sure that they grow up healthy and happy and strong. And proud of themselves.

Andy’s words ring in my ears. You should be proud of everything you’ve accomplished.

The sickening feeling stays firmly in the pit of my stomach. The same feeling plagues me every time I have a chance to think.

I am proud of most things I’ve done. The lies don’t sit well, but they’re necessary. The stripping doesn’t sit well, but only when I think about telling my family about it. The stripping is actually what’s keeping me sane, I think. It takes away the stress about money and it lets me express myself in a way that I just can’t bring myself to do off-stage.

The dancers at Beyond understand this. They feel similarly. The club is a therapeutic environment provided by Prez for exactly that purpose - expressing our sexuality in safe surroundings to make sense of it, or gain control over it. Each of us is working through some inner turmoil created by our sexual experiences. Shuddering, I sit up straighter in my seat.

When it comes to sex, I don’t have much experience at all. I’ve had sex with one man. Just one naughty weekend changed my life. It was nothing like in the movies, and I didn’t love him, but I didn’t hate the sex. I’d been a bundle of nerves the first time, but once we got past that, it felt disturbingly good - which is why I have not slept with anyone since. It shouldn’t have felt that good.

I don’t deserve to feel good about it.

Wiping at my cheeks, I navigate the streets of Buffalo, trying to think of anything but sex.

Can you be a sex addict if you don’t actually have sex? After one terrible taste, I crave it all the time. I’m sure if I started drinking, I’d be able to think of nothing but drinking, which is why I’ve never touched a drop. I’m genetically predisposed. I don’t want to be like my parents; abandoning what truly matters because I can’t resist my vices.

Dancing.

Dancing is what will get me through.

Pulling into the alley behind the club, I park next to Benji’s Mustang. Clutching the photo of the kids to my chest, I grab my suitcase and head to the back door.

Dropping my gear on the way through the empty club, I climb up on stage, already scrolling through the playlist on my phone. Taking off my boots and socks as the music starts to play, I strip off my winter layers until I’m dancing in leggings and a tank-top, then I let the music take me wherever it will.

Eventually collapsing in an emotional heap, I feel better. Still not okay, but better. Good enough to live with myself until the next dance. It doesn’t escape me that dancing is in fact my vice as well, but at least it doesn’t hurt anyone.

Except it would hurt my family, if they knew the kind of dancing I was doing.

Resting my head against my knees, I try to breathe calmly as my stomach twists and fresh tears bubble up. Why do the things that feel good have to be so bad? My fingers clench and unfurl before they start tapping against my leg. I miss my family already and need my city substitutes.

Pushing myself up to go and find some people, I reach for my boots and stop.

“Do you feel any better?” Scarlett asks, glancing at Bruno and Alexa before taking a step closer.

Wondering how long they’ve been there, I wipe my eyes. Pushing the heartache down, I focus on my boots instead. Sitting back down, I pull them onto my feet for something to do, yanking the laces and tying them too tight. “Yeah. Thanks. I just...” Just what? “Didn’t get many opportunities to dance while I was gone. I missed it, I guess.”

“You missed sexy dancing?” Scar repeats, her expression one of worry.

I lighten my tone. “Yeah. And now that I’ve danced, I miss my family. Such is life, huh?” Coming down the stairs, I drop my coat to the floor and step into their welcoming arms, letting myself be hugged. “I was just about to come find you guys and give you hugs. You saved me the trip.”

“We’re good like that,” Bruno says, wrapping his huge arms around all three of us girls. “But you can tell us the truth, Kat. What happened while you were gone?”

Sometimes I hate how caring and perceptive my city family is. Sighing, I pull back, but remain quiet.

Lexi looks to Bruno and Scar before taking my hand. “We only ask because we care. You’ve never danced like that after a trip to Franklinville. Did something terrible happen? Are Tim and the girls alright?”

Nodding, I look over to the bar and then scold myself for even thinking about wanting to try a drink to make talking easier. “They’re fine. It was... I... I saw Andy.”

“Andy?” Bruno says, checking the girls’ expressions for signs that they recognize the name.

“Boy next door Andy?” Scar asks slowly, her eyes becoming wider when I nod again.

Lexi squeezes my hand and leans in closer, her long blond hair tickling my arm. “And?”

“He kissed me.”

Both Scarlett and Lexi jump up and down on the spot like school girls, before bombarding me with questions.

“Was it good?”

“How steamy on a scale of 1-10?”

“Did he still look gorgeous?”

“Do the kids know? What did they think?”

“Did he ask you out? Where has he been all this time?”

I look to Bruno for help. He places a calming hand on each girl’s shoulder and clears his throat. “Did you want him to kiss you Kat?”

Shaking my head, I take my hand back from Lexi, pick up my coat and walk over to my other gear.

“Why not?” Scar asks, following me. “I thought you loved him.”

“I did,” I reply, picking up the photo frame. “I do. I just can’t be with him, so I didn’t want to know how good his arms would feel around me, or how soft his lips are, or how good he tastes.”

“Why can’t you be with him, Kat?” Lexi asks, coming up behind. “You deserve tasty kisses.”

“Not with him,” I reply firmly, pulling my coat on so I won’t have to carry it. I reach for my suitcase, but Bruno gets there first.

“I’ll see you girls upstairs.” Flashing me a sympathetic smile, he escapes with my luggage, leaving me with two blond terriers that refuse to drop the topic.

“Why not him?” Scar asks.

Her uncharacteristically soft tone scares me a little. I look to the exits. “Because.”

“Because why?” she presses, her green eyes pinning me.

“Because I fucked his dad! Okay? You understand now? It can never happen. I’m a horrible person, and I don’t deserve him, because I fucked his father.”

Both girls are slack-jawed and speechless. Bet they never expected that from Saint Katarina! Moving away, I head for the front door of the club. “I’m going for a walk. I’ll see you later.”

Still holding the picture frame, I shove it in my coat pocket and step out onto the sidewalk. The air is crisp and feels icy in my lungs, but I suck it down to quench my thirst for oxygen. I can’t seem to catch my breath. With my guilty heart pounding in my ears, I start walking.

Most of the snow has melted and my boots splash through the puddles left behind. Every now and then, I come across heaped piles of stubborn snow and take great pleasure in booting them into oblivion. Is it sad that I find such joy in the murderous task? Every time I kick the clumps into dirty-white explosions, I feel better about myself. Surely that’s unhealthy. I should stop. It’s childish.

Turning the corner, I meet several more humps tidied to the edge of a parking lot. They almost make a wall and the way the snow is melting, it’s formed little peaks along it, as if it’s formed a line of frozen soldiers defending their territory. They taunt me. Laying into them with my boots, I leave icy carnage splattered across the wet concrete, and again take pleasure in not only the initial destruction of the snow soldiers, but also their secondary death as the smaller remnants begin to slowly melt.

Shivering, I wrap my arms around myself as the hairs on my neck begin to prickle. Looking around, I see why I feel as though I’m being watched.