Act Three
4 ½ Years Ago – New York City
Luka Kotova
My knees bounce.
Restless, I rub my sweaty palms on my gym shorts. I’ve never ventured this far into Aerial Ethereal’s Manhattan corporate offices. Large, black-framed show posters hang on the waiting room’s periwinkle walls, and fresh lilies sit in a ceramic vase.
On any other occasion, this place would seem inviting, but today, I’ll meet Marc Duval for the first time. Any kindness will vanish as soon as I step into his office.
“Apologize and then stay quiet,” my older brother coaches in his stern voice, darker and more severe than ever. “Let me do the talking.”
He towers above me, not able to sit, and his broad arms won’t uncross. Nikolai Kotova is intimidating in almost every circumstance, but now I can barely even meet his gaze, which carries forty-tons of parental disappointment.
As my legal guardian, my failings reflect poorly on him, and this wasn’t a tiny hiccup. In his words: “this is a colossal fuck-up, Luka.”
I know.
I slump forward, hands cupped together, my stomach coiling in vicious knots. I’m not sure what I should say to anyone. There’s no denying that I broke a rule.
A rule that’s been cemented into the foundation of this company.
A rule that’s been upheld by every Kotova that ever existed.
I broke this rule every day, but I was caught only once. And that’s all it takes.
Just one moment for everything to change.
Next to me, Dimitri Kotova pinches the bridge of his nose, and in all the years I’ve known him, he’s never looked this distraught. Briefly, he glances at me, and a flash of remorse ignites his ocean-blue eyes.
“This is serious,” Nik tells me, his voice low—even if we’re the only three in the waiting room. Long pieces of his damp hair hang over a rolled bandana, tied around his forehead. Sweat stains the neckline of his gray shirt.
Corporate pulled all three of us out of practice today.
It’s not like my older brother and cousin are cheering for “free time” off work. Most of us stress if we lose gym time, if we’re not stretching enough or not rehearsing our acts. I screwed that up for them too.
Nik waits for me to acknowledge my mistake.
“I know it’s serious,” I say beneath my breath, blinking through my rampant thoughts and feelings. What more can I say? While I sit, my body bows forward. My emotions are teetering on a precipice, and I’m a second from falling off and puking.
“Do you?” Nikolai says, his muscles flexed. As tense as I feel. “Every single artist who has ever broken this rule has been fired from Aerial Ethereal. Not transferred to another show. Gone. Do you understand that? I can’t help you.” His face is full of brutal gravity.
And I think, fired.
The word still distorts in my head. A word with no meaning. With no context. I struggle to flip it over and make sense of it. I know the history of this rule.
I knew the inferno I was running through. Now that I’m burned, I try to sit numb instead of screaming in pain. “There are other troupes,” I say with no emotion. “High Flyers Company and Emblem & Fitz—”
“Aren’t your family,” Nik interjects. “Aerial Ethereal is the only troupe with your family, Luk—and it’s the best.”
He says it like I still deserve the best, but I don’t. An immeasurable amount of guilt fists my bare bones. Trying to shatter me. Trying to crush every limb. I’m not sure I can ever be absolved, and at the heart of it: I only regret being caught.
I don’t regret one day of breaking that rule. Because it’d mean regretting every moment that I spent with Baylee.
And I don’t. I just don’t. I can’t.
It feels like betrayal. Like a knife in the heart—and I’d rather gather her in my arms and shield her from this incoming misery than never feel what we felt together. Than never live as happily as we lived.
I stare at my cupped hands.
Fired.
I can barely picture losing my family. If AE sacks me, that’s what’ll happen. None of us have much time for people outside of the circus. And without this job, I won’t be able to afford room & board at the Masquerade. I won’t spend hours of every day working beside Timo and Katya. I won’t be tutored with them. I’ll need to go to public school—I’ve never even been inside a normal high school.
I’ll be on the outside looking in.
I’ll miss their lives, and they won’t really be a part of mine. To go from being in each other’s company daily, hourly, to being ripped out of their world—it kills me.
Everything that defines me resides in this place.
Everything and everyone I love is here.
Dimitri makes a wounded noise, seconds from screaming. He’s bent over, his hand splayed over his eyes. It takes me a second, but I realize that my unbreakable cousin—the one that everyone calls “the tank”—is breaking down before me.
I’m immobile.
Physically here, but drifting. Leaving. Somewhere else. Somewhere that feels more real than this unbelievable moment.
“It’s not your fault,” Nik tells our cousin. “Luka was the one who made the mistake. He has to take responsibility for his own actions.”
I’m unsurprised by Nikolai’s lack of sympathy. He’s always told me that same thing. He’s always been a stiff, follow-the-rules kind of guy, and he constantly tries to drill the same sentiments into me.
Even now.
When it’s too late.
Dimitri drops his hand, his face full of hard lines, and he nods rigidly in cold agreement. Of course he sides with Nik. Both the same age, Dimitri prides himself on loyalty, and as Nik’s best friend, he’d stand by his side to the death.
There’s no tender consoling happening. It’s not like there really ever has been. Before my family split apart, I never felt like my mom was mine. I saw her like a friend or a distant relative. My mom and dad wanted this corporation to raise us. To feed us. Clothe us, teach us.
I can see how they’d rarely call now. I can see how they’d feel like their jobs as parents were done once we landed a career. Once we learned skills that furthered us in the world. Only this happened when I was five-years-old.
Right now, I don’t have to look hard to know that there aren’t any gentle hands. No one is here to wrap their arm around my shoulder and whisper, “it’ll be okay,” in my ear.
I face hard jaws. Muscular bodies. Overpowering masculinity, and look, I’m only human. Sometimes I’d like a mom to hug me.
Just once.
Nikolai doesn’t blink, and his harsh gaze meets mine.
“Just say it,” I tell Nik, my eyes burning. Reddening.
“You valued sex over your career, and there’s no coming back from this.”
I shake my head repeatedly, my features contorting. I didn’t risk everything for sex. It was more than sex. It was always more. But how can I defend myself? The rule I broke was about sex—and that’s all they see. A fling. A hookup.
Not love.
I fucking love her—and that means nothing to everyone but me.
I ache for compassion.
Sympathy.
Everything that Nik can’t give me.
“Would you even care…?” I say so softly he can’t hear.
“What was that?” His gray eyes narrow on me.
I hoist my head, high enough to meet his intensity. “Would you even care if I got fired?” He’d be free of me.
His nose flares, suppressing a multitude of emotion. He believes that I am going to be fired. That there’s no other alternative.
(There never has been.)
He’s right to think this. I’m the one dreaming.
“No matter what happens,” Nik says, “I’m still your guardian.” He didn’t exactly answer my question, but he pats my shoulder, trying to be comforting. Gentle.
It’s a harsh pat, but I understand.
I see that he loves me, even if he has trouble expressing the sentiment outright.
No one says another word after that, and all my thoughts circumnavigate back to one moment. One night. Yesterday.
I wonder how long it’ll haunt me. How many times I’ll replay the past in my head.
After Infini’s show last night, Aerial Ethereal threw a huge cast party for their patrons. Attendance was required so investors could shake hands and chat with all the artists. In hopes that they’d make a donation by the party’s end.
I’d been to plenty before, and in my mind, the word “required” was a loose suggestion rather than an actual rule.
Wearing makeup and garments from the show, I snuck away with Baylee to the costume department. We had sex behind one of the dressing racks. A colorful array of sequined outfits shrouded us from sight.
My older brother will say that having sex was my mistake, but I believe my real and only mistake was not accounting on anyone else leaving the party.
Swept up in the moment, we didn’t hear Dimitri or the Marketing Director of Aerial Ethereal enter the room, but they heard us.
Apparently Vince laughed about the incident and said something like, “Looks like this room is taken.” Dimitri told me that Vince even motioned to leave, but my cousin was the one who stepped forward.
“Anton,” Dimitri called out, humored, “if that’s you, I’m going to tell everyone where you like to fuck.”
I had just enough time to grab a dress from the floor and throw the garment to Baylee. Then Dimitri pushed the hung clothes aside and caught us.
As soon as he saw me, his smile fell, and before he could yank the costumes back to conceal us, Vince careened his neck.
One glance from a member of Corporate and our whole world came crashing down. Vince reported us to his supervisors, and his supervisors reported us to Marc Duval, who’d been in Montreal. Apparently he took the red eye to New York, just to have this meeting.
Baylee and I had been secretly dating for about a year and a half, and in that time, we never really believed we’d be caught.
We felt invincible.
I’m fifteen.
She’s fourteen.
We’re young enough to make mistakes, but we’re old enough to be employed by a billion dollar company with strict, unbending rules.
Aerial Ethereal minors (i.e. employees younger than 18) are not allowed to date or have sexual relations with other Aerial Ethereal employees.
The line in my contract wreaks havoc on me.
On us.
Exactly 48 minors were caught breaking that rule in the past forty years. Exactly 48 minors were sacked from Aerial Ethereal.
There should be no hope for me or her, but I haven’t accepted my reality yet. I just can’t.
I glare at the door to Marc Duval’s Manhattan office. Baylee is on the other side, and it’s not like I had much of a choice in who went first. I would’ve taken her place.
Truth: I’d do anything to lift the consequence off Baylee. She doesn’t deserve to be fired. This circus—it means so fucking much to her. Infini, especially. It’s more than a job for Bay.
It tears at my insides knowing that I’m responsible for hurting her…in an insurmountable, unthinkable way.
And if I start focusing on what she means to me—I’ll really puke.
(They won’t split us apart. They can’t.)
I feel how naïve I am. I feel young.
I feel fifteen for, maybe, the first time in a really long while. I’ve been independent most of my life. Able to take care of myself and make my own money. It’s what my mom and dad wanted. I’ve never felt like I needed a parent. Not until this moment. Not until right now.
Isn’t that what parents do? Make things right. Help carry the burden. Lift the weight.
I sniff and rub my nose, suppressing more emotion.
The door opens, and I immediately stand. My body thrums, nerves and dread compounding, and I feel like I’m on the edge of a cliff, grabbing for her hand, but she slips through my fingers.
And I watch her fall.
Really, I can’t see Bay. Not yet. A young black woman purposefully shields the fourteen-year-old girl from my sight. Hourglass frame and fashion-forward clothes—I instantly recognize her as Baylee’s Aunt Lucy.
But I just want to see Bay—to make sure she’s alright.
Nikolai and Dimitri are on their feet in front of me, purposefully blocking my view. (Come on.) I try to sidestep, but Nik clamps a hand on my shoulder.
“Stop,” he warns.
Stop. I freeze, but my eyes dance past him. I try to peer through the gap between his arm and Dimitri’s.
Lucy hugs Bay tightly to her side, and all I can see is Baylee’s loose brown curls. Through the small gap, Lucy finds a way to glare at me.
I’m stunned cold.
Since I met Lucy she’s always liked me. Always.
The changes crash against my chest, my world shifting up and down and sideways. All off-kilter.
(I’m not okay.)
“Nikolai,” Lucy greets, her voice unusually stone.
“Lucy.” Nik nods back.
Baylee’s legal guardian.
My legal guardian.
It doesn’t faze me that our parents aren’t here. Hers would be if they could.
Mine are traveling in some foreign country for a touring show. I can’t even remember what continent they’re on right now.
Baylee and her aunt walk hurriedly past, and I want to call Bay back. To shout her name, but my throat swells closed. I hear the door shut.
They’re gone.
I didn’t even see her.
I barely hear Marc call for us. Dazed, my brother or my cousin puts their hand on my shoulder and physically pushes me towards the office. Each step is involuntary. I’m on automatic.
Programmed to move.
Once inside, Marc shuts the door, and I sit on a chair between Nik and Dimitri, all of us facing Marc’s oak desk. My gaze glues to his Aerial Ethereal mug, blue lettering with purple swirls.
As soon as Marc’s ass hits the seat, he gestures to me.
My face scorches and aches like someone’s taken a frying pan and whacked me several times. I open my mouth, struggling for a second, but then I find words.
“I take full responsibility for what happened,” I say. “Baylee had nothing to do with it.” I’m about to say that I forced her to have sex. A lie, but I’d do that. I’d literally do anything to protect her right now. “She—”
Marc raises his hand, silencing me.
(I’m going to puke.)
Nikolai glares at me like, don’t retch on his fucking carpet.
I swallow acid.
Marc looks older than his early fifties. Shaggy blond hair, sideburns graying, and his dark blue eyes wield only criticisms. I’ve now met the face of all the dull corporate emails.
“The sentiment is chivalrous,” he tells me, “but it takes two people to have intercourse.”
Intercourse? I frown and try not to shake my head. It bugs me. That clinical term.
“And Baylee already explained that it was consensual.” Marc holds onto a manila folder. “Before I pass over a termination contract, we need to talk.”
Termination.
I can’t look at Nik, but he’s stone-cold beside me. Rigid and unbendable. Maybe he’s trying to be a rock for me. Something I can hang onto as I fall.
I remember what Nik said to do. So I start to say, “I’m sorry—”
“Apologies won’t fix this.”
I sit straighter, back aching.
Marc sets down the folder. “Do you know why Aerial Ethereal has a rule about minors not dating or having sexual relations with other company members?” He phrases this like a quiz I’m supposed to fail.
I open my mouth to answer.
He interrupts, “You don’t know or else you would have followed it. At least, that’s the hope. Because if you knew the importance of this rule and you still knowingly broke it, then I don’t just have an ignorant kid on my hands. I have a reckless teenager with zero respect for this company.”
I’ve never felt this incapable of speech. Of being. Existing. I feel weak. And powerless. I hang my head, unable to look him in the eyes. Slowly but surely cowering to Corporate.
“Which one is it, Luka?” Marc asks. Testing me.
My gaze sears the longer I stare fixatedly at his mug. What am I supposed to say? What’s right? What’s wrong? (Someone tell me. Please. Tell me.)
What do I need to do? I’ll do it.
I’ll do anything.
(Just don’t take my family away from me. Don’t take my sister. My brothers. Don’t take her. I need them all.)
I turn my head to look for help. For a parent. Nik.
Reading my expression, he immediately speaks up. “Luka respects the company—”
Marc holds up another hand. “I didn’t ask you, Nikolai. I’d like to hear from your brother.” The heat of his gaze boils my skin. “Luka?”
“I…” I lick my dry lips. “I didn’t…I didn’t know.” My Adidas shirt suctions to my abs, sweating through the black fabric.
Nik clears his throat and leans forward. “I should’ve explained its importance. I’ll take some responsibility for this.”
He will?
Marc taps his pen to the desk. “So you didn’t know about his relationship with Baylee Wright?”
“No. I thought they were just best friends. Had I known it went beyond that, I would’ve put an end to it from the start.”
My brother isn’t railroading me, but I wish there could be a scenario where he would’ve been on my side. Hearing him now just cements all the reasons why we kept our relationship secret in the first place.
No one could know. It’d leak to Corporate, and we’d become the forty-ninth and fiftieth minors to be fired for going “beyond” a friendship.
I guess we are 49 and 50 now.
Marc looks to Dimitri. “And you? Did you know?”
My cousin shakes his head.
Once more, Marc’s attention bears down on me, and I thread my fingers, cupping my hands together. Trying to remain as calm as I usually am.
“I’ll tell you what I told Baylee,” Marc says. “Aerial Ethereal has many rules, but for minors this is the most important one. It’s why we’ve never failed to terminate a minor after the violation.” He rolls his chair forward, arms splayed on the desk. “We employ children, and these children, like yourself—”
I try not to flinch, but he makes me feel five years old. Not fifteen. I don’t like feeling this small. Or this drastic loss of control.
I have to take a breath. I listen. I try to breathe.
“—well, these children will work for us throughout their precious adolescence. Our job is to maintain the safest work environment for minors. Safe does not include sexual intercourse. Safe does not include workplace relationships that can lead to sexual intercourse.”
I wish he would stop saying “sexual intercourse” like it’s a disease—please God.
“We also do not advocate underage sex. This isn’t high school. This is a professional company that has high standards of care and compliance.” Marc places his palm on the manila folder. “As I said, this is a termination contract.”
And then I watch him procure a second manila folder from his drawer.
He sets it beside the termination papers. When his authoritative eyes meet mine, I see something else in them. Caution.
Trepidation.
Like this next part—the second folder—is completely out of the ordinary.
“For how many times I’ve sat here and fired teenager after teenager, we’ve never offered a choice to any of them,” he says. “But I gave Baylee a choice to remain in Aerial Ethereal. And now I’m giving you the same one.”
Why? I don’t even have to ask. He’s already there, telling me.
“Her discipline is unique. It’s harder to find a juggler of her skill-level than to find an aerialist of yours.”
I nod, agreeing. (Don’t fire her. Keep her. Please.) She deserves to be happy and safe. I just wish I could’ve given her that.
“We’re also respecting the memory of Joyce Wright. Baylee’s mother was an incredibly talented asset to Aerial Ethereal, and her contributions to Infini…” He pauses and collects himself before saying, “Her music is still heard.”
I nod again. Trying not to get choked up. Bay’s parents passed away around the beginning of Infini, and Joyce composed the score of the show.
“Why offer you a choice?” he asks what’s on my mind. “You’re a Kotova.”
(Of course.)
“The chemistry and trust your family have on stage is irreplaceable.”
I begin to relax, but then the dark look in his eye—it says don’t be happy. I’m still being punished. Someway. Somehow.
He’s going to skewer me.
“Here’s your choice,” he says and pushes forward the left manila folder. “You sign the termination contract, and you will be fired from Aerial Ethereal like every minor before you.”
I watch him push the right folder towards me.
“Or you can sign this contract. In order for you to remain employed by Aerial Ethereal, we need to bury this incident so far down that no one will ever unearth it. Because if anyone finds out we gave preferential treatment, it will ruin this company. We’ll have forty-eight lawsuits thrown in our faces, accusing us of wrongful termination from years past because we didn’t fire you for the same offense. Are you following me?”
It makes sense. “Yeah.” I sit up more, thinking that this is going my way.
Marc taps the manila folder. “By signing this contract, you’re stating that you will have no further verbal or physical contact with Baylee Wright.” What?
Blood drains out of my head.
“Also, with your greatest effort, you will not look in her direction or utter her name.”
I can’t move. Can’t breathe. I’m not even allowed to look at Baylee?
“Make no mistake, this”—he pats the manila folder—“is a gift to you. We’re giving you a chance to remain with Aerial Ethereal, but if you violate this new contract by reigniting anything with Baylee—a relationship, a friendship, a hand-shake, a glance—I will not only fire you but the company will be forced to go one step further.”
What’s further than being fired?
“To protect ourselves from liability and damages, we will have to enact a company-wide policy for hiring. AE will only employ artists over the age of eighteen. It’s a no minors policy. This action will be swift and immediate and will cause the termination of every artist seventeen and under.”
I rock backwards, his words sucker-punching me.
Dimitri’s jaw tightens, and he shares an increasingly dark look with Nikolai. We’re all attached to minors in this company. Our cousins. Our siblings. Our family. It’s not just about me anymore. My little brother, Timofei.
My little sister, Katya.
Not to mention the hundreds of other minors in touring shows. They could all be fired. All out of work. If I sign and then violate this contract, I’ll ruin them.
“If you’re even considering running into her arms, hugging her,” Marc says, “do not sign this contract.” He keeps his hand on the folder.
What about when we’re legal adults? Can I hug her then? I want to ask, but my throat is swollen shut.
Nik asks, “But he’ll remain in the company if he complies with the conditions of the contract?”
“He’ll still be employed by Aerial Ethereal, but as far as Infini goes, he’ll be cut from the opening sequence.”
Because Baylee is in it.
“However, he’ll still participate in high-risk wall/trampoline and Russian swing.” He looks up. “This does not leave the room, but AE is currently in negotiations for a deal at a Vegas hotel and casino. Maybe you’ve heard of the place?”
We glance at one another, guarded and wary.
“The Masquerade,” Marc clarifies. “The hotel has been building a performance gym and two globe auditoriums. In a couple years or so, Infini will be transferred to Vegas, and Viva and Amour will fill the second auditorium. In that time, we’ll ask Luka to switch to either one. You’ll stay with your family, but the show-separation between you and Baylee will make it easier to abide by the contract.”
Marc says he’ll “ask me” to switch to Viva or Amour—but he means he’ll tell me. He fabricates an illusion of control, but I feel the strings he attaches to my arms and legs. And I feel him pulling.
It’s why I have trouble smiling and beaming at the “gift” he’s offering me. I want to be grateful because I fucked up and here’s a handout no one’s been given before. But it’s hard when I feel like he can cradle my fist and slam my knuckles at my own face. Breaking my bones.
“Since your on stage time is shortened, you’ll have a pay cut,” Marc says.
I don’t care about the money.
“And these”—Marc slides over two new folders to Dimitri and Nikolai—“are non-disclosure agreements. You both will not speak a word about Baylee and Luka’s relationship. Not to your friends. Not to your family. Not whispered beneath your breath. The only people who know about this incident are the four of us here, plus Baylee Wright, her aunt, and lastly, two trusted colleagues of mine that’ll keep an eye on Luka and Baylee in the gyms.” Vince has to be one of them. “As far as we’re concerned, this never happened.”
He’s erasing my entire relationship. As though my feelings for Bay never existed.
I stare haunted at the two folders still in Marc’s possession. He pushes them even closer to me. Until they sit right in front of my face.
Marc never peels his eyes off me. “You can call a lawyer to meet you here, but neither contract will change. Not a single line.”
Everyone waits for me to speak or move.
For the first time, I edge forward. “The rule I broke…” I pause, the air tensing. “It’s exclusive for minors. Adults in Aerial Ethereal can have relationships with other members of the company.”
Marc nods. “We encourage adult relationships. Chemistry off stage can translate to chemistry on stage, but minors are different. They’re not leads in shows, and we’re nurturing professional careers and a safe environment. We have to protect children while they’re employed by us.”
The same question bangs against my brain. What about when we’re legal adults? Can I talk to her then?
Marc sees. He knows where I’m headed, and he interjects before I ask outright. “The contract states that when you’re both over eighteen, the established agreement will still hold.”
I freeze. “I don’t understand…why?” My stomach overturns on itself.
Marc stares at me like I’m a fragile kid.
Has he broken me already?
Am I in pieces right now?
“Because you’re not taking advantage of this opportunity. We’re offering you a chance to stay in the world’s most renowned acrobatic circus, and you’re not going to backhand us in three years because you’re suddenly of age.”
I’m numb.
“We’re asking for a full commitment. Not indecisive, in-a-few-years-I’ll-be-with-her impermanence. You sign this contract, and you’re promising AE that you’ll keep this a life-long secret. Our favoritism could potentially cost us millions of dollars. Are you following? Have I lost you?”
(You’ve gutted me.)
By signing that contract, I’ll never be able to see Baylee smile or even frown. I’ll never hear her talk or laugh. I’ll never wrap my arms around her shoulders. I’ll never hug her tight or kiss her—fuck I can’t even say her name.
Forever.
“I want to be clear,” Marc says, “if you sign this contract and you both decide to quit four years or even ten years down the line to be with each other, we’ll still have to enforce a no minors policy in case anyone finds out about today’s offer. You take this offer, and there is no turning back.”
My insides are on fire.
Marc throws more facts at me. “When you’re eighteen, you can date any adult you’d like in the company. Just not Baylee Wright. I’m not keeping you from her, Luka. You have a choice. If you’re adamant about being with Baylee, sign the termination contract.”
“He’s not,” Nikolai says firmly, his glare hot on me. Wondering how I can even hesitate to choose a girl over my future. The love I carry for Baylee is stronger than he understands, but it’s a fucking cruel choice.
Because I wholeheartedly, undeniably love Katya and Timofei. And Nik. And my cousins, but really, it’s Kat. It’s Timo.
If I leave Aerial Ethereal, I lose them—and I can’t.
I can’t lose them.
I’ve spent nearly my entire life with my sister and brother. We’re closer than friends. Closer than most family. We’re bonded by experiences and time, and I’m scared to sever all of that.
“Just give me…” a second.
“You’re fifteen, Luka,” Nikolai says, speaking huskily and forcefully beneath his breath. “Fifteen. Whatever you have with Baylee now, it’ll most likely end. You can’t quit for her. It’s naïve. This is your career. Your life.”
I hear: your family.
Marc passes over pens to all of us. “Luka, you’re young; you don’t get it,” he patronizes me, “but simply put, you aren’t entitled to everything you want. You will lose something today. And you must choose.”
I stare faraway. Marc pretends like I have a choice, but Baylee was just in here. She already made her decision—and I know that she didn’t pick me.
Baylee didn’t just choose this career. She chose her older brother. She chose the memory of her mother. She chose the pieces of her heart that preexisted me.
I understand, and I know I’m about to do the exact same. For nearly identical reasons. Our siblings—they lift us when we fall down, and we’re scared to lose them now.
Maybe it’d be different if we were older.
Stable. With less voices telling us we’re naïve and wrong.
I don’t know. I can’t know.
An unbearable loss compounds on my chest as I pick up my pen. And I put my hand on the contract with a thousand stipulations. It seems impossible to maintain, but with the threat of the no minors policy, I know I have to.
I know she will too.
We’re both not the kind of people who’d destroy other kids for our own gain. We’d choose to be miserable alone first.
While I flip through the papers to find the signature spaces, something wet glides down my cheek. I rub my face roughly and sign my name.
I terminate a friendship. A thousand peaceful moments. And the possibility of a happy ending.
A few minutes later, we shuffle back into the waiting room—and right when Dimitri shuts the office door, I crouch and puke in a potted plant.
Breathing heavy, I hang onto the wicker vase.
Nik looks slightly relieved by the outcome, but he’s still in damage-control mode. “We need to talk about what to tell other people. They’ll ask questions about why we were called here and why you’re no longer talking to Baylee.”
Just completely depleted, I sit on the floor. “Tell them I fucked up.”
Nik shakes his head once. “It’s too vague. We need an explanation as to why you’re demoted.”
Nausea roils again.
“You and Baylee were doing cocaine,” Dimitri suddenly says, as though he’s been concocting this during the entire meeting.
I narrow my eyes. “What?”
“Yeah, you did coke.” Dimitri nods, really believing this is a good idea. “I caught you in the costume department snorting drugs together. You’ve been enabling one another—it’s why the company wants you to lose contact. You’ve been demoted because you broke the Wellness Policy.” He laughs. “Fucking brilliant.” Nodding to Nik, he says, “I can spread this like wildfire.”
I don’t have to ask why he chose cocaine.
A few of my cousins have been suspended for it. Our profession relies on our bodies, and at times, our jobs are physically painful. Even when we’re in supreme physical condition.
Stimulants, especially cocaine, can offer a high that not only alleviates pain but makes performing…electric.
I don’t know from experience. I’ve never tried cocaine. Mostly because I fear Nikolai’s disappointment, and I risk a lot—but I couldn’t risk using drugs.
“Hey…” I sluggishly pick myself up. “Can you at least make it seem like it was my fault, not hers?” If anyone blasts her for this lie…
“I’ll try.”
Nik starts walking away, but he glances over his shoulder, ensuring that I follow. “Let’s go home.”
He never asks if I’m okay. Maybe because it’s obvious that I’m not. I’m reaping the consequences and taking responsibility for my mistake.
But the price I paid feels gut-wrenchingly high. And as I leave the offices, a realization hammers inside of me like steel to bone. I will always wonder if we chose wrong. If we chose right.
I will always return to today and contemplate my one choice. I already feel it tormenting me.
And suddenly, I think…
I wish we weren’t given a choice at all.