Page 1 of Allegiant

1

ROWAN

Dance has always been my escape.

It’s where I can be myself. Where I’m free. Where all the noise and stress of the world fades away, leaving only joy behind.

It doesn’t matter what else is going on in my life. It’s always there. The one constant I can rely on.

With everything that’s happened recently…

I need dance more than ever.

Don’t think about that. Not now. It ruins everything.

Like everything isn’t already ruined.

I swallow down the familiar bile and focus on stretching as I wait in the wings. Just feet away, the rest of the company are dancing on stage. I wait for my cue. For the moment when I can finally escape the ghosts that have been chasing me through the darkness.

I’ve always prided myself on my positive attitude. On living in the sunshine and always looking on the bright side. But I’m finding it harder.

The shadows are closing in, growing nearer each and every day.

But I can’t let the ghosts win. I refuse. I’ll dance all the way to my grave if that’s what I need to do.

That’s what they say, right? Depression can’t hit a moving target.

Well, just watch me move, baby.

The lights shift, and I step out onto the stage. As always, the noise in my head vanishes, replaced by the music that’s guiding me forward. It sinks into my skin, washing through my veins, wrapping around my bones. I become one with it. Rowan Mitchell no longer exists.

I’m nothing more than the music.

I don’t rush through the choreography. My hips undulate to the beat as I chassé into position. The auditorium is empty behind the blinding lights, but I pretend it isn’t. In my imagination, there’s a man watching as I slide my hands up my taut chest. He’s captivated by the slow journey my fingers make. By the sultry roll of my pelvis. How I become one with the music.

I’m good. Better than good, and I know it. My position as principal dancer is one I’ve worked, sweated, and bled for. Our shows always sell out with people traveling miles just to see me.

It should be enough. It’s what I’ve always dreamed of. But it’s not. It’s not the attention and adoration of strangers that I crave.

No. I need that from someone who wants me. Who knows and loves me.

I had that once.

I don’t now.

And it’s all my fault.

I rise in a relevé before moving quickly through a pas de bourrée. A series of jazz steps follow before pulling me into a pirouette. There’s no set dance style. It’s a choreographed story. A journey that we’re inviting the audience to join us on.

I don’t think about the steps. I feel them. My muscles stretch and my bones sing with joy as my pointe shoes take me far away from everything. Nothing can catch me now.

Not even my demons.

But I can only dance for so long. The music ends all too soon, and my sunlight dims. I don’t let anyone see the transformation inside of me. I never do. I paste on my smile, grinning at my friends as we catch our breath.

“Great work,” I praise, clapping my hands together. “Shane, that arabesque? Perfection. And Lauren—your floorwork is a dream. Flo, I’m envious of your legs. Seriously, how do you get them that high?”

Flo beams, her pink hair sliding free of her bun. “Thanks! I’ve been practicing that stretch you suggested.”