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She sighs, knowing I won’t give in tonight. “Will you promise me that we can call someone in if anything more happens?” Her tone turns pleading, and my heart jumps a little in my chest.
I take a deep breath and blow it out. I’m barely holding them off as it is. I just don’t want my life to revolve around some crazy stalker that has a fondness for dead roses and creepy declarations of love.
“I promise. If anything else happens, we can hire someone.”
Her gasp of relief makes me feel terrible. We hang up after we talk about the happier topics of tonight’s show for a few minutes.
I sink further into the water, hoping the heat will relax me enough to get some much needed rest. Between the excitement of the show and the dread of not knowing if another dozen dead roses will show up, I haven’t slept well in weeks.
Hopefully tonight will be different.
After all, a girl can only hope.
Two weeks later
The roar from the crowd fills my ears as I bow with my fellow dancers. We clasp our hands together as we stand straight and bow once more. Flowers hit the stage from all angles as the applause carries on at the same deafening volume.
It’s a feeling like no other. It fills your soul and lightens your heart, making all the hard work, broken promises, and bruised limbs worth it. We straighten once again, go into en pointe as one, then back away from the front of the stage.
We have to make room for the curtain to close. The high of finishing the show is still pumping through each of our veins. It’s euphoric and overwhelming. My smile is so wide, my lips feel like they might split in two.
But that smile dies a little when I look down at what just landed directly in front of my feet.
A sickening feeling replaces the euphoria from just moments ago as I gaze down at the strange but familiar dead flowers. Without even looking, I know these will have the same signature on the ribbon tied around the stems, suffocating them.
My head snaps up as I quickly scan the crowd for who could have thrown them. I try to step forward, but the tightly clasped hands of my friends hold me in place. My heart hammers as my eyes dart all around, but it’s too damn bright up here. I can only make out shapes, not faces, leaving no clue as to who the disturbed fan may be.
I plaster on an even brighter smile than before. This sick bastard won’t steal this moment from me. It’s mine, and I earned every second. The curtain falls as the applause continues from the crowd. Once the bottom of the red velvet touches the floor, I drop my friends’ hands and back away from the atrocious flowers as quickly as I can.
“Nora?” Emily’s soft voice calls out as she stares down at the black flowers.
The once colorful rose petals are now dry and decayed, scattered about on the dance floor where they broke apart upon landing. Her look of confusion has my feet moving faster from the stage. The flowers have never shown up like this before. Never on stage. Never where all my friends and fellow dancers could see them.
“Nora!” she calls again just before she leans down to inspect the flowers.
Her hand reaches out to pick them up, and I briefly shake my head.
Don’t touch them. They’re tainted.
However, the words never leave my mouth. I turn and bolt from the stage. My heart pounds as loudly as my feet. I quickly make my way backstage, around all the stagehands and props used for many sets in tonight’s performance. I race toward my dressing room, wondering if there will be another surprise waiting there for me as well.
Relief slams into me hard as I turn the corner and see that the floor in front of my door is empty. I don’t know what it means that the flowers are now being placed in a more public setting. Does this constitute as an escalation? I’m sure my parents would think so, but I’m not ready to call it that.
Hell, he probably just had trouble getting backstage this time. So, he did the next best thing and threw his morbid flowers front and center for everyone to see. I’m madder than I am scared. I’m fucking pissed that my best friend saw this shitshow, that I will have to tell my parents because there’s no way my manager won’t.
“Ugh!”
Why me?
Why does this bastard have some sick fascination with me?
A soft knock sounds at my door, disrupting my troubling thoughts. It swings open, and Emily steps inside. She has the same shocked and confused expression I had the first time I received a “With love, forever” bouquet.
She softly closes the door behind her before turning to look at me. I stand there quietly, waiting for her barrage of questions. Emily has been my best friend for years. She’s the sister I always wanted but never had. Her unwavering support has gotten me through a lot of dark times.
Times when I thought I would never make it as a ballet dancer. Times when I wanted to quit because it was too hard, too grueling. She held me up and told me when to “suck it up, buttercup.”
Emily’s long, lean legs are shaking after such a demanding performance. Mine are, too, so I gesture over to the small sofa on the other side of the room. I want to sit.
