The numbness was louder now. It had become familiar-almost comforting.
Until I realized it wasn't supposed to be.
My mother's voice carried across the room, sharp and clipped, speaking about me as if I weren't standing right there.
"She needs more discipline."
I stood still. Back straight. Hands folded.
Good posture.
Good daughter.
"Her mind wanders," she continued. "She was getting close… but it's not enough."
Not enough.
My father sighed softly. "Maybe we tighten her break times."
Tighten.
Everything always had to be tightened. Controlled. Corrected.
Their words faded into white noise, the same rhythm they'd repeated my whole life.
Not good enough.
Never will be.
The worst part wasn't the criticism, it was the absence.
No warmth.
No pride.
No I'm proud of you.
Just improvement plans.
When she dismissed me, I walked to my room without arguing.
Good daughters don't argue.
Good daughters don't cry.
I closed the door gently, only then did the tear fall. I pressed my forehead against the wood and let out a quiet, breathless laugh.
I don't even want perfection.
I just want them to love me.
Why can't I say it out loud?
Why can't I break the rules just once?
Why does being their daughter feel like performing on a stage that never empties?
My phone buzzed.
I didn't need to look.
Another buzz.
Then another.
I rolled onto my back, staring at the ceiling like ignoring it might erase it.
It didn't.
I reached for the phone.
Ryan.
You awake?
Before I could decide whether to answer:
Outside.
My breath hitched.
I told myself not to move.
Another vibration.
Five minutes. Then I'm gone.
That did it.
I don't remember crossing the room. One second, I was on my bed. The next, my fingers were curling around the curtain.
At first, there was nothing but darkness.
Then headlights flickered once.
Soft. Controlled. Careful.
Across the street, half-hidden beneath the trees, his bike idled low. Helmet hanging from the handle. Engine humming like a heartbeat.
He wasn't looking up.
He wasn't texting again.
He was just… there. Like he knew I'd come.
The engine revved once, not impatient. Just a reminder.
Five minutes.
My heart had already decided before my head caught up.
I grabbed my jacket.
Climbed out the window.
The air hit my face as I hurried toward him.
He leaned against the bike, hands in his jacket pockets, head lowered like he'd been waiting forever and not at all.
When he looked up and saw me, that slow smirk appeared.
"I wasn't expecting you," I said. "Usually it's Will."
He shrugged. "Told him I'd grab you tonight."
Simple, like it meant nothing, but something shifted inside me.
Will was steady. Safe. Familiar.
Ryan was none of those things.
Leather jacket. Dark hair falling into his eyes. The skull mask resting loose at his neck.
Danger sat on him naturally.
He stepped forward, close enough to steal my breath without touching me.
Then he reached for the helmet.
"Where's yours?" I asked.
He didn't answer.
He just lifted his mask slightly and slid the helmet over my head himself, fingers brushing my jaw, lingering half a second too long.
I swallowed.
Before I could think, his hands were on my waist, lifting me onto the bike like I weighed nothing.
I let out a small laugh -half startled, half thrilled.
He climbed in front of me.
"You might wanna hold on," he said.
"What-"
The engine roared.
The world blurred.
I wrapped my arms around him instinctively, pressing against his back as wind tore through my hair.
And that's when it really started.
The late nights.
At first, the three of us, Will talking about something ridiculous while Ryan leaned back, watching me instead of listening.
Then sometimes others.
Sometimes just us.
Rooftops.
Convenience stores at midnight.
Sitting on the hood of his car while his chain caught the streetlight when he laughed.
The first time he took my hand without asking.
The way he'd look at me when he thought I wasn't paying attention.
The way girls looked at him when I was.
The slap at the club replayed in my head more than once.
The warning in Will's eyes.
"Just… be careful," he'd said.
I told myself I was.
I told myself I was different.
Reminding myself I wasn't some girl who fell for a bike and a smirk.
But every time Ryan's hand found the small of my back…
every time he leaned in just close enough…
every time he looked at me like I was something he hadn't quite figured out yet-
I leaned closer.
Even when I saw the red flags.
Even when I remembered Will's voice.
I chose him anyway.
-
"Nyx."
A voice pulled me out of the past.
My eyes opened slowly, the dream clinging to me like smoke. For a second, I didn't know where I was. Then the boarded walls came into focus. The cracked window. Dust floating in a thin slice of moonlight.
Kade stood over me.
"Your turn," he said with a lazy half-smile before walking off to grab a water bottle.
Just like that. Back to reality.
I pushed myself upright, stretching. Every joint protested. My back throbbed where a bent spring from the mattress had stabbed into me all night.
"Warning," I muttered, rubbing my lower back, "that bed fucking hurts."
He shifted behind me, but I didn't look. I moved to the window instead, pulled the mask back over my face and picked up the gun, resting it across my thighs as I crouched near the crack in the boards.
The town outside was dark. Too dark. Too quiet.
Silence like that makes your thoughts loud.
Ryan slipped into my mind before I could stop him.
I rested my forehead lightly against the wood and, for a moment, I smiled.
The bike.
The wind tearing through my hair.
The feeling of choosing something for myself for once.
It had felt like freedom.
Will's voice drifted faintly through my head.
Just… be careful.
I exhaled slowly.
Will was not wrong.
And I did get hurt.
-
I don't know why I thought it was a good idea to sneak out the night before my biggest performance yet. When the spotlight wouldn't just be on me, but because of me.
The pressure had been suffocating all week.
My team doubting me. My mother watching me like a ticking clock. My father quiet in the background like disappointment with a pulse.
Even though I'd improved.
Even though I was stronger.
Still not enough.
Never enough.
So, I ran.
Met Will and everyone else at the club.
It wasn't the same one as the first time, but it didn't matter. The bass was just as insane. The lights just as chaotic. The music nothing like the rigid counts drilled into my bones.
Exactly what I needed.
The chaos.
The lack of structure.
The difference.
The first drink burned down my throat and something inside me loosened. I tried a couple others that night, sweet ones, bitter ones, but I always drifted back to the red soda with vodka.
The first drink Will ever gave me. The first night. The first time I met Ryan.
My eyes were already scanning the room before I realized I was looking.
Where is he?
"Looking for me?"
His voice brushed my ear before I saw him.
I jumped. "Shit-you scared me."
"Stop being a creep, Ryan," Will scoffed playfully.
Ryan only shrugged, leaning back against one of the club pillars like he owned it. Whisky on ice in his hand. Dark hair falling into his eyes under the flashing lights.
"I was on the dance floor," he said lazily. "Not my fault you two didn't notice."
He stood too close-way too close. I could feel the heat from him, and I prayed the bass was loud enough to drown out my heartbeat.
"You?" Will crossed his arms. "On the dance floor?"
Ryan looked at him blankly. "Yeah."
Will burst out laughing.
"Unlike you," Ryan shot back, flapping his arms in exaggerated movements to mock Will's dancing.
I giggled before I could stop myself.
Ryan stopped mid-mockery and looked at me instead.
"I haven't seen you dance yet," Will said. "You keep saying you do ballet."
"That's because we're in a club," I shot back.
This wasn't Swan Lake or polished floors and mirrored walls.
I'd never just… danced.
"You do ballet?" Ryan studied me, "Wouldn't have guessed."
I put a hand on my hip. "Excuse me?"
Ryan leaned closer. "but can you dance?"
I huffed softly. "You have no idea."
"Show me."
Normally, I would've laughed it off. Counted beats, measured space, corrected myself before anyone else could. But the alcohol hummed in my veins, and something reckless inside me whispered: Just once.
So, I stepped forward.
I closed my eyes and breathed.
No one telling me one-two-three-turn. No corrections. No judges.
The bass hit.
My shoulders rolled with it. Then my hips. My arms lifted -not sharp, not rehearsed- just instinct.
It felt wrong at first. Too loose. Too wild.
Then something inside me cracked open.
I stopped counting.
Stopped performing.
Stopped being Mei-Lin, the daughter.
I moved the way the music felt in my chest, spinning without precision, arching without permission, letting the rhythm drag me instead of controlling it.
It wasn't ballet. It wasn't clean. It wasn't perfect.
It was alive.
People began to move back, a space forming around me without me realizing it. Lights flashed across faces watching.
And for once, I wasn't scared of it.
I jumped -not a perfect split, something raw and messy- landing into a turn that flowed into a dip. My hair whipped around me. I was laughing and didn't even know why.
Then-A hand caught mine.
I opened my eyes.
Ryan.
He didn't speak. Just held his hand out, steady, waiting.
I placed mine in his.
He pulled me in, confident, certain. His hand slid to my waist, guiding.
Not correcting. Matching.
He moved like the bass lived in his bones, loose, sharp, reckless. I adjusted instinctively. Our steps started separate.
Then they weren't.
He spun me and I let him.
He dipped me and I trusted him.
Our bodies found a rhythm without words, like we were built for the same tempo. The crowd roared, but I only heard the music and my own heartbeat.
He leaned in slightly, green eyes locked on mine.
Not teasing, focused.
We moved like one body. One pulse. Push and pull. Back and forth. And for the first time in my life, I wasn't dancing to be perfect.
I was dancing because I felt something too big to hold inside.
The music snapped back into heavy bass. The crowd flooded in again, cheering, reclaiming the space. Ryan laughed -actually laughed- as he spun me once more before letting go.
I stumbled and burst into laughter too.
Breathless.
Alive.
And somewhere between the heat and the way his hand found mine again without asking-
I fell.
Deeply.
Before I could stop it.