Until We Break (Formerly Wicked, Wild, Wonderful)

Original Edition: Chapter Twenty

NEEDLESS TO SAY, NAOMI MORGAN COULD NOT BELIEVE ASPEN CAME BACK. Naomi spent her entire morning convincing herself that last night's stunt would forever mark the day she last saw the Riverside Dance Academy. After all, they came here—when they should be rehearsing— just to check on her and she disrespected all of them to their faces. Naomi knew Mr Carson and she knew the Academy; there was no medicating a cut so deep. Naomi decided to brave the consequences of her action. She wanted to feel bad, but it was as if there was no room to hold such an emotion.

But, in less than 24 hours, Naomi heard the unrecognisable pattern of footsteps ascend her staircase before her door opened much too hesitantly for it to be anyone in her family, a hushed voice above all things creeping in. Aspen stepped inside the room slowly, hair down, hand clutching her bag and disgust painting her face. Then she saw her.

"Oh my god!" she breathed. "You scared me. What are you doing just lying there?"

Naomi didn't budge. "This is my room." Those were the first word's she'd uttered since she spoke to William the night before. In the past week, they had somewhat made it a habit to talk each other to sleep. With him, Naomi didn't feel the terrible things swimming in her chest, snapping for her heart. It was as if they didn't exist and neither did her parents or herself or the world; somehow being near him made everything that seemed so pressingly relevant, meaningless. She hoped it was the same for him too.

"Well, your room smells horrible," Aspen's eye caught the untouched breakfast, "You need to throw those out." She visibly went at ease as she continued to examine the space. She looked up and down the naked walls. "I have to admit, not what I was expecting from you at all, Naomi."

"What were you expecting?"

"A life-sized cut out of Diana Vishneva over there, maybe your ten-year collection of pointe shoes strung up on a wall."

Naomi smiled at the irony. "I prefer Misty Copeland and the pointe shoes are in my closet."

She shook her head. "Alas," Aspen Letterman took longer strides in Naomi's room and let go of the strap of her handbag to her cock her hand at her waist, "you prove to me once again, that you are just as pathetically predictable as I expected."

She knew her hair was untamed and pitiful in contrast to Aspen's sharply flat-ironed hair, but Naomi sat up anyway. "Once again? What's that supposed to mean?"

She seemed to not have heard her. "How're you holding up, with everything?"

Naomi shrugged a response.

Then Aspen asked, "Do you feel any pain?"

And Naomi replied, "No."

The air grew heavy. "That night in the rain—"

"I remember." If she was to be honest, she couldn't forget.

"Yeah, I'm just sorry about— well, everything." Neither of them said anything. "God, I feel so stupid," the words fell out of her mouth like a ball that was too heavy. "All of us do, actually. I think we all knew that after Jessica died, something was going on with you, but we thought it was grief you know? I guess none of us took you seriously enough. But all that plus, your parents. That's a lot, Naomi." Somewhere in there, Naomi was sure she heard Aspen's voice crack, either that or it was the struggling effort of her own words trying to break out from her throat. "We should have noticed and helped you, or something. We're sorry. All of us at the Academy feel like absolute shit. We almost didn't go through with the ballet after what happened yesterday."

Her eyes popped. "What?! Why?!"

Aspen looked at her incredulously. Then she said slowly, "Naomi, look at you. You're—"