Pouring a generous amount of shampoo on my palm, I began to work it into my hair. Having pulled back a bit from the spray, the water no longer muffled my ability to hear, and I became aware of a hushed whisper coming my way.
“Can you actually see Yuri allowing her in? After what she did? She’s a fucking cheat!”
Someone was clearly badmouthing me, which really should have been expected, but it hurt me regardless. I didn’t seem to matter that I had worked so incredibly hard to make myself a better person. No one ever seemed to see that. They saw me as the same person I was, way back then. I used to care what people thought. I’d thrived on positive attention. But I was used to the negative now. I’d moved past caring what others thought of me a long time ago. I’d had to in order to survive.
“She was the best dancer out there though.”
“That doesn’t matter! She’s a hot mess and will drag the rest of us down. This theater doesn’t need a bad rep.”
Ever so slowly, being hurt started to transform into something else. A burning-hot anger. How dare these people judge me when they didn’t even know me?
“She was so fucking jealous when she wasn’t chosen to be the lead she made sure the prima was injured—”
“That’s not really fair. They could never prove she actually did anything—” a third voice offered only to have the first cut off any defense of me.
“Get real. I don’t need proof. Everyone knows she did it or at the very least arranged for Lara’s so-called accident. You know who she was screwing, right?”
“That doesn’t mean—”
“Take off those rose-colored glasses,” the leader suggested in a voice that dripped derision. “What it means is all Miss Bitch had to do was whine to her mob-connected boyfriend, and what do you know? Lara’s legs are shattered, and we all know that’s as good as a death sentence for a prima ballerina. Clara Simyoneva would have been more merciful if she’d gone ahead and put the poor girl out of her misery as she never was able to dance again. Who does that shit? What would drive someone to that? She’s a fucking diva bitch—”
I was shaking so hard I had to press my palm against the tile to keep my knees from buckling. Their conversation brought back the months of whispers, the thousands of accusations I’d endured, the looks of pure hatred that still had the power to follow me into my nightmares. Granted, I’d not been permanently damaged like Lara, but that didn’t mean I’d not spent the past years in pain.
I’d had to make the choice to allow the dark to take me to the depths of hell or find the strength to claw my way out.
No one gave a damn I was innocent or that I’d walked away from an extremely lucrative career. I’d traded the spotlight on center stage for a bare bulb illuminating a cement garage floor.
And how did that work out for you? No matter how many showers you take, your name is still being dragged through the mud. What are you going to do about it?
The voice in my head was annoying but, by God, it was honest as well. I was done cowering and attempting to let the hatred slide off me. I needed to stand up for myself. To make these people see I wouldn’t be pushed around.
I slammed the shower curtain open and grabbed hold of my towel before stepping forward with anticipation and rage coursing through my veins. “Why don’t you ask me, rather than talking shit behind my back like a little bitch?”
I was surprised to find myself looking at Bella — one of the women I had danced with earlier. She’d given me a huge hug, telling me I danced like an angel, and now she was talking about me. Only little bitches did that.
At first, Bella looked a little shocked, like she might cower away from me. But then she seemed to realize her companions were staring at us, and she needed to back up her big mouth with more than the vitriol she’d been spewing.
“I think we don’t need someone like you dragging us down. I think you’re bad news. You always have been, and that’s the end of it.”
“Don’t you fucking get it?” I asked. “I’m not that naïve girl anymore. Haven’t you ever made a mistake? Haven’t you ever trusted someone and then discovered they were the devil in disguise?”
My fingers clutched the towel around me as I shook. From fury or shame I wasn’t sure, yet I knew I had to speak my piece regardless of the outcome.
Looking from face to face in the growing crowd, I asked, “Haven’t you grown the fuck up? Or are you still a kid who blindly swallows whatever shit she’s spoon-fed?”