As Dust Dances

by Samantha Young

  I slid down the door, feeling tears burn in my nose.

  All the time sleeping in that cemetery I hadn’t felt this alone.

  Crap.

  I swiped at a tear that escaped.

  Maybe I really did need to see a therapist.

  Okay, there was no maybe about it. I wasn’t stupid. I knew I was messed up about everything. But I was so scared.

  So scared that if I started to talk to someone about everything, the guilt would become too much to bear.

  A gentle knock on my door made me suck in a breath.

  “Skylar?”

  I ignored him.

  I hated him.

  O’Dea sighed. He was always sighing. Like I was an exasperating child he’d been burdened with. “I’m leaving so you can come out of the bedroom and finish your dinner.”

  I snorted. What a martyr.

  “Skylar . . . I’m s- . . .”

  Tensing, my eyes widened. Was he . . . was he going to apologize?

  “I’m . . . fuck.” He blew out an angry-sounding breath. “I’ll be back tomorrow and I expect you to be civil.” His footsteps thudded down the hallway and then the door slammed shut.

  In the wake of his departure, I ventured back out into the kitchen where my dinner was waiting. His sat almost finished.

  I shot a dirty look in the direction of the hallway. What a dick. “Martyr,” I muttered. But my anger toward him didn’t stop me from finishing the meal he’d cooked. In fact, I cleared both the plates and for the first time in a long time, I went to bed feeling satisfyingly full.

  Pissed off.

  But satisfyingly full.

  * * *

  IT WAS ODD TO NOT wake up with birds chirping around me. I actually missed the early wake-up call. However, the next morning I didn’t need my nature alarm. After all the sleeping I’d done the previous day, I woke up around five thirty.

  I showered, nearly slipped and fell trying to get out of the bathtub with only one good hand, and got ready for the day as best as I could. My bruising was turning that ghastly yellow color, which meant it was healing but it also made me look like there was something amiss with my red blood cells and thus probably dying.

  Putting the hair dryer down after a vigorous one-handed blow-dry, I considered my hair. I’d always kept it long because Micah asked me to. The rainbow colors were Gayle’s idea. She wanted me to look “adorably alternative.” I didn’t mind. Back then, I would have done anything to make the band work.

  All of the dye had grown out. My hair hung down to my bra strap, lifeless. I was naturally blonde, kind of medium tone, but it always seemed a little boring, which was why I didn’t mind throwing all the color at it.

  I fingered the ends, contemplating.

  And suddenly I knew what I’d ask the hairstylist to do.

  To my surprise, I felt a twinge of excitement about it. Like it mattered. It didn’t matter.

  “Maybe it does,” I murmured to myself. “Maybe it’s all part of moving on.”

  Moving on.

  That sounded exhausting.

  A little while later I was in the sitting room watching a morning television show, eating buttered toast (it had never tasted so good!) and drinking English breakfast tea when I heard the lock turn in the apartment door.

  I tensed, readying myself for another encounter (and possible altercation) with O’Dea. But the footsteps walking down the hall weren’t his. It sounded like a pair of heels clacking along the floorboards.

  And I was right.

  Staring up over my shoulder, I froze with a piece of toast to my mouth at the sight of the beautiful young woman standing in my doorway. “Who the hell are you?”

  She blinded me with a stunning white-toothed smile. “I’m Autumn.” She lifted her hands in which were a ton of shopping bags. “And I bring lots of goodies!”

  Ah. Okay. This was O’Dea’s sister. I ate the toast, getting to my feet. Her eyes widened a little as she took me in. “I know. I’m a mess,” I mumbled around the toast.

  Autumn’s perfectly shaped eyebrows drew together. “You’re just . . . Killian told me what they did to you but . . . those little fuckers!”

  I grinned because the word sounded so odd coming out of her mouth. She had a melodic accent much like Killian’s. Lilting and charming and a little well-to-do. That, along with her shining auburn hair curled into waves, her perfectly manicured nails, wrinkle-free shirt, blazer, and cigarette trousers, and four-inch stiletto sandals, she was all class.

  Her makeup looked like it had been applied by an artist.

  Big, warm, gorgeous brown eyes—exactly like Killian’s—stared at me, framed with thick lashes that seemed to go on forever. Were those real?

  Of course O’Dea’s sister was gorgeous. That family had good genes.

  “If you think I look bad, you should see the other guy,” I joked.

  “Killian said you were a smart arse. But I won’t joke about this, Skylar.” Autumn strolled toward me, studying me, as she promptly dropped all the shopping bags on the floor at our feet. “Those little fuckers deserve a long stint in prison for doing this to you.”

  I thought about the one called Johnny who I kept seeing every time I closed my eyes at night.

  And his friend, who I could’ve forgiven because he’d saved me, if he hadn’t run off with my goddamned Taylor. “I agree.”

  Sympathy shined in Autumn’s eyes as she assessed my face. “Once the bruising fades and Brenna gets your weight back up, you’ll be good as new. Beautiful as ever.”

  I snorted. I wasn’t beautiful. I had an interesting face and unusual eyes but no one could ever say I was beautiful. Micah used to, but that was different. Beauty was in the eye of the beholder and all that crap.

  “Enough of that,” she tutted at my wordless disagreement. “Look at your eyes, for Christ’s sake. And those lips!”

  I squirmed, hating compliments. “My eyes . . . heterochromia.” I had one hazel eye and one gray-blue eye. “They’re weird. Austin used to say ‘Here, girl!’ when he wanted to talk to me. Like I was husky. I have a bump in the bridge of my nose. And my lips? Too big for my face.”

  “Maybe right now they are because your face is too wee but once you put on some weight, you’ll be back to your lovely self. And Austin, whoever he is, is an arsehole for referring to you as a dog.”

  “My bandmate. He’s like a brother.”

  “Brothers are always charming that way.” She gestured to the shopping bags. “I brought you quite a few pairs of jeans and some shirts in both the sizes Killian gave me. I also got you some new underwear and socks.”

  My pride was pricked. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “It’s no big deal. I used Killian’s credit card.”

  “Oh, well then, let’s see what you got.”

  She laughed and put her purse down on the counter. “Okay, we have some time before Brenna gets here.” She grabbed up the bags, all of them, and strode into the bedroom.

  I stared after her. Was she was seriously going to stay in there with me while I tried on the clothes?

  “You coming?”

  I guessed that was a yes. Feeling uncomfortable about undressing in front of a stranger, I walked slowly into the bedroom. She’d thrown the bags on the bed and was emptying them.

  “Um, I can handle it from here.”

  “Won’t you need a hand? The cast?”

  “Oh, I’ll be fine. I can dress myself.”

  “But it’ll be quicker with my help.”

  “Look, you seem very nice—so nice, in fact, I think you should get a DNA test to make sure you and O’Dea are actually related—but I don’t know you that well and I’m a little uncomfortable stripping to my underwear in front of a stranger.” Weird, it hadn’t bothered me so much at the swim center, but that was different. I never saw those people again. I didn’t know them.

  Signing this contract with O’Dea implied that Autumn would inevitably be around more. I didn’t want to be in her
company knowing she’d seen my scrawny ass at its worst.

  Huh. I guess I did still care, I thought, not happy about that realization.

  “Oh.” She shook her head, her auburn tresses bouncing like a shampoo ad around her shoulders. “Of course. I’m sorry. I . . . I can be a little too enthusiastic and I don’t think. I just . . .” She fingered a cute Ralph Lauren tee she’d bought me. Wow. When she shopped, she shopped. “I want to be helpful.”

  More curious about her and O’Dea than I wanted to admit, I found myself taking a step toward her. “Are you O’Dea’s PA or something?”

  She frowned at me. “Why don’t you call him Killian?”

  Because it was too personal. He wasn’t that to me. He was the guy corralling me into the fame pen again. I shrugged. “So, you’re his PA?”

  “No. I’m between jobs at the moment. When Killian asked me to help out, I jumped at the idea. He told me a little about your story and I,” she bit her lip, “you deserve to get your life back on track, Skylar. Anything I can do to help . . . you know I’m here.”

  “But you don’t even know me.”

  Her eyes dimmed with sadness. “I . . . I kind of know what you’re going through. Not totally . . . but I lost my parents a long time ago.”

  O’Dea had lost his parents? “I’m sorry.”

  “I didn’t know them so well. I was only six. Killian was eleven.”

  “I’m sorry,” I repeated. Truly sorry. “I get it.”

  “Well.” She gave me a shaky smile. “Here I am. And I want to help.”

  More curious than ever, I eyed the clothes, trying to sound casual as I asked, “So . . . does O’Dea do this with all his new artists? Send his sister to look after them, cook them meals, buy them clothes?”

  “No.” Something in her tone brought my gaze back to her. She was staring at me speculatively, a little smile playing around the corners of her mouth. “He doesn’t.”

  My breath caught. Clearing my throat, I gestured to the bed. “You did all this in a day?”

  Autumn laughed. “Oh, I am a champion shopper. Killian told me he hired a personal shopper for you and I promptly made him cancel that appointment. Now, I don’t know your taste or what suits you best but you pick what you like out of this stuff and then when your weight is back to normal, I’ll take you shopping. We’ll need to get an everyday wardrobe with some nicer pieces thrown in just in case. Don’t worry about the album and promotional photography. Killian will bring in a stylist with amazing choices for you for that.”

  I tried not to hyperventilate at the thought. “Let’s just concentrate on this stuff.”

  “Okay, well, I’ll wait outside. You got any orange juice?”

  “In the fridge.”

  “You want some?”

  “Sure.”

  I waited for her to close the door behind her before I turned and looked to the bed. Exhaling slowly, I reached for the hem of my shirt.

  This was it.

  Everything was changing again.

  IT WASN’T A SURPRISE THAT Autumn had great taste. Some of the stuff was a little too preppy for my tastes, but for the most part, she’d intuitively surmised that the rocker girl in me still existed. I had a lot of new chilled-out black slogan tees and a couple of new pairs of jeans. To my relief, I fit into the size UK six, which meant I only needed to get back up one size to feel healthy again.

  All I used to wear was skinny jeans because I’d liked showing off that I had an ass and hips. But since those were temporarily on leave, I didn’t exactly suit my skinny jeans. Because of all the walking I’d done, my calves were muscular but my thighs were too lean. Somehow Autumn had thought that through too. When I’d seen the boot-cut Levi’s in the bag, I’d been bemused. But then she explained that they’d be more flattering for my current shape. And she was right. She was kind of a genius.

  “You can go back to your skinny jeans when Brenna gets a little more meat on you.”

  By the time Brenna came to the apartment, I felt almost stylish again. Well, you know, except for the bruising and crazy hair.

  Brenna was in her late thirties. She and Autumn had met when Autumn was doing a degree in food science. Brenna had been a guest lecturer. Autumn didn’t finish the degree but she made a friend for life in Brenna despite their age difference.

  Tall, slender, with short dark hair, Brenna had glowing copper skin that made her look younger than her age, and maybe that had something to do with healthy eating. More than likely. I was a great believer in the benefits of good diet and exercise.

  “How I’d usually start is asking you to keep a food journal for a week and we’d go from there, correcting where we needed to,” Brenna said. “However, I understand that this is a different situation. So, if you’re comfortable to speak about this in front of Autumn, can you talk to me about your eating habits over the last few months?”

  She was standing across the island from me, sipping tea, and I got that she was trying not to be interrogative. Autumn sat next to me on a stool.

  “I can go,” Autumn assured me.

  “It’s fine. I . . . uh . . . I know a lot of people feel shame about being homeless but my circumstances were different. I chose it. No one else I met chose it. I know people would argue that drug addicts, alcoholics, they all indirectly chose it, but you can’t say that. No one knows what it’s like for them. I know the people that I spoke to . . . well, if they’d had it in them to fight their addictions, they wouldn’t be on the streets.” I flushed a little, realizing I’d gone off topic. “Anyway, I, uh . . . I ate cheap. I tried to eat breakfast every day, although there were some days I didn’t. But mostly I ate breakfast. It was usually a banana and a bacon roll. The banana for protein and the bacon roll filled me up. And it was cheap. Lunch was sporadic. Some days I’d have one, other days not. Usually it would be a sandwich that was going off that day so it was on sale. Tuna, chicken, whatever they had. Most of the time, I waited to have an early dinner instead. Fish and chips mostly. Burger. Fries. Fast food stuff. Cheap. But,” and here was where I admitted how I’d fallen down, “I couldn’t stomach it in the last few weeks. That stuff is filled with grease and I . . . it started to nauseate me.”

  Brenna frowned. “Is that when you began to really notice weight loss?”

  “Yeah. I mean, I was losing a little because when I wasn’t busking, I walked. I backpacked through Europe so that’s when I noticed my jeans were getting a little loose. But yeah, I guess the last few months it changed from turning fat to muscle to dropping a dress size.”

  “And drinking habits?”

  “No alcohol,” I said immediately. “I needed my wits about me, which meant no being drunk and no spending money on unnecessary shit. I drank water. Nothing else.”

  “And did you get plenty of water?”

  “A couple of liters a day. It was all I could afford.”

  “Better than nothing.” She nodded, her gaze direct as she put her mug on the counter. “It’s not too bad, actually. I think that you’re small-boned with high cheekbones anyway, so any weight loss like this is going to look worse than it is.”

  “I . . .” I stumbled, pondering whether I should admit this or not. But it was playing on my mind so . . .”I missed my period this month. And I’m definitely not pregnant.”

  Autumn tensed beside me.

  Brenna nodded. “Okay, that’s not unusual and it’s actually more likely to do with malnutrition. It might even be stress related. You’ve been through a lot. Autumn said you have a health-check appointment, so be sure to mention it and also that you’re seeing a nutritionist. Once we get the nutrients that you need back into your body, we’ll see if everything returns to normal.”

  “I’ll get my period back?”

  “That’s the hope.” She pulled a folder out of the bag she’d brought with her and flipped it open. “So, I have a few questions.” From there she asked me about my weight history, current and past medical history, family medical history, food allergies
or intolerances, my likes and dislikes, my eating, sleeping, and exercise habits, past weight-loss attempts, and my emotional and social ties to food. I’d never had a problem with my weight before. I had a good metabolism and I was young, so it had never been a concern. Plus, I actually enjoyed eating healthy food. And, I reiterated to her what I had told O’Dea, that to keep up my strength for touring, a healthy diet had been a necessity. Brenna was happy to hear it and even more so when I told her what my diet used to be like.

  “Then this should be easier for you than it is for most of my clients. We’re going to dose you up a little more heavily on nutrients to begin with, and some calorie-dense, high-protein foods to get your weight back up. Peanut butter is going to be your new best friend.”

  Brenna had also brought a scale with her, connected to an app on her phone, and she’d made me step on it. Not only had she taken my weight, she’d measured me. My BMI was under so she wanted that back up in the healthy zone. She would be measuring and weighing me every week too.

  By the time Brenna left, I was feeling more than a little overwhelmed. Autumn now had a grocery list in her hand and I’d downed a green smoothie filled with kale, banana, coconut milk, and peanut butter. I didn’t mind the taste, which was good because Brenna made me promise I’d have two smoothies a day on top of the meal plan she’d devised.

  “I’ll go out and get all of this,” Autumn said, waving the list at me after we’d said goodbye to Brenna.

  I watched as Autumn threw her phone in her purse and grabbed the keys to the apartment. O’Dea had texted her a few times to check on things. Control freak. As his sister prepared to leave, I got this sudden feeling of claustrophobia. It tightened my chest. And suddenly staying here alone felt like a worse idea than going out in public with a bruised-up face. “Hey,” I burst out, “can I come with you?”

  She looked surprised. “What about your bruising?”

  “You know,” I glanced out of the patio doors to the river outside, “I’m willing to put up with the stares if it means getting a little fresh air. I feel like I’ve been in this apartment forever.”

  “Of course. You’re not a prisoner. Hey,” she dug through her purse, “I have my makeup with me.” She pulled out a cosmetics bag that had to take up all the room in her purse. “I can do your makeup if you want. Cover up the bruises?”