"Okay. What did you have in mind?" Jase asks.

"I don't know. Some place quiet."

"Why don't we go to my house? Change of scenery," Mark says while twirling a fork full of lo-mein.

I look at Mark and say, "Perfect."

We sit there quietly and continue to eat our greasy food when I hear my phone ring. I walk over to the bar and see that it's Kimber calling. Suddenly nervous, I let it continue to ring until it goes to voicemail.

"Who's that?" Jase asks.

I turn around to look at him and answer, "Kimber." Before I can set the phone down, it chimes with a text from her.

I'm starting to wonder if you're mad at me. Where's your stuff?

I don't respond. Instead, I turn my phone off and leave it on the counter.

"The more you ignore her, the worse it's gonna get," Jase says, picking up his plate and walking into the kitchen.

I watch him as he starts to rinse off his dish in the sink. "Drop it, please. Can we just forget? Just for today?"

The truth is, I don't want to drop it just for today. Call me the Queen of Avoidance, but I hate dealing with issues head on. I get really anxious and nervous, so I tend to just ignore and let things slide. But I know this isn't going to just disappear. And Jase is right: the longer I wait, the worse it will be. I just don't have it in me right now.

After lunch, we hop into Mark's car and head over to his house, first stopping to pick up some beer at the store. I stay in the car with Mark while Jase goes in. I'm very self-conscious about the scratches on my face, so I'd rather avoid public places.

Mark lives right off campus in a small house. After the fiasco with his roommate and Jase, Mark kicked him out and got another roommate. Mark assured me he wouldn't be home though.

The patio in the backyard is surprisingly large, so we decide to relax outside and drink for the afternoon. I'm not in the mood to talk, so I just listen to Mark and Jase. I begin to tune them out as I start on my second beer. Sitting back in my chair with my eyes closed, I enjoy the heat of the sun on my face. I keep dozing in and out of a light sleep, and I can faintly hear the boys talking about Mark's band and how they just got a new gig to play this weekend at a local bar. I have never heard them play before, but they seem to be popular around UW.

"Hey, Candace?"

Squinting my eyes against the bright sun, I look over at Jase. "Kimber just texted me."

Closing my eyes again, I say, "We're pretending, remember?"

And with that, the subject is dropped.

The next few days pass in a bit of a haze. Jase has classes during the day but stops by to check on me when he can. I spend most of my time in bed trying to sleep. Nights are rough. Something about the darkness. I have been having nightmares—bad nightmares. Jack is constantly in my dreams, tormenting me. I wake up in a state of confusion, screaming and crying; often having to run to the bathroom to throw up. I know I'm freaking Jase out, but he stays calm and holds me while I cry until I fall into another fit of sleep. He suggested that I call my doctor to see about getting on a sleeping pill. I will do just about anything to get Jack out of my head to get some rest. I'm exhausted, and it shows in my eyes.

By Sunday, the scratches on my face are hardly noticeable, which is a relief because I have to work this evening. I decide to go to the studio since I know it will most likely be empty, and I can have the place to myself. I haven't danced all week, and I'm hoping that being back in the studio will make me feel a little more normal. Before I leave the apartment, I put on some makeup just in case I run into anyone. I am able to cover up the light scars on my face pretty well now that the ugly scabs are gone.

I breathe a sigh of relief as I pull into the studio's parking lot and see that it's empty. I head inside and proceed with my normal routine. Once my pointes are tied up and I'm stretched, I plug my iPod into the stereo system and decide against the barre for some much needed center work. I start going through various adagio and turn combinations. As I begin working the floor, I am relieved when my mind begins to emancipate, as it always does when I dance. All I think about is my turnout, posture, port de bras, and lines. Gliding through my movements and hearing the thuds of my pointes against the wooden floor are therapeutic in a way. I listen to the music that fills the room and move through several combinations that I know by heart and repeat them over and over. I don't want this serene feeling to end, so I keep repeating the combinations. I feel surprisingly flawless for being out this past week, and I continue making my way through the different combinations.

A crash of thunder quickly brings me out of my euphoric state. I walk to one of the windows and look up into the sky to see dark clouds rolling in. I decide to pack up and head back to Jase's before the storm hits. Taking off my pointes, I powder them and my feet before sliding them into my flip-flops. I sling my bag over my shoulder, run out, and hop into my car. When I turn the key, I look at the time on my dash and am shocked when I realize I've been dancing for over two hours. I don't know how the time slipped away so fast.

As I drive, reality slowly starts creeping back in, and the weight in my chest returns. The thunder continues to rumble, and I feel like the weather fits my mood perfectly. The clouds open, and the rain begins to crash down on my windshield. I turn my wipers on high, but I struggle to see the road ahead. I pull into one of the empty parking lots on campus to wait until the rain lightens up. While sitting in the car, I listen to the rain beating violently against the steel.

For some reason, I get the urge to get out of my car. I open the door and step out into the rain. Closing the door, I lean against the car, and within seconds, I'm drenched. The beating of the raindrops against my delicate skin feels good, almost painful in a way—but good. I lean my head back and feel the pellets as they strike my face. I enjoy the biting sensation. With my eyes closed, I just stand there, wishing I could live here, in this vacant lot, alone, focusing on nothing more than the stinging pleasure of the storm as it batters me. Knowing that this will soon end, that the sun is lingering behind the clouds and I will be faced with the hell that is my life, my body slides down the side of my car, and I sit in a puddle of water on the dirty ground and cry.

Why didn't I fight more? Why did I just lie there? I am constantly replaying that night in my head, wondering what I could have done differently. What happened at the party that made his mood suddenly shift? I know that I led him on, and I shouldn't have. If only I could have just been honest with him from the start. Now I'm constantly haunted by his eyes, his voice, and the feel of his hands clamped around my mouth, keeping me from screaming.

He took so much from me. He took everything that wasn't his to take. I had only been with one guy, and that experience was far from a loving one. Preston was drunk off of keg beer, and the whole thing lasted less than a few minutes before he passed out on top of me. Why is this my life? Why did I allow this asshole to take all that was good in me? I feel like nothing.

When the rain lightens up, I drag myself off the ground and slide back into my car, leaving puddles of dirty water on my leather seats. I drive the rest of the way in a complete daze, feeling drained and emotionally exhausted.