I managed to call Jase when I started to calm down. He came over right away and sat with me in my closet while I sobbed uncontrollably. It seems that no matter how hard I try to let go of it all, Jack finds a way to creep into my head and remind me of everything I want to forget.

I decided to go ahead and go into work, even though Jase wanted me to call in sick. But I really needed the distraction. It was a busy night, so I didn't have much time to think about anything other than making lattes. In fact, I barely even noticed the taunting bell above the door, which usually has me in a constant state of paranoia. The busier I keep myself, the less time my mind has to wander. So when I am not at Common Grounds, I'm buried in schoolwork: dancing and studying.

8 weeks later

Jase has been trying to convince me to see a therapist. He believes my erratic behavior is post-traumatic stress disorder. The last thing I want to do is talk, so I brush him off and pretend like it's no big deal whenever he brings it up, which is often. All I need is a little more time to pass, and things will get easier. I keep telling myself this every day, but so far, nothing has changed. I can do nothing but hope that one day I will wake up and things will be different.

Ms. Emerson told me to report to her office this afternoon at three o'clock. I have never been to her office before; I hadn't even been singled out in class like I have been lately. She's constantly barking at me in class, telling me to feel more. I can only imagine that this meeting will be more of the same.

When I pull up to the studio, I take a deep calming breath before getting out of the car. Feeling nervous as I walk into the building, I head down the hallway to all the instructors' offices. When I reach her closed door, I take a few moments before lightly knocking on the door.

"Come in," she says loudly, and I slowly open the door and peek my head in. "Ms. Parker, please, have a seat," she says as she motions to the large leather chair with weathered nailheads.

Sliding my purse off my shoulder, I plop it on the floor next to the chair before sitting down. I look at Ms. Emerson as she folds her hands together on top of her desk and clears her throat.

"Ms. Parker...Candace?"

"Please, call me Candace," I answer as I fidget with my watch.

"I can't help but notice a decline in your performance lately, and it's beginning to concern me."

"Oh..."

" I've never had to worry about you in the past, and frankly, I never thought I would be needing to have this conversation with you, but..." She backs her chair away from her desk, stands up, and walks around, leaning against the desk as she now stands directly in front of me. "Is there something going on? Something that has caused this sudden shift with your dancing?" Her voice softens when she questions me. I'm surprised by her tone of empathy.

Shaking my head, I say, "No. I'm not sure what's causing this struggle." Only I do. And the knowing causes me to swallow back hard and fight to keep the tears from pooling in my eyes.

When I look at Ms. Emerson, I see the concern. An emotion I thought she couldn't possibly possess. My body betrays my act of strength when I feel my chin start to tremble as the emotions build inside my tightening chest.

Slightly tilting her head to the side, she pushes, "You sure?"

There is no way I can speak right now, so I simply nod my head.

She pushes herself off the desk and sits down next to me in the matching leather chair. Shifting her body to face me, she continues, "Dancers like you don't often walk through these doors. When I first saw you three years ago, I knew I was seeing something special. You are destined to have a successful career, and I've never had to worry about you. You breathe this." Hearing her words, I lose my composure and let the tears escape. "But it's almost November, and your time here is limited. Whatever this is...we need to fix it. I see perfection, but I no longer feel the passion in you. I feel emptiness."

Agreeing with her last statement, I nod my head and say, "I'm sorry. I don't...I don't know what to do to fix this."

She reaches over and covers my hand with hers. "Whatever is making you shut down, allow it to come to life inside of you."

Her words are my greatest fear. Would she be telling me this if she knew? I know I have to find another way—I have to.

"I believe in you, Candace. I wouldn't have called you in today if I didn't."

I am taken back by her candidness, and I know she isn't saying this for my sake. She means it. Wiping my tearstained cheeks, I say, "Thank you."

She stands up, and I lean down to grab my purse before doing the same. As she walks back behind her desk, I make my way to the door. Holding the door handle in my hand, I turn over my shoulder and assure her, "I'll fix this."

"I know you will," she replies as she sits down.

Wrapping my plush black scarf around my neck, I head out the front door into the brisk and rainy October evening. It's Halloween, and everyone at work wanted the night off to go to various parties, so I volunteered to work. Roxy will be there for a little bit, but I will be working most of the night and closing by myself. It should be pretty slow with it being a Wednesday and also a party night. Most people will be opting to drink liquor rather than coffee.

When I arrive, Roxy and her boyfriend, Jared, are the only ones in the shop. Sporting her new flame-red hair, she looks up and says, "Hey, Candace! How was your day?"

Shaking off my wet jacket, I say, "Busy. I've been trying to choreograph that solo I told you about." I shrug off my coat and scarf and hang them on the coat rack by the front doors.

"Hey, Jared," I say as I approach the counter.

"Haven't seen you in a while, girl," he says.

"Yeah, I've been keeping busy with school."

Eying my backpack, he says, "I see."

I sling my backpack off my shoulder and drop it on the floor behind the counter. "I figured it'd be dead tonight, so I thought I could get some reading done for my classes."

Roxy walks up to me, leaning against the counter, and asks softly, "You sure you're gonna be okay here by yourself?"

"Roxy, I've worked alone before. No biggie."

"Yeah, but—"

Interrupting her, I repeat, "No biggie, Rox," giving a slight nod and looking her in the eyes. I know exactly what she's thinking, but I just want her to drop it. We both realize I haven't worked alone since she's been noticing my strange behavior these past couple months. She knows something is up, but I tend to cut her off every time she starts to insinuate concern.

I walk over to the espresso machine and begin making myself a double shot latte.

"It was nice seeing you, Candace," Jared shouts over to me while I'm grinding the coffee beans.

"You heading out already?" I ask.

"Yeah, I gotta run." He turns to Roxy and asks, "I'll see you in an hour?"

"Yep, meet you at your place," she replies before kissing him.

I turn around, not wanting to look at how happy they are and focus on steaming the milk. I add a pump of vanilla flavoring and quickly wipe down the counter before turning back around. When I do, Jared is walking out. Leaning against the counter, I blow on my hot drink before taking a slow sip. Roxy is staring at me, and I can read her thoughts clearly. I know she doesn't want me here alone, and she is worried. Before she can say a word, I try to place the focus on her, not me.