Page 35 of Meet Me at the Metro (Gildenhill #1)

35

HATEFUL INTRODUCTIONS

E L L I E

“ S top that, Ellie-Jellie,” Harvey softly reprimands, swatting my hands away from my mouth. “You’re going to ruin your nail beds by biting them like that.”

A metronome echoes through the dance studio as a large group of female performers return to the starting marks of their dance sequence. As my eyes roam over the group’s black leotards and fishnet stockings, nearly identical to the set I’m wearing, I wonder which one will be talented enough to snag the role of Velma Kelly.

Chicago the Musical is a demanding production that requires not only vocal versatility from its leads but also requires its performers to master its complex choreography.

Landing a role in this musical meant standing out.

Will I be talented enough to stand out?

“I didn’t know so many would make it to callbacks,” I mutter.

Harvey gives my shoulder a friendly nudge. “Get out of your head. You’re just as deserving of the role you’re going for as everyone else here.”

He gives me a warm smile that promises sincerity, and my haywire thoughts settle a little.

Just a little.

“We’ve practiced your song and dance routine a thousand times. You can do this. All about confidence, remember?”

“Thanks for the reminder. ”

“Always.”

We watch the ladies in front of us run through the jazz dance routine several more times, and I notice how the show and casting directors inspect the performers, watching wide-eyed for mistakes or missteps. I also recognize the few individuals their gazes keep returning to who have flawlessly memorized the sequence and are now adding their distinct flares to the moves. The directors scribble notes about those lucky few.

The more I watch, the more complex the maze of insecurity in my mind grows. I force my attention back to Harvey and distract myself with another conversation before I have an opportunity to get lost in it.

“I’m trying to convince Theo to join the orchestra.”

Harvey lifts a brow. “For the show? Is he considering it?”

“Barely.”

“Sounds about right,” he chuckles. “Nothing a little sweet talking can’t fix. Especially if it’s coming from you.”

“I’ve been sweet-talking the man, and it ain’t working. It’s Connor. Theo doesn’t like the idea of being around him.”

“I thought that dinner would reconcile some things between them. Was their fight really that bad?”

“It was pretty bad,” I wince, recalling how their argument nearly turned physical.

“The two of them will make up,” Harvey assures me. “If you have anything to do with it, at least.”

“I feel like I’ve made things between them worse. Like I’ve given them more reason not to like each other.”

“I don’t think so. I think you were just the push those two needed to quit being knobs to each other. Give it time. You’ll see.”

“I’m trusting you on this one,” I say, not the slightest bit convinced.

“Wise woman,” he commends, smirking.

The double doors at the other side of the dance studio quietly swing open, and Connor discretely slips through them. His eyes find mine within seconds, and I quietly motion him to join Harvey and me.

Connor plops down onto the wooden floor beside me, giving Harvey a friendly nod before he asks me, “Have you gone up yet?”

“No. My group’s up next.” I try to keep my prickling nerves at bay as the ladies ahead of me end their dance sequence .

Connor whispers, “You got Roxie in the bag. Stop worrying, alright?”

Harvey says, “I’ve told her the same thing. If only she’d listen as well as she worries.”

“ I listen! ”

I don’t have the chance to defend myself further as the satisfying clack of heels reverberates around the large, open room. My palms immediately grow tacky as the ensemble of women in front of us disperses to the quiet corners of the dance studio, leaving the creaky hardwood floors barren for the next set of auditioners.

The lead casting director rises from his chair. “If those auditioning for Roxie Hart would please find and occupy a marker on the floor.”

As the two dozen of us claim one of the unoccupied yellow duct tape X s along the scratch-ridden wooden panels, he explains, “So same as the last group, Amanda, our show’s dance director, is going to run you guys through the routine a few times. You will have the opportunity to practice as a group, and then you will each perform individually. Got it?”

We’re gravely silent, but we all nod in agreement. The floor-to-ceiling mirrors ahead of us reflect the nervousness and excitement buzzing around the room as nearly everyone shifts restlessly on their feet.

Our fidgety limbs come to a frigid halt as Amanda steps forward in front of the group. “Okay, ladies, we’ll start the routine with a simple Charleston.”

We intently watch as she leads us through the moves once, ghosting each of her body’s fluid movements until she counts us off to practice them on our own.

“ Forward and back and forward and back, and slap. Now, we’re going to turn to our side and step.”

She approvingly nods as she watches us follow her instructions, the heels of our black-clad shoes stomping along the floor as she counts us through the new sequence. “ Two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. Then, we shimmy back to the front— three, four, five, six, seven, eight.”

By the time Amanda finished walking us through the challenging routine, my chest was heaving for air. One by one, they single us out and watch us perform the routine independently. I use every girl performing solo before me as an opportunity to study the steps further and decide how to add my unique flair and style to the routine.

“ Ellie Mattice.”

Every muscle in my body tenses as they call my name from the director’s table.

The echo of my footsteps haunts me as I move toward the middle of the floor, where I know every set of eyes in the room will be watching me. No matter how many auditions I’d been through in the past, this process never became any less nerve-wracking. It always gave me the sensation of facing an undiscovered fear for the first time again.

Auditioning was exhilarating as much as it was frightening.

“Whenever you’re ready,” they tell me.

I breathe, filling my lungs with a relieving rush of air, and contort my lips into a smile to mask my lingering anxiety. “Okay, I’m ready.”

The second I utter the words, I glance into the mirror before me and discover the set of dark, brown eyes watching me. They stand out among the crowd of bodies lined against the back studio walls and send a chill that’s only accompanied by nightmares up my spine.

Every cell in my body stills with terror as a sickening smirk pulls at the corners of John’s lips.

I shudder as his obsessive gaze travels down the length of my legs. I used to find his attraction toward me welcoming, but right now I feel repulsed by it, hating the invitation it insinuates entirely.

“ Miss Mattice?”

I tear my eyes away from the mirror and fight to focus on the table of directors in front of me.

I want nothing more than to shove John and the knowledge of his presence into the unreachable parts of my mind, but my rapid pulse is a steady, constant reminder that he’s not going anywhere.

He’s here , watching me.

Dread settles in the pit of my stomach.

“Are you ready?”

“I-I’m ready,” I lie.

The jazzy musical track begins to play before I can rally in my panicky thoughts, and I completely miss my first step. I’ve thrown myself offbeat before we’re even eight seconds into the lively melody, and the music stops before I can embarrass myself further.

“I’m so sorry.”

“That’s alright. From the top again.”

I nod and begin the routine from the beginning, focusing on the technicality of the moves and the steady cadence of the music. As I dance, I try imagining the warmth of the stage lights on my skin. I lose myself in the adrenaline rush that accompanies me in every performance or audition and allow it to pilot my body’s movements.

I reach the halfway mark of the routine and jut out my knee for the next sequence, but the moment I start to take my next move, my eyes snag onto John’s in the mirror.

He licks his lips mockingly as I turn to shimmy into the final steps of the dance, and my poise crumbles. I trip along the moves, one heel catching onto the other, and fly toward the floor. My palms and thighs make an embarrassing smack as they collide with the hardwood, and everyone in the room gasps.

Amanda hurries toward me. “Oh, sweetie, are you okay?”

My cheeks are burning with humiliation as I quickly gather myself off the floor. “I’m f-fine. I can, umm —I can start over if you want me to. I—”

“No worries. We’ve seen plenty.”

Those words hit me like a freight train. They’re all I need to hear to know that I’ve royally fucked up this audition.

I don’t waste any time pleading for another chance at the routine. I mutter a quick “ Thank you ” and hurry to get my belongings at the back of the studio.

I’m too riddled with humiliation to spare Harvey or Connor a glance as I reach them and snatch my bookbag off the floor. “Break a leg, you guys.”

Connor reaches for my wrist as I turn for the doors. “Ellie, wait. Are you okay? Let us come with you.”

“I’m fine.”

Harvey tilts my chin up to look at him. “Don’t be discouraged, Ellie. ”

“I totally fucked it up, Harv.”

“You didn’t. You looked mesmerizing up there. Don’t let that one misstep convince you otherwise.”

I force my eyes back down to the floor, feeling the wave of my emotions beginning to crest. “I’ll see you at the flat, alright?”

I hurry off for the doors, but Connor stops me again. “Don’t go alone. It’s not safe. I can walk you home.”

“You still have your audition. I’m fine. Theo’s still on campus. I can get him to come meet me,” I promise.

The weight of the room’s attention on me and that uninviting presence lingering somewhere behind me has my chest growing heavy, and I can’t bear another second of it. So, I don’t explain that John’s the reason for my mishap or stay back to ask whether or not they noticed him in the room.I would confess all that to them later when my mind wasn’t bombarded with a million different worries.

I bound out of the studio and send Theo a quick text.

I’m finished. Can you meet me at the dance studio?

The staccato of my footsteps echoes down the barren, quiet corridor as I walk. Moonlight pours through the glass pane rooftop looming above me, shining bright enough for me to make out the path ahead. I glance down as a text comes through on my phone.

Coming. How’d it go, darling?

The message provokes a rush of disappointment—no, frustration —through my veins as I recall just how awful my audition went, and it’s all thanks to John.

I am so exhausted by the influence he still manages to have over me. He’s become a leech in my life, one set on draining me of all the enjoyment, love, and possibilities of my life here in London.

I fully intend to rid myself of him completely.

For now, I ignore Theo’s question, thinking it would be better to explain everything in person rather than over text. I find the girls’ bathroom ahead and hurry inside as my rising anger bubbles to the surface.

“Ugh!” I cry out, consumed with rage. “ Fuck him! Fuck him! Fuck him!”

The sound of the door opening startles me.

“That’s harsh, Eleanor.”

John closes the door behind himself, and every muscle in my body coils tightly, preparing to defend itself—to fight.

“Get out,” I growl. “Get out, now!”

“Shhh!” he hisses, approaching me swiftly. “Calm down.”

I instinctually step backward, and my back collides against the bathroom stalls as he closes in the distance between us.

“Get the hell away!”

“Just let me talk, Ellie. Please just let—”

“Help!” I shriek without a second thought. “Help!”

John yanks me toward him and clamps a forceful hand over my mouth. “Stop screaming!”

I fight against his hold with as much vigor as possible, but he’s so much bigger and stronger than me. When he pins my thrashing arms down against my body, I’m rendered helpless.

“You going to keep fighting me? Or are you going to cooperate and hear me out?”

I defiantly writhe beneath his hold, but he grips me tighter, stealing air from my lungs as he forces my body still. I try gasping for air and calling out for help again, but his hand is still over my mouth, and all of my pleas become pathetic, muffled sounds.

“I came here for you. Flew across the damn ocean for you, and you won’t even let me have five minutes!”

I rear back my foot to kick him, to do anything to escape the snare he’s trapped me in, but he wraps a hand around my neck, and every joint in my body freezes over with fear.

“Please,” I rasp, struggling for oxygen as tears of fright stream from my eyes. “Please, John.”

“Are you going to act right? ”

I nod desperately in agreement, wanting to do everything but what he’s telling me, but too scared for my life to disobey.

He gives my throat a threatening squeeze. “Promise me?”

I nod again, only finding a thread of relief from my fright when he finally moves his hand from my neck. I gasp for air the second it’s granted to me again, deeply inhaling as he twists me around to face him and presses me back against the bathroom stall.

There’s a look so vile in his dark brown eyes as they skim over my face. I flinch as he cups my face in his hands and shiver when the pads of his thumbs brush beneath my eyes.

“I hate when you cry. You haven’t given me that pretty smile in so long.”

I cringe. “What do you want from me?”

He smiles wickedly as if this is all just some sort of game to him. “You know what I want.”

“I. Don’t. Want. You.”

“But I want you,” he snarls back. “Why is it only what you want? Why doesn’t it matter what I want anymore?”

“Because you cheated on me!”

“One thing! I did one bad thing, so you’re throwing away everything we had?!”

I scoff, “One bad thing?! You’ve been stalking me!”

“Keep your voice down.” John nervously glances toward the bathroom door.

“Screw you! You’ve been stalking me! You’ve hit me! You’ve held me down! You just fucking choked me! You’ve done several bad things, John!”

“I said quiet down,” he commands through gritted teeth.

John moves to hold me by the throat again, but I catch hold of his wrist as tight as I can and bring my knee up between his legs. The second I make an impact, he’s doubling over and letting out an agonized, pained groan.

“Get away from me! ”

I use the fleeting seconds to run and launch for the bathroom door. My hand nearly reaches its handle just before John grips me by the ponytail and yanks me backward.

I wail as I’m thrown back onto the bathroom floor, pain lancing nearly every inch of my body. The bitter cold of the tiles bites against the skin beneath my fishnet stockings.

John twists me, clambers over my squirming body, and pins my wrists against the ground.

“Please quit fighting me, Eleanor. Just listen to me. Just hear me out. I love you so much.”

“I hate you!” I scream, rage distorting my voice so greatly I can hardly even recognize it. “I hate you!”

“You don’t mean that!”

“I do! I hate you, John! I! Fucking! Hate! You! ”

John rears his arm back to hit me, and I clench my eyes shut, bracing myself for the blow, but it doesn’t come.

I gasp as Theo wrenches John off of me in one unbelievably fast motion and throws him back against the wall as if he’s nothing but a rag doll. I shakily inhale as Theo presses the length of his corded forearm against John’s neck and pins him in place.

“ I’ve been waiting to meet you .”