Page 38 of The Devil and His Goddess (Sinners Do It Better #2)

Harper

THIS WEEK WOULD’VE BEEN THE week—opening night for Dancing in the Dark . Instead of preparing for the thrilling, hard-earned day, I was in bed, barely clinging onto the remaining shards of myself.

The shards that missed the feel of burning muscles as I pushed them to work harder.

The shards that longed for the freedom that came with leaping and spinning like a butterfly in the wind.

The shards that missed dance .

The longing tugging at my chest was one of the first things I’d felt amid the grief, anger, and torment that had kept me prisoner this past month. The pull—the need —to dance grew stronger, and for the first time in many weeks, I pushed past the dark cloud keeping me down. I couldn’t stay buried under it, not when my limbs, my very soul, ached for what it had been denied all this time.

I wasn’t sure how long my resolve would be able to beat back the dark whispers and memories, so I made quick work of washing up in the bathroom before making my way to the closed double doors of the ballet studio.

I stood just on the other side of the room I’d longed to enter but had been too afraid to face. My heart pounded, and my palms grew clammy as a flurry of anxiety took flight in my chest.

Before the feeling could totally take over, I took a deep breath and opened the doors. The midday winter sun streamed in from the large windows at the side of the room. I turned toward that light and slowly crossed the space to the clothes rack. Perseus had gotten me more leotards than even I owned, and I ran my fingertips over the many options.

I pulled a black leotard off the hanger and grabbed a pair of pink tights from a drawer in a neighboring shelf. Stripping out of my clothes, I pulled on the ballet-wear right there with the winter sun kissing my bare flesh.

I swallowed hard and stood frozen in place after pulling on the clothes. So much of my skin was bare, and that feeling of near-nakedness made a pit open up in my stomach. The last time I’d worn a leotard and tights …

I took in a shuddering breath and shoved the thought down, focusing on getting my leg warmers, fleece, and dance shoes on. I left my long black hair down since it was just me here.

Seeing as I hadn’t danced in many weeks, I knew I couldn’t jump right into it, especially since I hadn’t been taking proper care of my body. I somehow still had energy, despite not eating or drinking, and I suspected that had something to do with Perseus.

That unexplained energy helped to carry me across the floor to the middle of the room. I put my back to the mirror and went through warm-ups that were easy on my out-of-practice body. The familiar burn stretched across my frame, and despite the discomfort, I smiled softly. It was a reminder that I was still here, still a dancer and not an empty husk merely going through the motions of life.

My typical warm-up time was only twenty minutes, but today, I went through the exercises for an hour. By the time I was done, sweat beaded my hairline, and I’d shed the leg warmers and jacket. My breathing came out heavy while my heart raced happily. Those facts only made the seed of life sprout in my chest.

With a quick drink of water from the fridge in the room, I changed my shoes to pointe shoes and went to the stereo. Without even thinking, I pressed play on the playlist for Dancing in the Dark . The beautiful melody of the opening song poured from the speakers stationed in the corners of the room.

I held my breath and listened as the piece wrapped around me with old familiarity. It seemed like a different girl in a different lifetime had listened and danced to this music. I was no longer the same Harper as the one who’d been given the role of Psyche. I was no longer living in that world of bliss and hope.

The numbness burrowed in my bones began to seep back out of the cracks I’d been trying to fill. I walked robotically to the center of the room and finally turned to face the mirror as the piece of music turned dark and melancholy. Psyche was being scolded and driven out of her village right now, and as she fled into the Dark Wood with a broken heart and dreams, I stood there and stared at my reflection.

There she was. The girl who’d died inside but somehow still breathed. The icy fingers of despair groped at my mind, and I no longer had the strength to fight the cold claws.

The borrowed energy left me. My legs buckled, and I fell onto my hands and knees without ever tearing my gaze away from my reflection. I crawled closer to the mirror on shaking arms and knelt before the girl I was now.

She feared being touched.

She feared dance.

She feared her own mind.

And I hated her.

I hated this body that no longer felt like my own. I hated the dull eyes that no longer sparkled with a zest for life. I hated the pale skin that was practically littered with invisible marks of foreign hands that only I could see.

“I hate you,” I whispered between clenched teeth. Tears rimmed my eyes, and the sight only spurred on my rage. “I hate you,” I cried louder as I pressed right up against my reflection. “ I hate you! ”

I pounded my fists against the mirror, using all my strength to shatter the glass. I wanted to destroy the girl staring back at me, so I wailed and screamed out my hatred for her as I continued slamming my hands and arms into the mirror.

But the glass was too thick and strong. No matter how hard I hit it, it wouldn’t break.

Only I did.

SILENCE FILLED THE BALLET ROOM. The playlist had long since ended, and the setting sun streamed down through the window. I stretched out on my back and stared up at the high ceiling with my arms out on either side of me. My emotions had been bottled up once more so that the numbness could coat my insides in a protective layer.

The door opened beyond my head. I didn’t pay it any mind, nor did I move at the sound of footsteps drawing closer. My gaze stayed trained on the ceiling as the comforting smell of salty sea air enveloped me. Perseus entered my periphery above me. I waited for him to ask what happened or for him to try to convince me that I couldn’t go on like this.

Instead of either of those things, he got on the ground and laid on his back right beside me. His fingers brushed mine, sending an electric jolt up my arm and right to my chest. I licked my lips and focused on that buzz that came from his nearness, hoping it would thaw some of the pain. As the two of us existed in silent stillness together, the tightness in my chest eased a fraction.

I inhaled slowly and inched my fingers closer to his until they overlapped. He finished by weaving our fingers through each other’s, and the feel of his palm pressed into mine grounded me. His strong and steady grip parted the clouds enough that I felt a single, miniscule ray of sunshine.

“Perseus,” I whispered into the silence.

“Harper,” he replied softly.

I didn’t say anything else. I wasn’t even sure why I’d said his name. Maybe I needed confirmation that I still could. Or maybe I needed a reminder of my own—I was still Harper, even though it didn’t feel like it.

Swallowing hard, I croaked, “It’s so quiet.”

“Would you prefer it not be?”

I slowly shook my head where it rested against the floor. “I don’t know. I … don’t know anymore.”

He was quiet for a time, almost like he was debating something in his own mind or gathering the energy for his next move. Eventually, he sat up next to me, and I managed to look his way as a curved wooden and stringed instrument appeared in his hands from a gust of shadows. My eyes widened as I studied the gadget before realizing it was a lyre.

Small beads of sweat gathered at Perseus’s hair line, and he blinked rapidly a couple of times before he cleared his throat and strummed a few strings to check the sound. With his test done, his dark-rimmed eyes met mine. I wanted to ask him if he was okay, but before I could speak, he began to play.

The hum of the strings created a sound that ensnared me, and as his expert fingers produced the music, I rolled onto my side and propped my head on my bent arm. The beautiful and ethereal music called to me, bringing with it a sense of relief. The calming effect of his playing was unexpected, yet the longer I listened, the more enraptured I became with the sounds.

The longer he played, the more I was able to let go of everything and focus on this moment. I wasn’t trapped in that room as the world tarnished around me. I was here and tethered to the present by the sweetness of the music, the vision of Perseus’s ringed fingers strumming and plucking the strings, and his green eyes bouncing every so often from the lyre to me and back.

When the song concluded, I praised, “That was amazing. That’s a lyre, right?”

He smirked. “Good eye.”

I studied the instrument of his past and asked, “Was this your first instrument?”

He nodded and gave an appreciative look at the lyre in his grasp.

“Play something else.”

“What would my goddess like to hear?”

I sucked in a sharp breath at the nickname, relishing in the brief spike of warmth that came with it. If only the sparks had caught fire to thaw the cold.

Clearing my throat, I answered, “How about the first song you remember learning for the lyre?”

He didn’t hesitate to grant my request. A new song, which began with a catchy yet soft start filled the room. I was drawn to his fingers until he suddenly started singing. I inhaled sharply and snapped my attention up to his face as he sang in what I had to assume was Greek. The words and their meanings were lost to me, but it didn’t matter. I didn’t need to understand the language to understand him —his talent, his power, his efforts.

When the song ended, I sat up across from him, our knees nearly but not quite touching. “You can sing.”

He offered me a small grin. “A bit.”

“Was that Greek?”

“It was.”

I stared at his pink lips and found myself eager to hear more of the language. “Can you teach me something? I want to learn to say something in Greek.”

He pursed his lips and studied me. “Anything in particular?”

He’d already told me every curse word imaginable, so I shook my head. “No. Teach me whatever you want.”

The lighthearted teasing glint left his eyes as they softened. He looked down at his lap, and for a moment, I didn’t think he was going to say anything. When he did meet my eyes again, he whispered, “ S’agapo .”

“ S’agapo ,” I repeated, finding it easy to replicate.

He took a deep, shaky breath, and his smile widened. “That’s right.”

“What does it mean?”

He shrugged. “Guess you’ll never know.”

The answer took me back to that day at the Greek restaurant. I’d asked him to say something in Greek back then, too, and he’d followed up my question about the meaning with the same answer he gave me now. The memory had a tightness filling my chest. I wanted to go back in time to that night. I wanted to rewind to a time before I knew the horror of being dehumanized. I wanted to go back to when Perseus smiled at me with charm and a promise for pleasure, not one of feigned happiness that he put on for my sake.

“I miss you,” I whispered.

The words came out before I even knew they were on my tongue, but the truth of the confession brought fresh tears to my eyes. I missed laughing, talking, and joking around with him. I missed lying naked together after multiple rounds of sex. I missed his smile—his real one.

Lip trembling, I reached out to squeeze his free hand. “I miss you, Perseus.”

The careful mask he wore cracked as his face fell in tired despair. “I’m right here, baby.” He reached out to gently stroke my cheek. “I’m always going to be right here.”