The Hit List Read Online Free PDF Page B

me.”
    Famous last words. I’d believed them before I ended up on the ground. Patrick’s never dropped me before, not even when we first started dancing together two years ago .
    What does that say about him?
    He can’t be bothered to make sure I’m safe anymore. It doesn’t matter as long as we pull off the moves. But we aren’t pulling them off. We haven’t in weeks .
    What does that say about us?
    I count my breathing, inhaling and exhaling to the count of four, and start to name the objects in the room to ground myself in the moment.
    A chair. The barre. Five panels of mirrors. The stereo. Two windows overlook the courtyard. A pigeon sits on the window ledge.
    There’s no place I’d rather spend my last night in New York than in the windowsill of the dance studio. This is my home, more so than the empty apartment I’d rather not go back to .
    The traffic below inches along. Horns honk as cab drivers get impatient. Bikers weave in and out of the cars on the edge of the street .
    I’ll miss the life of the city the most .
    I pull myself off the ledge and walk to my bag on the other side of the room. It rests against a wall filled with colorful handprints. Earlier in the year, every student at the studio had a chance to add their handprint. It was a chance to add a piece of ourselves to the studio .
    I press my hand against Patrick’s handprint. The cold cement is rough beneath my palm. The handprint stretches up past my fingertips .
    “Bye.”
    I’m not dying.
    My heart rate slows as my breathing normalizes. The pressure recedes on my arm as Brielle loosens her grip. I open my eyes. Most of the students gather their things. Some have already left. Brielle lifts my arm and places it back in my lap. Sympathy clouds her eyes, though I’m not sure why.
    She stands up and offers me her hand. “Come on. Let’s go back to the room.”
    I let her help me up and follow her out of the studio. When we reach the dorm room, I flop down on my bed and cover my head with my pillow.
    “Oh, no you don’t,” Brielle says, pulling the pillow off my head. She stretches her body out on her bed and props herself up on her elbow on top of her pillow. “Spill.”
    “What?” I know exactly what she’s referring to, but I don’t want to talk about it.
    She sits up and crosses her arms over her chest. “You know what. You freaked the fuck out in the middle of the dance studio. What happened?”
    “I was just really nervous about the first day of class. That’s all.” I refuse to break eye contact with her.
    She sighs. “You’re a terrible liar.”
    I stare back at her. “I’m not lying.” I don’t understand why she cares so much about this. It’s none of her business.
    She leans back against her pillows. Her arms uncross and she grips the edge of one of the pillows. “Fine. Don’t talk about it.”
    I stare at the ceiling above my bed. I don’t owe Brielle anything. She’s nothing more than my roommate for the next year. I was serious when I promised myself I wouldn’t put anyone before myself ever again. Brielle could easily end up just like all my other friends who moved on without me.
    “I used to get panic attacks when I was younger. My shrink said it was from separation anxiety. Which is probably true. I was in therapy for years.”
    I frown, turning to look at her, but she stares down at her comforter instead. She looks younger, like she’s just a scared kid.
    I really shouldn’t get into this conversation with her. We’re bordering on friend territory. But I feel like I have to ask. “What were you separated from?”
    She shrugs. “My parents were never around. My dad’s a CEO for a Fortune 500 company and my mom’s involved with real estate. When they weren’t traveling for business, they were too busy screwing other people to stay at home and spend any time with me. I used to have a panic attack every time one of them left because I was afraid I wouldn’t see them again.”
    It’s sad to