Lucy sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the floor. The silence of the room pressed heavy on her chest, and she felt as if she had swallowed stones.
She leaned forward, buried her face in her hands, and let out a shaky laugh. “What am I even doing here?” she whispered to the empty room. Her voice cracked at the edges, sounding too loud in the still air.
She lifted her head and pushed her hair out of her face, pacing from the bed to the window. The curtains swayed with the night breeze. She rested her forehead against the glass.
“He stops me from dancing, says I’ll work with him,” she muttered, her voice sharper now, angry at the memory. “But where’s the job, Barry? Where’s the work you promised?”
Her reflection in the window looked back at her, pale and tired. She jabbed a finger at
