Free The Ballerina and the Revolutionary by Carmilla Voiez

idea why,’ Scott replied.
    I felt defensive and my eyes prickled. ‘Why? Tell me, if you know us so well.’
    ‘Ah, but if I do, you’ll pout and deny it. You need to see for yourself. I can help you do that ... if you want, but for tonight let’s drink a bottle of wine and smoke a large spliff – the English equivalent of the peace-pipe.’
    I felt my face redden. Scott seemed so sure of himself. I wanted to wipe that smile from his face. How dare he feel so clean, so blameless? If Clive was right, this strange, confusing, arrogant man was the reason for Vivienne’s mental collapse. Weaving his spell, like a web, around everyone who met him. He shouldn’t be so careless with people’s emotions.
    The desire to flee from him rose inside me. My arm shook as I tried to lift my wine glass. Claret spilled onto my hand. My skin felt sticky. The room seemed to crush against me, squeezing my head and chest. I couldn’t breathe. Dropping the glass, I ran out of the kitchen. I heard it shatter and Chrissie’s gasp.
    I was lying on top of my bed when Chrissie rushed into my bedroom.
    ‘What just happened?’ Chrissie asked.
    I stared at the ceiling in silence.
    ‘Why did you do that?’
    ‘Do what?’
    ‘Don’t you know? We were drinking with Scott. You smashed your glass and ran up here. Don’t you remember?’
    I shook my head. ‘I don’t know.’
    ‘It’s okay.’ Chrissie voice was soft and soothing. ‘It’s just been a hard couple of days. That’s all.’
    ‘It’s more than that, Chrissie. I feel so fucking angry and I’m not even sure I know why. What if I do need to see for myself, like Scott said? Fuck it! I think something in this house is forcing me to see ... to remember ... but I’m scared. Parts of me don’t want to remember. I want to forget, forget all of it, flee back to London if necessary.’
    She stroked my cheek. Tears ran down my face. ‘So London’s your bolt hole?’
    ‘I’m sorry,’ I said between sobs. ‘I don’t know what I’m saying.’
    She nodded. ‘Why don’t you speak to Scott? Maybe he can help.’
    I shook my head and pushed my body to the edge of the mattress as far from her reach as I could. ‘I don't need his help. I'll figure it out. I just need to be alone.’
    ‘Don’t be silly. Come back downstairs. Have another glass of wine, sweetie?’
    ‘Nah.’ I sighed, knowing it would be that easy for her. Chrissie found socialising natural.
    The way she spoke was the way she wrote, full of grace and humour. I stumbled behind, face hidden. Please understand, Chrissie, for once, let me hide. ‘I’ll read for a bit. Calm myself down.’
    Chrissie’s lips felt soft and cool as they brushed against my forehead. I forced a smile. When she left I grabbed a book from the well-stocked shelves. I pulled out a well-worn copy of The Unbearable Lightness of Being, and opened it at the first page.
    As I reached page one hundred and sixteen, “What was important was the golden footprint, the magic footprint she had left on his life and no one could ever remove,” Chrissie reappeared.
    Her face looked flushed. I wondered whether Scott and Chrissie had been kissing. I grimaced. What a ridiculous thought. Chrissie was in love with Mitch and Scott wouldn’t interest her in that way at all.
    ‘Has he gone?’ I asked.
    ‘Yeah.’ She let her body drop onto the bed beside me.
    ‘What did he tell you?’
    ‘He thinks your visions are spirits, his word - not mine, trying to get you to face your fears,’ she said, blushing. ‘He says he can help you – when you’re ready.’
    ‘That can’t be all he said. You’ve been talking for hours.’
    ‘Just chatting.’
    ‘About Vivienne?’
    ‘Not really ... Maybe a little. He said something about her trying to initiate herself – I think that was the word he used. He doesn’t seem to think her breakdown had anything to do with him though.’
    ‘Does he know she’s in love with him?’
    ‘Don’t think so, Crow, but hey,