One year, during my family's annual camping trip, my father forgot the pump for the air mattress. He spent three hours trying to manually inflate it like a balloon before my mom made him stop. For the next week we roughed it. Sleeping on the floor of our tent with nothing but a deflated mattress and our sleeping bags cushioning us from the forest floor. I thought for certain there wouldn't be a more horrible sleeping arrangement than that.

I was wrong. Sleeping in a dusty athletic closet was worse.

The wailing of my alarm jolted me awake. I groaned. Why couldn't I press snooze on time?

I rolled over to silence my phone. The mat beneath me crunched under my weight. It was the same noise that had me frozen in one position throughout the night. Something I definitely wasn't accustomed to. My eyes adjusted to the darkness as I squinted at my phone screen. The time hovered over Oliver's head.

5:00 a.m..

With a huff I sat myself up, ignoring the onslaught of text messages that had been sent by Miles while I was asleep. I was not a self-proclaimed morning person. Actually, I was the furthest thing from it. But over the years, and through early morning dance classes, I had learned to tolerate being up before the sun. A small amount of light filtered in through the tiny windows that butted up against the drop tile ceiling. It was enough to help me maneuver through the cramped space and towards the two overflowing duffle bags I had hidden in the corner.

A dust bunny rolled away as I bent down to sift through the random articles of clothing I brought with me. Peering down into the mismatched socks I came to realize just how rushed my exit had been. Most of what I brought with me didn't make much sense. The silky material of the little black dress I had worn to Filomena's was stuffed in the corner of the bag.

Like I'll be needing that anytime soon.

The night of my birthday dinner fiasco I had made the decision to leave the basement apartment I shared with Miles and Sean.

I'll admit, it was a rash decision but I knew that if I waited until he got home he would be able to convince me not to leave. His sweet words would lick my wounds until I forgot why I'd been so upset in the first place.

I refused to give him the opportunity.

The entire cab ride home I had worked up the courage to leave. To prioritize myself like every motivational social media post had told me to. The truth was that I had been unhappy for a long time. I had been mourning my relationship for months at this point.

Miles and I had been inseparable since we met at a comedy night on campus back in freshman year. Our relationship developed rapidly after that. We spent every waking moment that we weren't in class together. There was even a period of time that he lived in my dorm room until my roommate got annoyed and reported him to our residence assistant.

I had put him at the center of my universe. He had coerced me with sweet words and promises of our future together during nights we stayed up until sunrise–one where we moved to LA. He would be an A-list actor and I would become the renown choreographer that I dreamt of being since I was a little girl. We were both in the entertainment world and I believed–believed like it was my religion–that deep down he understood me better than anyone else. Hell, we adopted Oliver together and hid him at Miles' dorm.

It didn't even matter that the group of friends I had cultivated while at Fenton soon stopped inviting us to things. I had my person. Someone who loved me more than anyone else on this earth. He convinced me that they were jealous. That our love burned too bright for them.

But just like all flames, his eventually burnt out.

Everything that had hooked me into him came to a screeching halt. The impromptu dates. The words of affirmation. Even sex became less about us and more about getting himself off.

So when he asked if I wanted to rent out a basement apartment together junior year, I said yes.

I built up the false narrative in my head where things would get better once we were living together. There's no way he wouldn't have time for me anymore if we were sharing the same space. I was desperate to regain the relationship we had in the beginning. I had sacrificed so much to be with him. There was nothing I wouldn't do to give us a fighting chance.

Not even the disapproval of my parents.

Grabbing my toiletry bag, I hauled open the heavy metal door of the storage room and I made my way down the desolate hall. Being on campus at that time in the morning was... an experience. The silence was almost eerie–the only noise coming from my footfalls on the linoleum floor.

I rounded the corner, pushing open the door to the changing room. It was the same one I used when I had to get ready in-between classes. Stretching my arms over my head, I made my way to one of the sinks. I stared at myself in the mirror for a moment. The bunny printed flannel pajamas had been a choice, but I was glad I had decided to shove them in my bag last minute. The thick material helped keep me warm in the cement prison cell.

With the scrunchy around my wrist I pinned up my curls in a messy bun. Not the cute type either. If someone saw me right then and there they would probably wonder if I had access to a mirror. Ignoring the disaster plopped on top of my head, I splashed some cool water onto my face before reaching for my toothbrush.

As I scrubbed, I swiped through my emails. The night I found myself stowed away on a mat in the athletic closet I searched for rental properties; only to realize how unattainable finding a place would be. The academic year had just begun, but any half-decent rental was already spoken for. Unless I wanted to live in a two-bedroom house with a man who 'welcomed devil worshippers' everything else was way out of budget. The only other reasonable option I had was campus housing. Something that, apparently, was even harder to come by.

When I had called the housing office, the receptionist with a nasally voice had informed me that rooms had been fully booked since the beginning of July, but she would shoot me an email if anything became available. Until then, I just had to pray that I managed to score a single room or that whoever I ended up rooming with wasn't deathly allergic to cats (and wouldn't rat me out).

This is why you don't do things impulsively, Celeste.

I spat into the sink before rinsing my toothbrush. The last word I would use to describe myself was impulsive. I don't know if it was my training as a dancer, or my mother's influence, but everything I did was normally very calculated.

Normally.

In the meantime–despite feeling like I had aged sixty years–the dance storage closet would do. I drew in a deep breath while I worked out a knot in my back with my knuckles. The temptation to give up and go back to my failed relationship was strong. But my pride wouldn't allow it.

I picked up my phone to read what Miles had sent me. His text messages served as a good reminder of why I left in the first place.

Okay, you proved your point. Can you stop the dramatics and come home? I thought I was suppose to be the theatre major lol

You're actually crazy. You just up and left without saying a word over me missing your birthday dinner? I told you I'd make it up to you.

I messaged the landlord. I'm getting the locks changed. You have a week to either come home or pick up your shit before I toss it.

I clicked the lock button on my phone, his threats falling flat. If he had known anything about me at all he would have known that I wasn't a materialistic person. There was nothing in that apartment that meant more to me than my sanity. He could trash it all for all I cared. The only thing that hurt to leave behind was Oliver and I would be taking him with me as soon as I found us a new place to live. The two drawers full of my clothes? He could have burned them for all I care.

"Shit."

The realization that I had forgotten to bring a change of clothes with me that morning registered in my mind. Stuffed my toiletries back into their little bag, I zipped it shut. I folded up the face cloth I had used over my arm. Streaks of black mascara coated the fibers. While I did have a place to rest my head at night, I was aware that I was going to have to scout out a place to wash my clothes. And soon.

As I was considering how I could sneak into one of the dorm buildings and use their laundry machine, I swung open the change room door and collided with a person on the other side.

For a ballerina, I sure was clumsy these days.

"Celeste?"

At the sound of my name I blinked. Standing in front of me was Easton Zhang, a classmate from the film course I was taking that semester. On a couple of occasions we'd been partnered up to discuss symbolic significance of a couple films shared in class. He was one of the only people I spoke to regularly outside of Miles and Sean.

Easton released my arm with the hand he used to steady me. Thick black brows furrowed as he peered down, fixing me where I stood.

"Easton, hey," I said, with an inauthentic grin. Suddenly very aware of my attire, I shifted my feet in a poor attempt to hide the white fuzzy slippers. "What are you doing here?"

Easton pointed down the hall. "I was headed to the gym for an early morning workout. I figured I'd cut through the dance wing. What are you doing here?"

"Oh..." I stuttered, "preparing for a dress rehearsal."

He was quiet for a moment. A reminder that we were probably the only two people in the building. The silence was deafening. "It's kind of early, isn't it?"

My smile wavered. "I like to be here before everyone else. You know, just in case our instructor needs help setting up or anything."

Easton nodded slowly. His onyx irises trailed down my arm until they landed on the toiletry bag I was holding. I slipped it behind my back.

"Tampons." The explanation was brief, but whether he believed me or not he didn't push it. A hint of redness fell on his cheeks.

"Right," he said, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Well, I should get going. I guess I'll see you in class?"

"Yup," I chirped. "I'll see you then!"

Easton started to walk away but before my shoulders could sag in relief he turned back around to face me.

"Celeste?"

The concern on his face rocked me. Despite the swell of emotions that were building up inside like a geyser, I kept the smile fixed to my face. "Yeah?"

There was a gentleness to his voice that had me swallowing hard. "Are you sure you're okay?"

I'm fine. It's going to be fine.

It was the matura I'd been repeating to myself since my birthday. The one thing I would say to myself as I laid my head down on a pile of sweaters I had taken with me before I had fallen asleep each night.

My lips parted, ready to say the words out loud.

But I couldn't.

Easton was making his way back to me as if I were an injured stray on the side of the road. Something on my face must have made him afraid I would bolt. I wanted to. But my legs were poles encased in cement. I wasn't going anywhere. I was stuck.

"Do you need help?"

I swallowed again, peering up at him.

"Yeah. I do."

_ _ _ _ _

author's note:

And so it begins! I can honestly say I'm loving how this story is turning out so far. I know it's way too early to say much, but there's just something about it that makes me feel... in my element? Something I felt was lacking at times with Shutout and The Seat Exchange. It's a really odd thing. I can't really put it into words. I'm just happy.

On a side note, I finished my first week with my new group of kiddos. I'm happy to be back in the classroom, but I'd be lying if I didn't say I wasn't being stretched a little thin. Once my wedding is over in October, maybe I'll feel like I can breathe again.

I'd love to know how you're liking things so far! Any guesses on what you think might happen in this story?

Happy reading!