I’d lived it until I was twelve years old and then in my nightmares every night since then. I’d been beaten and raped. I’d been burned and verbally abused. But none of it rocked me as hard as seeing Nicole kiss another man. None of it had killed me as badly as seeing her arms around him and the way he smiled down at her. It left me feeling sick in my core and hurt in a way I never thought I’d feel. Her performance had been amazing. She was beautiful on stage in her element—her body stretching and bending with the music from the orchestra. I’d always loved to watch Nicole dance. The exhilaration on her face when she was dancing was contagious. The music and the calculated movements of her body were soothing. Watching her on stage made me glad that I’d gone to New York with the Palmers. After Thanksgiving, I didn’t see Nicole again before she went back to school. I did, however, see a new picture she’d posted on her Facebook with her mom and dad.
