Burn The Floor

Kienna Moorlake loves to dance. Most of all, she loves salsa dancing. The subtle, sexy movements have entranced her since the moment she first saw them performed. She goes to peruse her dreams in Spain, but is kidnapped and sold to a man, who in turn sells her to another man. Doesn't seem like a pyramid scheme to me at all.

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10. Until We Meet Again

Niall POV

I didn't want her to leave. I liked her sass, her spirit, even the way her hair looked after a shower. But those were her brothers. And those were very real emotions. I knew what it felt like to love somebody- and not be able to see them, ever- so I, being the idiot that I am, bought her a ticket back to California.

Novato, her hometown, to be exact.

Fuck. WHY DO I DO THIS TO MYSELF?!

I've never felt as attached to a girl I've saved as I do to her. But when we got to the airport, it fully hit me; I'd never see her perfectly imperfect self ever again.

"Well, I guess this is goodbye," she said, brushing a piece of hair out of her mouth.

"Ten minutes until Flight Twelve begins boarding Group A," said a robotic voice. Kienna looked at her ticket. "Number three Group A," she said ruefully. We would be separated so soon... far too soon.

We sat in silence in the uncomfortable airport chairs until the dreaded announcement came.

"Now boarding group A, numbers one through thirty, groups one through thirty."

Fuck. Too soon. I grabbed her in a hug, refusing to let myself be sad. She was just one girl, for fuck's sake. But she's special, said that nagging little voice in my head. Fuck special. I imagined crushing that little voice under my shoe before it got big enough to- to... to what? Make be grab the ticket and rip it up? Beg her not to leave? Because I would never do that to her. I respect her too much. She wants to see her brothers; so be it.

As I watched her walk away, I saw her turn. "Why, all those weeks ago, did you choose me, out of all those girls?" Kienna asked. "Salsa dancing. It's my weakness."

A lie. The girl I loved did salsa dancing, once, but she's gone. Pushing up daisies. Passed. Dead. Kicked the bucket, croaked, perished, is six feet under.

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