Hooper tries to assess Dom's state of mind before a performance. Drug use mentioned.
|Dom trembled. Were his toes blue? He was so cold. He doubled over himself to massage his feet and jerked his hands back. There was a frog sitting beside his shoes. “Shoo.” He waved his hands but the frog didn’t move.
A hand touched his shoulder and Dom jerked, looking up in horror at the concerned expression of the man beside him. “Dom,” Hooper murmured, “you need to dry out.”
Dom laughed. It sounded hysterical, even in his own ears. “I’m fine, Hoop. Don’t worry.”
“You look like you can barely stand up, let alone cabriole.” Hooper offered him a hand and Dom stared at it, wondering if it hurt for his nails to curl backward like flower petals. “C’mon. I’ll tell Jer you’re not feeling well.”
Dom laughed again, this time enjoying the sense of hysteria. “Are you kidding? I feel great!” He shrugged off the other dancer’s hand and reached for his shoes. He glared at the frog. “If you could help with the frog, I’d appreciate it.”
Above him, Hooper sighed. “Casey is going to kill me if I let you partner her tonight. You almost broke her ankle last time you danced high.”
“I’m not high,” grumbled Dom as he finished tying off one shoe and reached for the other. “If I was high, this damned frog would leave me alone and my feet wouldn’t be blocks of ice.”
“Wait.” Hooper crouched and stared earnestly into Don’s face. “You can’t feel your feet?”
“I can feel ‘em alright,” snapped Dom, frustrated. “They feel frozen. They burn, Hooper. If you can’t get me something, get out of my way.” He stood up and stretched before kicking back in an arabesque. “I’m fine. See? Just peachy.” Before Hooper could protest, Dom stormed out and headed for the stage.