He stares so deeply into me. “There is definitely something, my demon.” His lips rise more.
I can hear my heart beating. The bass from the club vibrates the shelf behind me, adding to my elevated senses. “What now?” I ask. I shift my hands from his biceps to his shoulders, skimming the red glow necklace. It’s where most of my uncertainty lies.
He kisses me again, slowly, his fingers along my neck. It’s languid and relaxed, like we’ve done this all our lives together. When he parts, he whispers, “I’ve been hesitating because I don’t want to step in the way of your dreams.”
I try not to fear that. I understand my goals. But—I don’t like looking at the bad things before they happen. It’s not worth it. “You won’t.”
He gives me a look like
wake up, myshka.
“I don’t want my attraction for you to ruin all that you’ve sacrificed,” he rephrases.
It doesn’t deter me. “Is it impossible to love two things equally? I mean, not that I love you…I just…” I blow out a breath. I’m screwing this up. I fail at words sometimes. We’re just at a crossroads of
are we pursuing this or leaving it behind?
He tilts my chin so I meet his eyes again. “I understand what you mean.”
“I just—I don’t want to believe that a love for one thing will overtake the love for another.” It’s a cynical view, isn’t it? Or maybe mine is just a hopelessly optimistic one.
“Today, if I gave you the option between the circus and a man, you would choose the circus. But later—”
“I’ll choose the circus,” I say.
He gives me that same look.
I don’t want to wake up yet.
“I can’t be a reason you give up on your dreams.”
“I
won’t.
”
The way he’s staring at me. It hits me. His rules. No boyfriends.
Not even him.
I feel like he’s about to crush something that hasn’t even started yet. “Nikolai—”
“But I realized something tonight.” His eyes hold so many painful, conflicting truths. Realities that I need to meet. “I realized that it’s too late. I distract you—you distract me. And since I don’t want to distance myself from you, there’s only one option.”
His gaze flits to my lips, and he kisses me tenderly, my body winding tight.
I inhale strongly as he presses even further up against me. Clutching me. He’s saying that he wants me. I can see it. I can feel it. My eyes burn at the unspoken proclamation.
In a whisper, he says, “And I’ll still train you.”
The next kiss is so soulful that I feel the promise within it: to never stand in the way of my dreams. I breathe heavily as he draws back again. His chest rises and falls deeply, waiting for me to speak, giving me a choice to accept or deny this new turn.
Nikolai may assume a lot of things, but when it comes to my own life—he steps back and lets me pick left or right.
“You’re complicated?” I ask, eyeing the red glow necklace.
He stiffens. “My past relationship is. I haven’t been looking for anything recently, and I didn’t even look for you.” He pauses. “This was unintentional.”
It became something more without noticing. Without realizing. “Am I a mistake—”
“No, myshka. You’re just the unexpected, beautiful thing in my life.”
My heart is full tonight. I can hardly breathe as it swells. I’ve never felt this way. “As long as she’s not still in the picture…” That scenario is too devastating to jump into.
“She’s not,” he forces like he’s promising me. “You can trust me.”
I nod. It’s not as blind as the first time we met. I trust him a lot more now—because he’s been here for me. And I believe that he wouldn’t hurt me. Not intentionally, at least.
“Okay,” I breathe, placing my hand on his, the one that warms my cheek.
He kisses me, powerfully, sensually, and his other hand finds my zipper by my shoulder blades. He slowly unzips my tight black dress, stopping at the small of my back. His lips drift to my neck, sucking on the most sensitive spots. His body thrums against mine.
“Nik…” I shudder and remember something—something more important now than it was before. “I’m moving out tonight.”
His hands fall underneath my ass, supporting me around his waist. And he looks at me with a frown. “You decided this now.” He states it.
“No…” I shake my head. “No, I meant to tell you tonight…I signed a lease for a studio apartment. And maybe it’s…better that we don’t live together, I mean. It’ll make things slower.” I hesitate to add the rest.
I want slow. I’m not used to fast.
But he already knows I’ve only had sex twice. That’s the exact
number
of times. It’s not even just two different people.
Before he responds, the storeroom door swings open. Camila startles back the minute she sees us: my legs around his waist, my dress partially unzipped. His hands on me.
I cover my face with my palm, my fingers splayed so I can most definitely still see her reaction morph from surprised to something happier.
“Oh my God! I’m sorry.” She’s smiling. “Continue on.” She even flashes me a wider, excited grin. When she shuts the door, I actually go to zip up my own dress.
Nikolai sets me on my feet. “Come here.” He tugs me closer and his fingers brush my bare skin as he zips me up. Just as slow as he unzipped me. His eyes dance around my features. “I’ll help you move in to your place tonight.”
“Actually, I think I should do that on my own.” I worry he’ll see the shoddy apartment and convince me to stay with him.
He hesitates, his gaze darkening. I think he must read my intentions. “It’s in a bad area.”
“No,” I refute. “It’s a good area.”
Sort of.
It’s not the worst area, so I’m not lying exactly.
“If it was, you’d let me see it.” He combs some of the flyaway hairs out of my face. “Okay.” It takes me aback but he adds, “I trust you. And I can understand wanting your own space.”
“Thank you,” I whisper. “Are…you also okay with slow?”
His lips rise like it’s funny.
“It’s not—”
“It’s cute,” he says again, this time laughing. “Slow is cute, and I’d go slow for you.” He kisses my temple. “Ready?” He nods to the door.
I never thought there would be more paths to choose. I came here thinking I’d already picked my course. The dark, mysterious one—filled with potholes and faraway dreams.
I’ve found that life is a series of crossroads, dead-ends and U-turns. There is no real destination. There is no goal to end all goals. As long as we’re living, we’ll always keep driving.
I’m more satisfied with this than I would’ve been before Vegas.
So as I head out the door, into The Red Death, I know I’ve switched lanes. I’m headed in the same direction, but my route is slightly different.
The landscape has changed.
Act Twenty-One
My studio apartment has a single bedroom-kitchen-living area and a confined bathroom. One where I can sit on the toilet, use the sink or reach in the shower at the same time. The kitchen is also miniscule with portable counters, a hotplate, a microwave and a mini-fridge. Actually, miniscule is probably a forgiving word to describe the place.
But I don’t care much.
I lie on my mattress, an old one that Camila helped me pick out at a thrift store. Gross, yes, but I put new and clean sheets on top of it. No springboards. It rests on the scratched hardwood floors as is. I stare up at the ceiling tiles, yellowed and maybe moldy.
My lips tug up.
I can’t help it.
I’m here.
In Vegas.
I’ve made enough to have my own apartment.
Independence has never felt so satisfying. I’m grateful for every second of it. And I don’t ever want to forget this feeling, right now. I did something—I accomplished
something
. I won’t let anyone’s realism take that from me.
This is the first strong foothold of my new life. The beginning of my dream and career.
I wipe the wetness beneath my eyes. “Well done, Thora James,” I whisper.
My phone buzzes on the floorboards, and I roll onto my stomach and grab my cell. I notice the name on the screen before I press the speaker button. SHAY.
“Hey,” I say, my face all smiles.
I can hear the sound of weights hitting benches and muffled chatter in the background. It’s safe to assume he’s at the gym. “Hey,” he replies. “So from your text earlier, I take it you’re not coming back.” His dejection sinks my stomach, my smile vanishing.
This morning I texted him a picture of my new view: the side of another stucco apartment complex. I thought it’d be funny. Especially since I told him I was apartment hunting last week. But maybe I should’ve known he’d be sullen. Friday he sent me a link to off-campus apartments in Columbus, Ohio.
I guess it’s just wishful thinking on my part—that he’d see the positives of why I’m here.
“I told you I wasn’t going back home,” I mutter, picking at the sheet on the mattress, dazed. My parents called for my new address so they could mail me some boxes of things: clothes, dishes, and stuff I took to college. When I gave them the address, I mentioned how it’d be easier to ship boxes to my “friend’s” place than have to pay The Masquerade the fee to receive large packages.
They bought the lie. They had no reason not to. I’ve always been truthful with them. Maybe that’s why it hurts to even think about.
“At least tell me you didn’t sign a year lease, Thora,” he says.
“I’m going month-to-month.”
“First smart decision.”
Ouch. I stay quiet, squinting at the ceiling. I know he’s just trying to leave a door open for me, so I can return to Ohio. But I need to be all in here.
When he throws you a lifeline, don’t grab it.
Even if it’s hard.
Shay sighs in frustration. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“It’s okay,” I breathe. “How’s conditioning?” Partly wanting to divert the discussion and partly wanting to hear more about him.
“Alright. Coach wants me to up the difficulty on my pommel horse routine.”
“You should,” I tell him. “You’re good enough to do it.”
“Thanks.” Voices escalate, and he muffles the phone as he talks to someone else. When he returns, he says, “I have to go. Some of the guys want to grab subs for lunch. Talk to you later?”
“Yeah.” We say our goodbyes, and I sit up, already wearing workout clothes.
Before I click off my phone, I notice the time.
Almost three.
My eyes grow and I spring to my feet, already late. I’m supposed to train with Nikolai today. I mentally calculate the bike ride to The Masquerade. If I don’t pedal fast, I’m going to be later than late.
I check my texts that I must not have heard.
Where are you?
– Nikolai
Call me.
– Nikolai
You’re breaking a fucking rule.
– Nikolai
I text back:
On my way. So sorry!
Last night, I grabbed my suitcase from his place, and he walked with me outside The Masquerade. I didn’t have to wait long for a cab, and he kissed me before I climbed in and left. I have trouble containing this smile in remembrance. I even subconsciously touch my lips.
I’m falling for him.
But I haven’t seen Nikolai since then. He had to practice with Elena this morning, so he scheduled a later time to train me.
I don’t know how things are going to be. I guess I’m about to find out. I just need to get there first.
* * *
By the time I arrive at the gym, my forehead is dripping with sweat, my cotton pants sticking to my legs, butt and thighs. I rode my bike (another thrift store find) as fast as I could without breaking the rusty, old thing.
Halfway there, I feared the chain would fly off. My one thought was:
don’t fall off
. Not
don’t be late.
My mental energy can’t turn back time. I’m just happy that I’m here, in one piece, with a bike also in one piece.
I spot Nikolai sitting on a large blue yoga ball, his eyes flitting to the clock with agitation and maybe some concern. He clutches his cell tightly.
When I approach with hurried feet, his head swings my way, pieces of his hair falling over his red bandana. I throw up my hands. “I’m so…sorry…” I lose my initial thoughts at the relief in his eyes. “You didn’t think…”
something bad happened.
He stands. “I have no idea where you live, Thora,” he reminds me. “Just don’t be late again.” He gives me a harder, stricter look, delivering the lines with finality. Then he takes a few steps closer, with a much more intense gaze.
Butterflies swarm my insides.
Stop smiling like a fool, Thora.
I bite my gums so hard. And I nod. “I will…I mean, I won’t.” Why? Why am I screwing this up right now? “You know what I mean…”
hopefully.
He crosses his arms over his bare chest, his brows raised. “Think you can hold your weight today?” He’s all no-nonsense, seriousness—business.
Right.
He’s determined not to step in the way of my goal, and that means keeping things as professional as we can in the gym.
Good
, I think.
“I’ve been practicing on the aerial hoop,” I tell him, “so I hope so.”
“We’ll see then.” He leads me to the pole.
I stare up at the thirty-foot vertical structure that stands between me and the aerial silk.
You can do this, Thora.
I exhale a tight breath and step out of my cotton pants.
“Use your core,” he reminds me. “Don’t put all of your weight in your arm.”
I grip the pole.
You can do this.
There is so much that says I can’t. But I’m going to try—with everything I have. I begin the climb in thin acro-shoes, using the tips of my toes and hands as I quickly make the ascent.
“Stop at ten feet,” he calls to me.
I gauge that height and halt not even halfway up. I exhale through my nose and tighten my clutch. Then I begin to extend my legs out, toes pointed. The muscles in my forearm burn and my body shakes.
“Use your core, Thora,” he says again.
It’s natural to want to use my arms as the force behind my power. I shut my eyes, exhale again, and try to focus on my abdomen, flexing and extending my body outward. In a curved line.
You need to be horizontal
, I tell myself.