To Burn In Brutal Rapture

by Nyla K

  I peek at Aleya for a moment, radiating nervousness as I respond, “Hi, I’m Traci. I’m new to the neighborhood and I’m hoping to work here.”

  I step over to her and hold out my hand, which she ignores, going about her setup.

  “She’s gonna show us what she’s made of,” Aleya smirks. “In your class.”

  “Great.” Vaughn rolls her eyes. “Don’t disrupt my flow, sweetheart. This isn’t some Yogalates studio for the Real Housewives of who-gives-a-fuck. We take our shit seriously here.”

  I swallow and blink. This girl is like a drill sergeant. I’m already scared.

  “I take the craft very seriously,” I force my voice to convey confidence. “I’ve been doing yoga since I was six.”

  “Have you ever instructed before?” She gapes at me like I’m a child who just announced she’s going to be an astronaut when she grows up.

  “No, but -”

  “Awesome. Well, now you’re my problem, thanks to little miss bleeding heart over here.” She points her thumb at Aleya, who chuckles, seemingly immune to her coworker’s bad attitude.

  It reminds me of how I’m able to block out the grouchy rudeness of a certain tattooed older man with black hair. And I almost grin.

  I have plenty of experience dealing with cocky assholes, so this should be a walk in the park.

  I say nothing and just remain calm and aloof as people begin filing into the studio, spreading out their mats and getting ready for class.

  Moving onto my mat at the front of the room, next to Aleya, I do a few basic stretches while Vaughn dims the lights and turns on some music. At exactly nine, on the dot, she closes the door to the studio and positions herself before all of us, getting right down to business.

  “Good morning, you lovely beings,” she grins, and I think everyone knows she’s being sarcastic because they’re all smiling. “Let’s get started. Sukhasana.”

  I was already in this position, which is basically just sitting cross-legged, but anyone who wasn’t is immediately doing it the second Vaughn says so. They didn’t tell me which level this class is, but I’d be willing to bet it’s not beginner’s if everyone knows what Sukhasana means.

  “Now, let’s half-lotus, right then left, into full lotus,” Vaughn says, her tone firm while her voice remains effortlessly hushed. I make a mental note of this, because it seems on point with the mood. No one wants to hear yelling or speaking aggressively in yoga, even from someone like Vaughn.

  Everyone does as she instructs, pulling the right foot up into half-lotus, letting it go, then the left, and finally ending with both feet on our thighs in lotus pose. After that, Vaughn tells us to move into a forward fold to stretch out our obliques. We stay like this for almost a full minute, and I make a note of this as well, remembering how my mom always told me holding positions for a one to two minutes, especially in the beginning, helps you get warmed up.

  “Let’s get into a pigeon,” Vaughn says calmly. “New girl, let’s see it.”

  I lift my head to find her staring at me, mouth pleasantly quirked.

  I can do a pigeon pose in my sleep, so I do it, and she nods, the rest of the class following along.

  “Do the other leg, and then I want to see your sleeping hero,” she instructs, remaining professional while also studying my every move. It’s a bit overwhelming, but I push past it and do as she says.

  In a sleeping hero, you lie on your back with your knees bent, legs sort of folded on either side of you. It’s a complex position if your legs are tight, but because I’ve been doing this for years, my flexibility is on point. My legs are fully folded while I lie flat on my back, spine melting into the mat.

  Vaughn gets up and walks over, standing above me. She inspects my thighs and then gives a small nod of approval. I can’t help but glance around the room and see that not everyone’s legs are as flat as mine are, which has a brief surge of pride flowing through me.

  “Alright, now show everyone how to push up into a camel,” she continues, and I can tell right away she thinks I either won’t know the move, or won’t be able to execute the transition smoothly.

  To be honest, it’s a little difficult to move from one pose to the next, because you need to have a lot of strength in your legs, and if you try to use momentum to propel yourself, you might pull your sciatic or hurt your neck.

  Fortunately for me, I’m about to prove just how good an instructor my mother really was.

  Using the muscles in my thighs to lift myself up, arms and head draped back, my chest rises toward the ceiling. I can feel a little shake in my hips, but I control it and nail the position. I want to look up and see Vaughn’s reaction, or Aleya’s, but I don’t dare pick up my head until she’s satisfied.

  “Wow. Look at that form,” Aleya says from my left, and I smirk to myself.

  “Nicely done,” Vaughn murmurs, then I hear her stepping away to check everyone else.

  She provides a few pointers to the other students, while I hold my position so they can see, with satisfaction zapping through my limbs from the extra shot of adrenaline. I’m proud of myself already, and I can’t wait to see what she wants me to do next.

  Vaughn guides us into the next few moves quickly and easily, observing me, but not focusing on me solely anymore. We work on our breathing and I study how she teaches all the while. I can already imagine doing it myself; things I would change, or copy. But either way, I know I can do this.

  It’s about more than just executing the poses yourself. You have to count breathing and make sure everyone is going at a similar pace. As an instructor, you must show, tell and watch. And you can’t focus on just one or two people. There are fifteen people in this room, and Vaughn has to make sure they’re all doing the same thing.

  She’s a great instructor. She’s hard, and doesn’t let anyone get away with doing anything half-assed, but then she also remains relaxed and aware at all times. In a class like this, it’s easier since everyone already knows what to do, but I can imagine in a beginner’s class you’d have to be much more hands-on.

  I’m sure I can do it. I’ve never taught anything to anyone before, but I’ve done my fair share of learning, and the way Mom showed me how to do yoga was perfect. She was understanding and helpful, while also staying on top of me, to make sure I wasn’t slacking. After all, if you don’t learn to do it right the first time, you’ll always be off.

  By the time we’re standing up, I feel limber and ready to do some more complex moves. And that’s when Vaughn tells me to turn and face the class.

  “So New Girl here is auditioning to be an instructor,” Vaughn tells the class with a wicked grin that makes my stomach twist. “Let’s see what she’s got.”

  “It’s Traci, by the way,” I whisper and a few people laugh quietly.

  Vaughn doesn’t look impressed, and it reminds me of someone I know… “Okay, Traci. Uttanasana. I expect to see your head between your legs.”

  Aleya snorts, but I ignore it, folding my body in half, bending at the waist, so far that my face can peek between my calves.

  She claps her hands hard, then shouts, “Crow!”

  I get on my hands and pull my knees to my chest, holding it perfectly while everyone murmurs.

  “You know what this one’s called?” She asks, and I don’t look at her, murmuring the word with confidence.

  “Bakasana.”

  “She’s good,” Aleya says through a chuckle. “She might be better than you.”

  “No you didn’t bitch,” Vaughn grumbles and I laugh under my breath, struggling not to let it fuck up my balance. “Alright… Scorpion!”

  Moving onto my forearms, I hold my entire body weight above my head, legs straight up, then curved at her instruction.

  Nailed it. Next.

  “Vrischikasana, tough girl.”

  At this point, everyone in class is giggling, and it’s hard for me to do this while trying not to laugh, but I manage it, bringing my legs out straight above my head. A few peo
ple clap and I’m soaring inside.

  I’m not sure I’ve ever felt this good before.

  “Alright, alright,” Vaughn sighs. “Enough interrupting my class. Let’s see all your scorps. Traci, good work.”

  I transition into child’s pose to stretch a little and catch my breath, but mostly to hide my giant smile.

  The last ten minutes of class, Vaughn gets me up and has me inspect everyone’s balance in Crow and Scorpion, helping them with their form. I’m actually helping her instruct her own class… This crazy, no-nonsense girl whose approval clearly needs to be earned.

  Which is exactly what I did today. I’ve never been prouder of myself.

  After class is through, Aleya and Vaughn pull me aside and I’m shaking with anticipation.

  “You really impressed us today, Traci,” Aleya says with a kind smile. I look to Vaughn.

  “She did alright,” she shrugs, and I chuckle, because I’m realizing that from her this a massive compliment.

  “We’d love to have you shadow a few classes this week, and then we’ll see how it goes,” Aleya says. “Go get yourself cleaned up if you want and then meet me at the desk. I’m gonna have you fill out some paperwork. Congratulations, girl. Welcome to Aton.”

  Squealing, I ignore her hand she’s holding out and launch myself at her, hugging tight. She seems taken aback, but she chuckles anyway.

  “Thank you! Thank you so much! You won’t regret it.”

  I pull away and look at Vaughn who quickly points at me. “Don’t even think about hugging me.”

  Aleya laughs out loud, and I can’t help the beaming smile on my face, wide and straining my cheeks.

  Scampering into the changing room, I lock myself in a bathroom stall, happy tears pouring from my eyes while my heart cheers. I feel my mother everywhere around me, enveloping me as if she’s hugging me and saying, Great job, baby girl. I’m so proud of you.

  “Thank you, Mom,” I whisper to myself, wiping my eyes.

  I couldn’t have done it without you.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Lazarus

  I have an overwhelming urge to tell my assistant to stop talking, which would be beyond rude, since she’s reading off my calendar for the week, exactly like I asked her to.

  But all the words are jumbling together and it’s stressing me out, even more than the dismal look on my best friend and business partner’s face.

  Damien has been staring out my office window for a while now. He was distracted all throughout our senior management meeting, and even more so during Javier and Brian’s presentation for one of our newest clients, Kenneth Haskill. Haskill’s a massive account we’ve been dying to land, and a watered-down connection of Dallas Wright, so Damien really needed to be on.

  Still, I don’t blame him at all for how he’s feeling right now. I’m worried more than anything.

  Day was doing alright until last week. He finally resembled an actual human being again, for the first time since Lia’s diagnosis. I mean, I didn’t necessarily approve of the broads he was dating, but then who am I to judge? I’m practically a walking condom ad, outside of the two years I wasted in a serious relationship.

  At least Damien was getting out his frustrations, no longer stewing in his sorrow. It was better than nothing.

  And then Traci left. And he fell apart at the barely-threaded seams.

  I’ve harbored my own feelings about Traci’s disappearance, though I wouldn’t really want to call it that, because that word is way too terrifying and makes me think all kinds of scary things. Sex-trades and seedy underground clubs selling off humans.

  The last thing any of us need is for Damien to go all Liam Neeson with a particular set of skills.

  Anyway, I’m trying not to let the guilt of Traci leaving get to me. Drinking helps. But when I see Day acting like a zombie again, all I can think is that I made her take off. If it wasn’t for our torrid little evening together on my wedding night, maybe she wouldn’t have felt inclined to disappear on her father.

  Damien needs Tracien in his life. She’s his baby, and the last remaining link to Ophelia he has.

  That being said, I can sort of understand why she’d want to go. Traci is complex. I still don’t know her as well as I probably should, being that I’ve technically known her for her entire life. But from what I’ve gathered over our interactions in the past couple years, she’s like a canary. A bird that everyone seems to want to cage because it’s beneficial to them, when really her place is out in the open air. It’s breathtaking to watch her soar.

  And yet I know why Damien wanted her to follow the same path he did. We have a great life, and despite his family’s infinite fortunes, Day did his own thing. Going to business school and building this empire was exactly what he wanted; what we both did.

  But that doesn’t mean it’s what Traci wants. She may look shockingly similar to Ophelia, but as she’s grown up, it seems she couldn’t be more different. She’s wild and impulsive. And now her father is driving himself crazy worrying about her, and I feel very responsible.

  “And we pushed Friday’s meeting with Jerald to next week because Javier said Haskill’s people from New York are coming out. He seems to think they’ll want the wine-and-dine package.” Lana snaps her fingers at me. “He thinks you should spearhead that one.”

  I groan and roll my eyes. With everything going on right now, I’m not in the mood to entertain a bunch of tools for an entire weekend. When a client’s business associates come out, it always means the same thing. They expect to be shown a good time, which means thousands of dollars in meals, liquor, and clubbing. And women.

  Lots of women.

  “Why can’t he and Brian do it?” I rake my fingers through my hair. “I’m the CFO, for fuck’s sake.”

  “Uh, that’s exactly why,” she gives me a duh look. “They’re coming out here for you. And that sterling reputation of yours.” Her sarcasm is somehow insulting and flattering at the same time.

  “Whatever,” I mutter, squinting when Damien stands up and wanders off without saying anything. I jump up quick and follow him, barking at Lana on my way out, “Make some reservations for Friday and Saturday nights. And get me details from Javi on these assholes I’ll be babysitting.”

  Stalking after Damien into his office, I close the door behind me, watching him make a beeline to his desk. “What are you doing?”

  He grabs his keys and stomps back to the door, but I block him. “I’m going home. I need to be there in case Traci comes back. You’ve got this.”

  “Damien,” I grab his arms when he tries to duck around me. “She’s not coming home. I told you what to do, if you really want to know where she is…”

  “Yea, I know,” he releases a rough breath of pure exhaustion.

  “I know a million P.I.’s in Miami. If you want to find her, we can -”

  “She told me to let her go, Lazarus. I feel like I should respect that.”

  “Okay, then do it,” I shrug and he makes a pained face. “But holing up in your house won’t do you any good. Either find her, or leave her to figure her shit out. Those are the options.”

  “I hate those options,” he mumbles, chewing on his lower lip as he stares at our shoes.

  “I know you do.” I wish there was something I could say or do to make him feel better. But once again, I’m limited to meaningless words.

  His green eyes meet mine, forehead creased as he says, “It’s my fault. I drove her away.”

  “Stop,” I try for commanding, but it doesn’t really work. “You’re an amazing father. Trust me. I know what the bad ones are like.”

  “I know,” he shakes his head, “But I should’ve paid more attention to her. When I read that note she left, I realized I don’t know her at all. She’s so… different.”

  You’re telling me.

  I force the memories of Traci blindfolded and gasping my name as she rubbed between her thighs out of my mind and blink at my best friend.

  �
�What do you think she’s doing?” He asks, staring hard at my face. I’m afraid he’ll be able to read my thoughts, so I look away and back up like a reflex.

  “Jesus, Day, I don’t know…” I wring my hands. “She’s not my daughter.”

  He huffs, “Don’t give me that bullshit. You’ve known her as long as I have.”

  This staggering truth throws off my balance.

  The reality is that Tracien demolished every assumption I’d ever made about her in the last few years, more so recently. I used to figure her for a mini Ophelia in training, but as it turns out, she got all of Lia’s impulsive dreamer qualities, and none of the nesting desires she and Damien shared. The more I observed Traci growing into an adult, the more I’ve seen her need to break free from the norms of society.

  It actually makes me a little jealous. Here I am, always struggling to force myself into roles I don’t fit into, like jamming a puzzle piece into the wrong spot. And then there’s this seventeen-year-old little thing who’s more emotionally present than me, the almost forty-year-old.

  Her words from my wedding day spring into focus…

  Settling won’t fix your damage.

  The girl is smart, which is the only reason I’m not panicking about her safety. I know wherever she is, she’s okay. I don’t think Traci will ever not be okay, which is more than I can say for Damien and myself.

  “I think regardless of how smart she is, she doesn’t want to go to college,” I tell him. “And I suppose she doesn’t have to. It’s not for everyone…”

  “That goes against literally everything I was brought up to believe,” he scratches his chin.

  “I know. But you have to accept it. She’s safe, Day. I’m sure she is. And if you’re worried about her being in trouble, you know what to do. Otherwise, I think you just need to let her figure this out. She’s basically an adult, after all…”

  Saying these words feels like I’m trying to justify something, to myself mostly. I’m sure it makes me a total scumbag, but convincing myself and everyone around that Traci is an adult will make me feel like less of a pervert for what we did…