by Jo Raven
“Come here.” I grab her hand and pull her to me. She squeaks and falls on my chest, then scrabbles to get off me.
It makes me laugh harder.
In fact, it makes me harder, period. Damn.
But she moves away, arranging the blanket around me. “Tomorrow we’ll get a good breakfast into you. Then the pills won’t affect you so much.”
“Yeah.” The sofa smells of her. The blanket smells of her. Smells so fucking good. “Your boyfriend don’t mind me staying?”
“No.” She hesitates. “He won’t.”
“You won’t tell?” It’s hard to find the words, for some reason. “Tell him?”
“We’re not yet…” She clears her throat and straightens. “I mean, I won’t, no.”
Weird. Maybe.
Or not. I want to laugh again. Need to do something to lift the pressure off my chest.
Have to stop. “What’s his name?”
“Frederic.”
“Frederic?” I snort.
“It’s a good name. Stop laughing.”
“Okay.” I’m really trying here.
“He’s a good guy.”
“I bet.” I sigh, fold my arms behind my head. My lids are getting too damn heavy. “Manon…”
“Yes?” She sends me a quick smile and goes back to gathering the dirty dishes and glasses, and I have a feeling I should be doing something—like helping her gather everything up—but my body is like a stone, heavy and dead.
“You’re nice,” I slur, and my eyes are closing. “Very nice.”
“Yeah.” She laughs. “Because I almost ran you over. So nice of me.”
“Brought me here. Gave me dinner. Pills. Mmm.” Images flash behind my eyelids. Flashes of dreams. “Sofa.”
“Sleep now,” she says and sounds very close by. Something brushes over my brow—her hand, I think. Soft. Warm. “Rest.”
That’s the last thing I hear before I sink into deep sleep.
***
I come awake with a start, pain shooting up my leg. I lift my head and find a crick in my neck. My heartbeat is booming in my ears, racing away and accelerating. I have no fucking clue where I am, and that always makes things worse.
Fuck. It’s dark. Where the fuck am I? Solitary? Or the prison infirmary? Am I alone? Am I safe?
I roll, tangled up in something, and drop.
Arms wind-milling, I try to stop the fall. Oh fuck. Too late. I hit the floor with a jarring impact. The pain hits a split second later, and I cry out.
My leg. Goddammit. I bite the inside of my cheek so hard I taste blood. Fuck me.
“Seth?” A woman’s voice, and I’m still trying to piece everything together. Where the fuck am I?
A light comes on, soft and yellow, and she appears out of the dark.
Manon. Her name floats in my brain, bypassing the numbing pain.
“What the hell happened? Oh God.” She kneels down by my side, sleek dark hair falling over her shoulders to hide her face. “You fell?”
“Sorta.”
My heart is still going a thousand miles an hour. Manon. Her apartment. Not the prison. It’s okay.
It’s okay, Seffers. Breathe.
“Did you hurt your leg? Let me see.”
Not that I’d say no in any case. Especially now, when I can only focus on drawing enough air in my lungs and convincing myself I’m free. Safe. That life is better now. That I haven’t gone back.
Freaking out like this always saps up my energy, and I didn’t have much to start with. Which at least means her intimate touch on my leg as she pushes up the pants to check on my fucked-up knee won’t give me the boner from hell.
“Can you move it?” she asks, and I grit my teeth and try, because yeah, this is important to know.
Turns out I can. Managed not to break it again. Thank God for the small fucking mercies.
“Why don’t you lie back down, and I’ll bring the compress?” she says, tucking a strand of shiny hair behind her delicate ear, and I’m not sure what she’s saying right now. “I’ll bring you more pills, too.”
I lick my lips, repeat what she said in my mind until the words make sense. “I think I’ll sit here for a minute.” Not sure I trust my muscles to cooperate right now. “It’s comfortable.”
She opens her mouth, closes it, then huffs a breath of laughter. “You’re weird.”
Sure. And an idiot, for staying the night.
“I’ll be right back,” she says and climbs to her feet in a smooth, liquid movement that has my dick interested despite the pain and pushing against the inseam of the pants.
Yeah. Not now, boy.
Not ever, dammit.
She comes back with the wrapped-up compress, gently lays it on top of my knee and I’m thankful for the cold seeping through the fire in my flesh. Then, instead of returning to her bed, she sits beside me, on the floor, leaning back against the sofa.
“Bad dream?” she whispers.
“Can’t remember.”
She’s so close. In the half-dark, with the outlines of furniture looming here and there, her face is like a goddamn star, drawing my gaze. She has a pale streak in her hair, and I wonder why.
“Want to talk?”
“About what?”
“Don’t know. Anything, to help you relax.”
“Does it work for you?”
She snorts, a soft exhale of breath. “If I had someone to talk to in the night, it might.”
All right. “So that boyfriend of yours… He doesn’t stay the night?”
“Why the obsession with my boyfriend?”
“I’m not obsessed.” Lie. Big fat lie. “Just curious. I mean, this is really helping me relax.”
She giggles. “You’re funny.”
“Thank you.”
She’s silent. I can hear her breathing, and this is relaxing. So much so, my lids are growing heavy again.
“Frederic is not exactly my boyfriend,” she says, and okay, this wakes me up.
Like, whoa.
“He’s not?”
“Not officially,” she clarifies.
Oh. Shit. Awesome. What the hell does that even mean?
“He’s studying music in the arts department. He’s two years older than me, and he’s just so…handsome. And self-assured. And all the girls want him. I’ve had a crush on him since I started there a year ago.”
Goddammit. Not sure I can hear more.
“I mean, he asked me out. But that was only a month ago. We almost kissed at a party two weeks ago—almost—and he walked me to my car many times. We stayed up talking loads of times. We really fit, you know? We both like music and dance and the arts, and he’s so sensitive and kind. I was going to meet him tonight, but he couldn’t make it.”
Okay, now I’m sure I can’t take this anymore.
“You know, those painkillers would be fucking great. If you don’t mind.”
She jerks guiltily, and I swear under my breath, feeling like all kinds of an asshole. “Of course. I’ll go get them.”
I swallow two with the water she brings me and lift myself up on the sofa. “Thank you. I think I’ll be fine now.”
She nods and takes a step back. “Goodnight, then.”
“Night.” Something in her expression doesn’t let me rest, though. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah. No.” Her voice has a break to it. A crack.
Damn.
“Sit down.” I pat the spot next to me. “Tell me.”
“I hardly know you,” she says quietly, but she comes anyway.
“Is it a secret? I won’t tell. I swear.”
“No, it’s not a secret,” she mumbles. “Just a disaster.”
“Why? What is it?” She doesn’t protest when I put an arm around her shoulders and squeeze. “Your parents? Did something happen?”
“No, nothing like that.” She’s a bit stiff against me, but doesn’t move away. “God, no. Thanks for putting this into perspective.”
Don’t know what
to reply to that. I guess my definition of a disaster is different than hers. Wouldn’t be the first time I assume murder when it’s just someone asleep on the carpet.
“I’ve been studying dance most of my life,” she says, and I grin. “What’s the grin for?”
“I knew it. Knew you were a dancer. It’s the way you move.”
She looks away, smiling, cheeks darkening. “Thanks.”
“Anytime. So what’s the problem?”
“The problem is…” She draws a deep breath I can feel in the lifting of her slim shoulders. “I’m out.”
“Out?”
“Of the dance school. I’m not good enough. Didn’t make the cut.”
“That’s it? They can just throw you out?”
“You don’t understand.” Now she pushes away from me, prepares to stand up, get away. “Not everyone makes it. Not everyone is made for it. My Achilles tendons are too tight, and my pelvis too stiff, and I broke my right ankle two years ago. It just never recovered completely, and I…”
There’s that crack in her voice again, and no way am I letting her go like this. I reach over, aching leg and all, and pull her back to me until her head is resting on my shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“Yeah, me too. Worked for this since I was nine. All my life I’ve wanted to be a professional dancer, and I can’t…” She clutches at the front of my borrowed T-shit with one slim hand. “Can’t believe it’s over. They said if I continue training, I might damage my ankle so badly I’ll have trouble walking.”
Jesus. “How about doing something else dance-related? Like teaching ballet?”
“Maybe if I want to teach kids. But I don’t.”
“Okay. Hey, everything will be okay, you know that, right?”
She says nothing.
Again I want to remind her this ain’t the end of the world. The world is full of opportunities when you have a roof over your head and dough to spend. When your past isn’t haunting your every step, and your body and mind aren’t fucked-up to hell.
But I don’t. Because that’s not what she needs right now. She needs someone to hold her in silence and accept her pain and sadness.
So that’s what I’ll do, and bad idea or not, you couldn’t rip me from her side for all the money in the world.
***
When I wake up next, I’m again not sure where I am, but it’s warm, and comfortable, and somehow feels good.
Okay. Don’t panic yet.
Drawing a breath of a sweet scent—vanilla?—I take stock of my situation. Sofa. A slim body tangled up with mine. No pain.
This doesn’t seem so bad. Not bad at all. Actually, this is interesting, could be interesting—only we’re both dressed.
And this is Manon in my arms.
Who’s pretty and sweet and is dating another man.
Dammit.
Even worse, someone’s knocking on the door. Fuck.
I sit up, the blanket slipping off both of us. She’s wrapped up in a black, silky robe. It has fallen open in the front, and underneath she’s wearing a white nightie with black lace.
My mouth is dry, and my dick is growing hard. Not a good thing, all things considered.
Not when the doorbell starts ringing, too.
“Oh God.” She rolls over on her back, blinking those dark green eyes, and jerks. “Shit. Is that…?”
“The doorbell? Yep.” I throw my legs off the sofa and swallow a groan as I bend my knee. The compress fell to the floor sometime last night. I gather it up as I look around for my boots and socks. “Any idea who it might be?”
“No. Wasn’t expecting anyone today.” She’s tying up her robe tightly, covering up her nightie. “Stay here.”
“Don’t want me to hide in your closet?”
“You wouldn’t fit.” She sighs and goes to get the door, but she throws me a tiny smile over her shoulder before she does, and it burns through me like a wisp of fire.
I grab my cell phone from the coffee table and pretend to be busy with it as the door opens. I take out the battery, put it back in. Turn it on.
And it works. It’s working again. Fuck, yeah.
I’m so happy about this little victory that I miss the entrance of Manon’s visitor until she’s standing right in front of me.
“Hey, Seth. Whatcha doing here?”
The. Fuck.
Cassie, smiling at me like the Cheshire Cat from hell. Why is she here?
Oh, right. She’s Manon’s friend. Forgot about that for a moment—what with waking up with Manon in my arms and all. Go figure.
“I was just leaving,” I mutter and try to figure out how to grab my still wet clothes and boots and get the hell out of Dodge.
“What do you want, Cassie?” Manon snaps, and uh-oh, sounds like there’s trouble in paradise.
“To see you?” Cassie’s smile falls, and she turns to face Manon. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
“Been busy.” Manon’s face is closed off.
“With Sethy here?”
“Oh, get out.” Manon folds her arms over her chest and glares. “I mean it, Cassie.”
“You can’t… Manon, I really need to talk to you.” Now Cassie seems close to tears. Her blond hair is hanging limp on her shoulders, and her eyes are bloodshot.
Oh shit. I shouldn’t be here. I may hate the bitch’s guts for what she tried to do to Jesse and Amber, may want to plant my fist in her face, but I won’t. Wouldn’t do it then, won’t do it now.
Besides, this is between two friends. I have no place being here.
“I really should be going,” I mutter and reach for my knee brace. “I’ll just take a piss, put my brace back on and leave you gals alone to talk.”
Cassie nods, and Manon rolls her eyes, but leads the way to the dining table and they both sit there.
Okay.
Getting up is a bitch. Limping to gather my stuff has me clenching my jaw so hard it aches. But I finally have everything, including my walking stick, and take my sweet time in the bathroom changing clothes and putting on my brace.
I splash my face with water when I’m done, wiping off sweat, and stare at my reflection.
What are you doing, Seffers? Man, Cassie’s arrival sure was a wake-up call. Cuddling on the sofa with Manon. Holding her while she tells you her woes. Eating dinner together.
As if you belong together. As if you could.
Scrubbing a hand through my hair, I grab the borrowed clothes and turn to go. What I should have done last night.
Should never have come here. Touched her skin, smelled her scent, felt her body against mine. It was easier when she was uncharted territory, a distant dream.
Not sure how to put her out of my mind now. Not sure it’s possible.
I cross the living room as quickly as I can, my stick thumping on the carpet. Before I reach the table where they’re sitting in silence, I realize I should’ve folded the clothes, probably. Too late.
She takes them without a comment, gives me a strained smile.
“Thanks for helping me out last night, saving me from the downpour,” I tell her, completely ignoring Cassie the Bitch. “I won’t forget it.”
Won’t forget you. Wish I could.
“Don’t mention it.” She bunches up the clothes, presses them to her chest. “I should drive you back to your place.”
“Nah, I’ve got this. Seriously.” I grin, although I’m not feeling it. Don’t want to leave her. Christ. “I’m much better today.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. I’m solid. Let you girls catch up.”
She gets up to let me out, and I linger for a second too long at the door. It’s as if there’s a threat wrapped around me, trying to keep me where she is.
Then I turn around and go, because that’s what I do when I want something. Because when I want something real bad, that’s when I know I can never have it.
Chapter Four
Manon
Closing the door behind Seth, I
turn back to Cassie. My steps are slow. It’s as if I’m reluctant to let him go.
Which makes sense. He’s hurt, and I’m partly to blame for it, and I’m letting him return home on his own. I hope he’s smart enough to get a cab and not walk.
He’s been taking care of himself all this time, I tell myself, taking my seat at the dining table. All his life. He wasn’t waiting for me to babysit him. He has his friends, his family.
Stop worrying.
Talk to Cassie.
Last thing I want to be doing right now. She’s right. I’ve been avoiding her since the fiasco at Asher’s wedding, when she threw herself at Jesse Lee and pissed off everyone.
Including myself.
“What’s up, Cass?” God, I need a cup of coffee. “You’re here early.”
“I know. Thought to catch you before you left to classes. Didn’t think I’d catch you with Mr. Dark and Sexy, though.”
“Oh shut up.”
Silence spreads between us. Not the friendly, comfortable kind.
“Okay. I guess I know now how you feel about me.” She scrubs a hand over her face. “Guess I deserve it, too.”
Jesus. “It’s been a crappy couple of days. Not everything is about you, Cass.”
“Ouch.” She puts her hand on the table. Her eyes are a bit too bright. “Say it. Go on.”
“What, that you’ve been a bitch to Jesse and Amber? Like you don’t know?”
“Oh I know.” She clasps her hands together and gnaws on her lower lip. “I know.”
“Why did you do it, Cass?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Maybe because it makes no real sense. Except you wanted Jesse and couldn’t think past yourself.”
She shakes her head. “Thought you’d let me explain, but I guess that’s asking too much, right?” She pushes her chair back and stands up. Her pink blouse is askew, and she’s wearing no make-up. “That’s just great.”
Never seen her like this. So distraught.
But before I can say anything else, before I can think of anything I could say, she turns on her heel and leaves.
***
Seth’s words buzz in my mind as I sit down to have breakfast. That it’s not the end of the world. That I could find something else. Become a dance teacher.
Do I want that? All my life I dreamed of swirling on a stage on my pointes, dancing my favorite classical pieces. Swan Lake. Cinderella. Nutcracker. La Bayadere.