The Fated Dance: Bound to the Shadow Dancer

by Leeann Whitaker

  I guess her need to rush off in a strop, should be counted as a blessing in disguise. Now, I’m sat shivering on the bathroom floor, feeling like I’ve just emerged from a frozen lake.

  I pull myself up using the sink as an aid, and wheeze for air like an old man before the cabinet mirror. How the hell do I hide this from her? I look like I’ve been dowsed in oil, with my skin all waxy and white.

  I quickly open the cabinet door and fumble through several pill bottles. I find them, my emergency stash of high dosage, fast release steroids. I flick off the cap, and with a shaky hand tip the pink pills out onto my palm. The usual dose is two, so I swallow double that amount. I drop the bottle back onto the shelf, breathe in deep, and then swill my face with cold water.

  “Grayson,” Jen calls through the door.

  “I’ll be out in a minute,” I aim to sound healthy. “Why don’t you go and look in the fridge downstairs. There’s a surprise in there.”

  “What’s wrong?” Shit. She knows, and she’s going to push and push.

  “I’m fine, Jen,” I bark, then rein in my frustration. “I’ll just finish up, and I’ll be right down.”

  “Okay.” I watch her shadow move away from under the door.

  The surprise to cheer her up, is a basket filled with wine, cream, and strawberries, which we’ll eat by the lake. I had plans. Enjoyable plans. And I didn’t think this damn sickness would start screwing up my body this soon.

  After five minutes I swill my face again, then use the cream hand-towel to wipe the remaining sweat from my neck. My color has thankfully begun to revert back to someone who isn’t dead. I guess doubling the dose has started to work; it has got into my system faster. It’s not advisable, but I’m way passed following the rules now.

  I make my way downstairs, fastening the buttons on a fresh white shirt. She stands at the square island in the kitchen, going through the basket with a sweet smile. A few weeks ago, I would have snuck up behind her and had my way, but I still feel out of it. And even though I find her body irresistible, having sex in the kitchen right now, might just finish me off. I need to get a grip. Wait until I’m nearing a hundred percent again. No matter how damn unsatisfying it is.

  “Just had a quick shower,” I lie with ease. “So, I’ve booked us a table at the best restaurant on earth.”

  “Where?”

  I open up my elbow. “You’ll see… grab dinner,” I gesture.

  She sweeps up the handle on the basket, and enthusiastically links up to my arm.

  ***

  We walk downhill on the path between the large solar rock lights, lighting our way on this mild night. The water delicately oscillates moonbeams that hit the surface of the lake, and our feet sink into the shingle beach. It’s perfect. So peaceful. With only the sound of lively crickets chorusing in the background.

  She stares at the mountains silently, placing the basket on the damp sand. I’ve never seen a vision so beautiful. I run my fingertips over her bare shoulders and beneath her cream lace straps. She flinches as I move her hair, opening her arms to allow me to thread mine around her waist.

  “You’re too quiet?” I inhale her scent.

  “I don’t mean to be.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?” My arms move as she takes a big breath in.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “For?”

  “Being the worst company ever,” she huffs.

  “You’ve been a little off. I can arrange for you to go home… if you want.”

  “No,” she snaps. “I’m staying right here.” She runs her hand over mine. “One condition though.”

  I kiss the back of her soft neck. “Anything for you.”

  “Don’t ask me how I am.”

  I smile against her skin. “Will you do the same for me?”

  Her chest shudders with a small laugh. “For now.”

  I pull my arms out from hers, and bend down to the basket to pull out a green blanket. I waft out the creases and spread it out on the sloped sand.

  “Here?” I ask.

  She looks over her shoulder and grins. “Sure.”

  I watch her swing her arms back and forth like a mischievous child would. She’s finding this too hard. I mean who’d blame her, and this is the reason I didn’t want her to come with me in the first place.

  “Sit down Jen.”

  She silently sits with her knees to her chest and I join her. I take a bottle of white wine and two plastic flutes out from the basket.

  “Drink?”

  “I’ll have fruit juice if there is any,” she mumbles.

  She’s making what should be enjoyable so damn difficult. “Really?”

  “Okay… just a small one,” she replies fast.

  I pour her half a glass and hand it to her. She takes a sip while looking at the view. Something is on her mind, and it’s beginning to really get to me.

  “Jen, I’ve told you, you don’t need to be here,” I say with disappointment. “I can call Henry.”

  She turns to me with a firm look. “No,” she barks. “I’m just tired… I’m sorry,” she grins, apologetic. “This is stunning, Grayson.”

  I take her wine and set it down in the cup holder on top of the basket. “Lie down, there’s something you need to see.” I drop back and guide her down with me. “You see that star,” I point.

  “Which one… there are thousands,” she laughs.

  I take her hand and finger, and point it to the sky. “That one. It’s the star Arrakis, and represents the dancer.” I bring our arms down, but keep ahold of her hand.

  “Really?” she slants her head to me.

  “Yep, and I used to look at it every night and think about you.”

  Her eyes gleam as her lips form a ray. “That’s really sweet, but so cheesy… you do know that.”

  “Cheesy or not, that was all I had,” I look back to the sky. “And you see that star.” I take her hand and point to the sky again. “That is Ascella, and it means armpit.”

  “Oh wow, what a great way to describe something in heaven,” she breathes through her laughter. “So, what star would you be?” she asks.

  “I have no idea. Define me.” I turn onto my side, lean on my elbow, and angle over her.

  She chews her cheek in thought. “Well, stubborn.”

  “Okay,” I hum.

  “Thoughtful.”

  “Better.”

  “Here,” her gazing eyes close slowly.

  I hang my head low and swallow down the hard lump in my throat. It will not even give me this time with her. Even in the end, it will be this disease that defines me.

  Her hand slides up my neck. I open my eyes and I’m catapulted hard into the intense feelings I have for her; almost as sickening as the death I face.

  “Which is a good thing.” She arches up and her lips tenderly meet mine.

  I hold the base of her slim neck in the palm of my hand and lie her down, carefully. Her kiss is more powerful than all the constellations put together. It’s consuming, desirous, and charged with an energy that feeds me. She pulls away and breathes on my face with needy eyes, plucking open the buttons of my shirt. I run my hand firmly up her soft thigh and beneath her skirt, ready to give into her demands. Ready to feel the only heaven I know.

  Going to Pieces

  He sleeps soundly by my side, whereas I haven’t slept at all. Awful scenarios have been coasting around inside my screwed up head all night. And questions such as: is this real; is he going to die? How can someone who made such sweet love to me on that beach last night, be so ill? And now this: what will that dipstick show up when I sneak out of this room and do that test.

  With bare feet I quickly creep into the bathroom, holding the pink box tight. I lock myself inside and sit down on the toilet seat, staring anxiously at the instructions. To think too long about it, is only going to make this worse. I need to just pee on the damn thing and have done with it. It’s not going to kill me (the results might though). I mean, I can’t hav
e a baby. I can’t throw that bombshell at him now. And I’m certainly not good mother material. I can’t even keep my own sister on the straight and narrow.

  I arch right over my knees while mumbling to myself. It’s now or never. I jump up, yank the stick from the box, and pray to the gods above while doing my business.

  It’s done. I replace the cap and drop the plastic stick on the cistern tank. The blood drains from my face and travels down to my toes. I wash my hands trying not to gag, then gulp and dash out into the hall, unable to take the pressure of waiting.

  Two minutes. Two grueling minutes is a lifetime right now. I lean against the wall, nervously biting my fingernails. Shit. What if Grayson comes out and sees me having a mental breakdown out here? I push myself off the wall, and quietly re-entre the bathroom.

  I stay perfectly still, glaring and gritting down my teeth. I don’t even know how long it’s been. Should I look now, or should I deny this ever happened; shut my eyes and throw the stupid test away?

  I inhale and stretch out my fingers. With my eyes closed tight, I pick up the stick, and pant several low breaths. I peel open one eyelid and focus. Two blue lines. Not pregnant right. Everything is good here. Who the hell am I kidding? Two damn lines is not good, even I know that. I look at the example printed on the box and it’s confirmed. God, why now. I’m on birth control, this isn’t supposed to happen. The doctor told me it’s basically impossible to conceive, if I religiously take one every day, and I have.

  I plonk myself down onto the edge of the bathtub with tears flowing out of me like a raging tide. I can’t tell him, and I can’t have this baby. I have to do the right thing, which is right now being here for him, making him happy. This, well, this is just going to screw everything up. I won’t allow this to come between us. I won’t.

  I wipe my face quickly and pick up all the packaging. I can’t just toss it into the bin, he might see it. Maybe I should burn it.

  I hurry downstairs and into the kitchen, frantically looking around for something to destroy it with.

  “Good morning.”

  Oh god. Grayson is awake, wandering over to me wearing just his sweatpants, yawning. I spin to my side, swiftly open the nearest cupboard, and chuck the test and packaging behind a bottle of water.

  “Morning.” I burn up with guilt. “How are you?”

  “Tired.” He fills up the kettle letting out a long sigh.

  Dammit. I can’t move from this cupboard. What he wants that bottle of water and finds the evidence?

  “Coffee?”

  “Why don’t you go and sit down, and I’ll make it,” I say anxiously.

  “You okay Jen… you look worse than me?”

  “I’m great.”

  “Well,” he hovers before me and takes me by the waist. “I love you, and I’d like to make you coffee,” he kisses my lips, faint and soft. “Or, are you giving me orders now,” he beams.

  All I can think of is that darn test.

  “I’m giving you orders. Now go on.” I smile and tenderly push him away. “It always taste better when it’s made for you.”

  “Okay boss.” He yawns, kisses my cheek, and thankfully strolls behind the partition wall.

  I snatch the test out of the cupboard as the kettle boils. While holding my breath, I run on my tiptoes upstairs. In a crazy panic, I hide the stick in my bag at the bottom of the closet. It won’t be found in there; for now anyway. When the coast is clear, I’ll take it, and pitch it out into the forest.

  “Jen, what you doing up there?” Grayson calls from downstairs.

  “Nothing… I’m coming.”

  Her Secret

  She is oblivious to the fact I know the truth, and I have made no effort to dig deeper, or try and force her to open up to me. I found it while getting dressed four days ago, when one of my shirts fell onto her bag. I wept like a fool on the bed, looking at the two blue lines. A part of me I will never see, hold, or watch grow. The harsh reality is, I can understand why she is doing it. She’s trying to protect me from more suffering. Trying to make it easier for me to let go.

  What do I think of it? Well, I’m not angry, more worried about her. So when it’s time, she will know exactly how I feel. And I’m doing everything in my power, while I still can, to make sure she’s got everything she needs.

  Over the last few days, I’ve been secretly arranging things with Henry via email and phone. I’ve also been writing and authorizing correspondence she will receive when I’m no longer here. She’s given me something to prepare for. Something good. So now I’m sat in the best spot on the balcony with my camera, having just finished recording my message to her from beyond the grave.

  I press end record and stand, but my legs don’t seem to want to hold my weight today. I’ve trained my body to be fit for years, so I’ll be damned if I can’t use my feet anymore. I won’t become a vegetable. I’m determined to die still fully able to do the basics.

  I use the handrail and make my way into the bedroom, holding onto whatever is available. I cough and breathe through my tight chest, and manage to make it to the bathroom.

  I lift up the seat and use my hand to lean against the wall. Hell- I can’t pee now. I wait, and finally something begins to happen. But this isn’t right, it’s not the typical sight I’d see on a bathroom break. Blood. My throat constricts with fear. Why am I afraid when this is what I asked for: to die freely? Stupid denial had me forget for a time, and now the grim truth is coming thick and fast.

  I flush away the sure fire sign I’m on deaths-door, and reside to the fact it never happened. I have to lie to myself, and to Jen. Our love is now based on secrets to prevent pain. It isn’t wrong. It’s a way of shielding against the unavoidable torment.

  I make my way downstairs to find Jen struggling to open the lid on a jar of peanut butter. I hope she’s not going suggest that for lunch. I can’t stand the stuff.

  I inhale deep as I approach her. But it’s such a labor today to walk normally. My bones feel like playdough, and I’ve got this whole mister soft swagger going on. I take the jar from her hands and she rises up on her toes to kiss my cheek. I wrap my palm around the red lid and twist. First time- complete fail. I bring it into my chest to get more leverage, and screw it off so it flies into the air and rolls across the gray floor tiles. Jeez, for a terminally ill cancer patient, opening a jar is the equivalent to running a marathon.

  Jen takes the jar from my trembling hands and slides it across the worktop. “Grayson,” she clutches my forearm. “You need to sit down.”

  She begins to guide me into the lounge area, but I won’t allow it. I won’t be cared for, or have my ass wiped by no one. Least of all her. I shake away her grip in anger, and hold onto the back of the couch as sweat gathers on my top lip. I look over my arm to see the unease I’ve just caused her.

  “Sorry,” I sigh. “But I don’t need you here for that.”

  She frowns, “You don’t have a choice, Grayson.”

  “The last bit of dignity I have, needs to stay with me, Jen,” I choke-up.

  She rushes over to me. I’ve refused to cry like a baby in front of her. And now, here I am, showing all my weaknesses. Her seeing me like this, and thought of our child that grows inside her, is the worst kind of pain. How can I go on about how I can deal with this, when it’s so clear I can’t?

  “Grayson,” she moves my face to hers. “Do you think you’re superhuman, because you’re not,” she says with a strong voice. “You can be scared; it’s only human to be.” She loops her arms around me. “And you’re not alone in this.”

  I look at the sad shimmer across her pupils. “Why are you here; why would you want to see this?” I snap. “We could have held onto the memory of what we had… not this.”

  “If you’re trying to cause an argument, Grayson, I’m not taking the bait,” she says. “I’m here because there is nowhere else I want to be.” Her hand reaches up to touch my cheek. “I want to be with you… for better or worse.”

 
“We never got that far, Jen.”

  “Formalities don’t matter.” She holds onto my hand. “Now will you sit down?” She tugs me around the side of the couch.

  Don’t Give In

  This is the epitome of hell, despair, and pain. And this is the second time today. I crouch down to his weak, damp, cold, trembling body on the bathroom floor, as he struggles to get up to his feet. He grunts, with one hand gripping the sink, and the other pushing against the wall. My heart rhythm booms as I use all my strength to pull his elbow around my neck. He slides his bare feet together and straightens up, wheezing in and out deeply. With the weight of his body resting on my back, I maneuver toward the bedroom. He doesn’t speak. Today is a bad day, and on these days he hasn’t the energy to do much at all.

  It all came on so fast. Five days ago he was fine (well, as fine as he could be) then it began during the night. He was sleeping next to me, restlessly. The sheets were wet with his fever, and he twitched and groaned uncomfortably. His temperature was over one hundred, and he was near the convulsing stage. I attempted to call for an ambulance, but he stopped me by snatching and flinging my cell across the room. I had no choice. I left him alone, picked up my cell and called Jenkins out of his earshot.

  I sobbed down the receiver as he gave me instructions. First: I had to give him a double dose of the liquid steroids and morphine. And second: to use everything possible to bring down his fever: ice, cold water, and air. It took two hours using cold wet towels all over his body, with all windows open, for it to drop down to a safe level.

  When he finally settled, I had to talk to someone, so I called Henry. I asked him to come, but Grayson suddenly appeared in the bedroom doorway, and gave him orders to stay away. I was so angry because he was out of bed. And I was angry because I needed help with this, but he stubbornly refused. He took my hands in his, and insisted he was fine.