by Staci Hart
That simple sentence sent me reeling as anger and shame washed over me. “Somebody who?”
He shook his head, quiet for a moment as he grappled with how to say what he came to say. “A girl. And when he took her to the bathrooms, I couldn’t let it go. I … well, I had to see for myself. He had her … he was—”
I held up a hand with last night’s dinner in my throat. “He was fucking her? Just to be clear here.”
He nodded solemnly.
“And that’s when you hit him?”
“Yes.” The word was a simple confession.
I couldn’t move, couldn’t think. Questions and visions and a million thoughts flew around my brain, crashing together and smashing like glass.
“I shouldn’t have hit him, but I can’t say I’m sorry. Not for that. But for everything else, I am.”
I added disappointment to my pile of emotions. He was sorry he told me he loved me, and I couldn’t understand why that made me feel so lost. “Everything?”
Every curve of his face told me how much he hurt. “I shouldn’t have told you like I did, but it’s the truth. I won’t apologize for loving you.”
My food charged up my esophagus, and I ran for it, straight into the bathroom, barely making it in time. I hung over the toilet, holding my hair back, retching until it was over. I sucked in a breath through my nose, and the smell of whiskey roundhoused me in the stomach, sending me on another round.
I didn’t realize he’d followed me until his hand shifted on my back as I hung onto the porcelain with my eyes closed and nose running. He handed me a glass of water that I accepted gratefully, using it to rinse out my mouth.
Physically I was as good as new. My emotions were another story completely.
“I’m sorry,” I croaked into the toilet.
His voice was soft and deep. “Don’t be sorry.”
I unfolded myself, and he moved out of the way, helping me up as we stood. His eyes told me so much as he looked down at me, and I wished I had the answers to the questions that lay behind them. But I didn’t. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes, burned my nose. “I don’t know what you want me to say, West. I don’t know what to say.”
He flinched, brow low. “I’m sorry, Lily. I didn’t say it to hurt you. I just couldn’t go on another second without you knowing how I felt. I’d been watching you all night with him, wanting nothing more than to pop him in the face and kiss you until you couldn’t remember your name. And when I followed him, when I saw what he did, I couldn’t stop myself. He hurt you, and I couldn’t stand by and watch. You asked me why I did it, so I told you the truth. I did because I love you.”
My heart stopped when he said it again, like it was the simplest, most natural thing in the world.
“Not just like that. You’re the most important person in my life. That’ll never change, whether you feel the same way or not.”
“But I can’t pretend that I don’t know how you feel about me.” I tried to take a breath. “I can’t … I don’t …” I lost the tenuous hold on my tears, and they rolled down my cheeks, fat and hot.
West shook his head, face full of pain. “Don’t cry. Please don’t cry.” He pulled me into his chest, and I lost any pretense of composure that I had with his arms around me and his cheek pressed against my hair. I cried for my friendship that would never be what it was and for my heart that was scrambled up and bruised. I cried for my humiliation and cried for my lost dreams. I cried until I was dry, standing there in my bathroom that smelled like puke and whiskey in my best friend’s arms.
My best friend who loved me.
I couldn’t make sense of any of it.
“Just give me some time,” I whispered, eyes closed, overwhelmed as I wondered why being in his arms made me feel like everything would be all right.
He rubbed my back, and his voice was rough with emotion when he said, “All right, Lil. I’m here. I’m always here.”
18
IF IT'S NOT ONE THING
Lily
A FEW HOURS LATER, AFTER a long, hot shower and a stout cup of coffee, I pulled open the studio door for barre class with my stomach in knots.
I was nearly the last one there, and all eyes flew to me, my entrance marked by a few snickers and whispers, but mostly just a host of judging eyes, including Nadia’s. Okay, Nadia wore something closer to murder eyes, but everyone else was just judging me. They knew. I didn’t know exactly what they knew, but they knew enough. I wanted to melt into the floor and disappear.
Until I saw Blane.
He scowled at me from across the room, nose fat and red, his eye swollen shut and purple. The satisfaction of seeing West’s handiwork overcame my anxiety completely, washing it away in a breath.
A smug smile stretched across my face as I strutted across the room, shaking my head.
“Looking good, Blane.” I dropped my bag under the barre next to Jenni and bent over to unzip it.
“Fuck you, Lily.”
A few Ooohs and whispers broke out, but they couldn’t touch me, not anymore. “No, thanks. I’ve had better orgasms on the snowmobile game at Dave and Buster’s.”
A gratifying chuckle rolled through the room as I grabbed my pointe shoes and sat, pulling one shoe on.
Nadia made a noise and hung her hands on her hips, eyes narrowed to slits. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean, Blane?”
He glared at me, though his face softened when he looked back to Nadia. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”
I didn’t look up, just smiled at my fingers as they wrapped my ribbon. “You weren’t calling it nothing when you nailed me in your studio the other night. Oh, or when you brought me flowers. That was so sweet, by the way. Thoughtful, even.”
Nadia sucked in a breath that I’m almost positive also sucked out Blane’s soul. “You son of a bitch.”
“I knew it,” Jenni whispered, and I glanced over at her, confused. She was staring at Blane with her face blank, but when she looked over at me, I knew instantly what she was going to say. “I’m so sorry, Lily. I didn’t know he was with you too.”
Fury blew through me like hot, angry wind, taking my breath with it. “Oh, my God, Jenni.” I stood, one shoe on, one off. “Were you fucking Nadia too?”
The look on Nadia’s face said the answer was yes.
My eyes narrowed to slits. “Jesus Christ, Blane. Is there anyone you weren’t fucking?”
Bastian raised his hand, looking mock hurt.
“You’re the lucky one, Bas.” I lasered in on Blane. “You’re unbelievable. And here I thought you fucking some random skank in a club bathroom was a fluke.” Nadia gasped. “Did you really think we weren’t going to find out?”
He shrugged, but his eyes were hard on mine. “Did you really think I cared about you?”
I laughed to hide my hurt. “Look at what you got for your trouble. A face that looks like it went through a meat grinder, and the wrath of three piranhas in tutus. You should know better than to fuck with us. You dated the one with the sharpest teeth for years.”
Nadia’s voice trembled. I don’t think she’d looked away from Blane. “Never again.”
He touched her arm, his voice desperate. “Nadia, I—”
She jerked away from him. “I said never.”
The tension in the studio was marred by Ward’s entrance, and we all immediately broke away and turned to prep for class. Cardinal rule for my job: Check your shit at the door. Bringing your personal life into the studio was the best way to lose the respect of the masters, and potentially future roles.
Ward glanced around the room, steely eyes bouncing between Jenni, Nadia, and me before resting on Blane. “What happened to your face, Baker?”
Blane glared at me. “Lily’s friend hit me last night at a bar.”
Ward narrowed his eyes at me. “Is that true?”
I took a deep breath and held up my chin with all eyes on me. I could perform in front of hundreds of pairs of eyes, but somehow enduring the scrutiny
in the studio was unbearable. “Yes, sir.”
Ward’s disapproving gaze nearly killed me. “I saw Baker coming from a mile away, but I didn’t expect this kind of behavior from you, Thomas.” He turned to address the room. “What you do in your personal time is your own business, but when it interferes with my rehearsals and my show, we have a problem.”
“But, sir—” Blane started.
Ward shot him a look that stopped him dead. “I don’t know what happened between you two, and I don’t care. It’s over.” He clapped, snapping us all out of the trance. “Let’s go.” He motioned to the pianist, who began to play the slow warm-up music.
I hurried to my bag and sat to get my other shoe on in a rush as Ward gave us the first round of choreography, my heart banging as I stood and jumped in. Plié. Fuck him. Effacé. I’m a fool. Plié. Poor Jenni. Effacé. I can’t believe this. Rond de jambe. Poor Nadia. Plié. Wait, what?
My thoughts had quieted by a degree by the end of barre, only because it had taken every bit of concentration I had to get through the series of entrechats — the quick jumps and footwork were too much for my whiskey-worn body. I just had to get through rehearsals today and Morgen tonight, and then I was off for a day. And I would spend that day sleeping.
I pulled on my booties over my pointe shoes and grabbed my bag, wanting to get out of that room as soon as possible. The whispers and looks had started up again, and I was sweating, not only from barre, but because I felt exposed, vulnerable. The day was going to suck. Blane and I were dancing together for Morgen, and we had stage rehearsal that afternoon. It was the absolute last place I wanted to be. The absolute first place being at the bottom of a bottle of gin.
I hung my bag on my shoulder, eyes on the ground as I blew out of the room with Jenni on my heels.
“Lily, please wait. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
I shook my head, but I couldn’t even look at her. “It’s okay, Jenni. Neither did I. You have nothing to be sorry for.”
“That doesn’t stop me from being sorry all the same.”
I reached the elevator well but turned for the stairs, not wanting to stop moving. Bastian caught up with us just as we reached the end of the hall.
“Slow down, sister.” Bastian said lightly, trying to defuse me. It didn’t. “Are you okay?”
I pushed open the door with a smack. “Of course I’m not okay.” The words echoed in the stairwell as I trotted down the stairs.
“I’m so sorry,” he said.
I spun around when I hit the landing, and they almost ran into me. “Stop apologizing. It’s nobody’s fault but Blane’s.”
Bastian’s face was soft. “I tried to tell you last night, but you took off.”
Jenni shook her head at him, hurt. “Why didn’t you tell me about Lily, Bastian?”
“Because it wasn’t my secret to tell.”
“But mine was?”
“You said you were going to tell her, Jen. I knew what was going on with her and Blane and thought I could help soften the blow by telling her first.”
“I just can’t believe this,” Jenni said. “I feel so stupid. I knew you liked him, but I didn’t know if it was still serious after all these years. The entire time, I felt guilty. I shouldn’t have done it in the first place. I’m so sorry I didn’t talk to you about it first, and afterward … well, I was waiting until we had a minute alone to tell you.”
I was mostly numb, except for my chest, which bubbled with red hot fucking hate magma. Not at Jenni, and not even at Nadia anymore. Only at Blane. “When did it happen?”
Her brows knit together with concern and hurt. “Before the show, night before last.”
I blew out a very controlled breath. “He asked what I was doing that night, but I had plans, so he mauled me in the elevator. He was pissed when I shut him down.” I ran a hand over my face. “God, this is such a mess, and for nothing. He was the worst lay I’ve ever had.”
Jenni snorted, and I watched her shoulders relax with relief that I wasn’t going to deck her, I’m sure. “I mean, seriously. I knew Nadia was a frigid bitch, but can you imagine how awkward their love life is?”
“Was,” Bastian interjected.
“Was.” I took comfort in the fact that Blane was currently alone. Not even Nadia had his back anymore, that’s how bad it was.
Bastian shook his head and started walking again, and Jenni and I picked up our feet and followed. “He’s not worth any more pain or stress.”
I sighed. “It’s not that easy, Bas. It’s like slamming your hand in a door. It hurts like a motherfucker, partly because you feel so stupid.” They chuckled, but I shook my head. “I should have known better.”
“To be fair,” Bastian interjected, “have you seen his ass?”
“No ass is worth all that.” I repeated Blane’s words, and the comfort I found in the new meaning did it’s part to dampen the pain.
Lily
Rehearsal dragged on through the day, and I didn’t see Blane again until our stage rehearsal for Morgen that afternoon. I survived by pretending Blane didn’t exist, like he was just a prop for me to dance with, a soulless tool. It wasn’t too far off, at least.
We stood at opposite ends of the stage afterward, the six of us listening as Ward gave us final instructions and dismissed us. I was anxious to get out of there, but hadn’t made it but a handful of steps when Ward called my name.
I turned, trying not to look nervous as he waved me over to where he stood near the edge of the stage, away from the pit where the orchestra packed up, away from the dancers as they dispersed. Blane looked back at us, jaw set before he disappeared backstage.
Ward’s lips were thin, brow low. Disappointed.
My chest ached.
“I’ve watched you since you first came to SAB, Lily. The first time I ever saw you dance, I knew that you had something special, knew you would make it far. I wanted to promote you in your first year with the company, did you know that?”
I looked down, humbled. “No, sir.”
“We wanted to watch you grow, and you have. Since we promoted you, you’ve exceeded every expectation. You’ve been given an opportunity. Don’t throw it away. I expect professionalism from all of you. What I don’t expect is to hear another word about this. If I walk into rehearsal with my dancers fighting again, there will be consequences for all of you. Am I clear?”
“Yes, sir.” The words burned my throat.
His face softened by a degree. “I’m only telling you this because I believe in you. I want you to succeed. But succeeding in this company means keeping your head in the game.”
“I understand,” I said quietly. “Thank you, sir.”
He nodded, and I turned and walked away, trying not to hurry as tears burned my eyes. Everyone was gone, backstage quiet as I pulled on clothes over my leotard and scooped up my bag. I flew out of the building, needing distance and time.
I had five hours before the show, and there was only one place I wanted to go, one person who I wanted to talk to.
I headed for the subway station and popped in my earbuds as I made my way toward Columbia.
West
I leaned back in Blackwell’s office chair that afternoon, fingers to my lips as I read through an essay. It was impressive — collected and poignant. I flipped back to the beginning and made a note of the student’s name, eager to show Blackwell.
I usually spent Sunday afternoons working at the university, finding it easier to focus in the quiet of the empty campus than in my apartment with the distractions of my friends. Especially today. I didn’t want to see anyone. I knew they’d all have questions for me that I wasn’t ready to answer. I didn’t want to talk about Lily with anyone but Lily.
I’d left her apartment that morning with our future up in the air and the feeling of her in my arms still fresh. I’d admittedly been hanging on to the hope that she would tell me she felt the same way about me. But she was confused and upset, still trying to process it all. I cou
ldn’t blame her for that. But I wasn’t confident the odds would turn up in my favor.
I had the impending feeling that she was going to let me down, let me go. I just hope she did it gently.
Someone knocked on the door and I looked up, surprised. “Come in.”
The door opened, and Christine stood in the doorway looking hopeful.
My face hardened. “Yes?”
She bit her lip and stepped in, leaving the door open. “I was hoping I’d find you here today. I looked for you Friday, but—”
“What do you want, Chris?” I hadn’t realized how upset I still was and took a breath, trying to temper my anger.
She walked up to the desk more nervous than I think I’d ever seen her. The confident woman I knew was nowhere to be found. “I’m sorry. I really am.”
I softened when I realized how much she meant it.
She searched my face. “I know we talked about not being exclusive, about not being together. It was fine at first, but one day I realized how much I care about you. I want more. I just didn’t handle it well. I was afraid of … well, this.”
“But I didn’t want more.”
Hurt passed across her face. “You’ve never thought about me that way? You never considered more?”
I sighed and stood, feeling guilty and responsible as I walked around the desk to sit on the surface in front of her. “Of course I considered it, Chris. But we’re not the same, you and I. I don’t love you. We barely know each other, when you think about it.”
She shook her head and stepped closer. “I don’t believe you mean that. I know you can feel it. We’re good together, West.” She laid a hand on my chest, and I covered it with mine. “This makes sense.”
“Only in that it’s convenient,” I said gently. “I’m in love with someone else. I can’t be with you, and I can’t pretend that I am. And after what you said at the party …”
“I just thought that if I could show you how it felt to be with me, you’d see. You’d understand. You’d want to try.”
“I’m sorry.” I moved her hand and held it in my lap.