Pulled

by Danielle Bannister

  My feet find their way back to the theatre by instinct afterwards, but my head is lost inside a cloud of golden fire.

  It's Elizabeth's stare, waiting for me in the hallway when I arrive, that pulls me back to the present.

  “Am I late?” I ask.

  “No, you’re right on time,” she says, looping her arm around me. “I have a little bonding game I want to play.” She pulls off a dark scarf that's draped around her neck, and starts to wrap it around my eyes.

  “Whoa, what are you doing?”

  She laughs. “Come on, don’t be a poor sport. Trust me.”

  Relenting, I let her finish off the tie. I can’t see a thing.

  “Can you see?” she asks.

  “No. Now, why is this stupid thing on me?”

  “I’ll explain everything inside.” She grabs my arm and starts to slowly guide me into the theatre. Or at least that’s where I hope she’s leading me.

  Naya

  Friday night’s rehearsal comes before I’m ready. Not knowing what our rehearsal will entail, I opt for movable clothes. Kicking off my jeans, I open my closet and make a face. My options are limited. I have the black sweats I wore for the audition and two pairs of leggings; black and dark blue: all of which will match my face perfectly.

  After trying on all three options, I settle on the black leggings and a simple gray T-shirt. This choice feels the most frumpy, and that, I rationalize, is a good thing.

  I check my reflection again, thinking that somehow the ugly brownish, yellow trail will have disappeared since I looked at it ten minutes ago. But the bruise just looks back at me; mockingly.

  When I poke my head into the black box theatre, I find Mrs. Campbell on the stage floor, stretching her graceful body into pretzels. As I glance around the space, I’m surprised to see that the chairs have been removed from their neat lines and have been scattered around the place like a stampede of wild horses had just run through here. This should be interesting. Swallowing my reservations, I walk quietly into the room, trying not to disturb her.

  “Naya!” she beams the moment I set down my bag on one of the wayward chairs.

  “Professor Campbell.”

  “Please, call me Elizabeth while we’re working on the show together, alright?” She pulls herself up and walks over to me, her eyes landing on my face. Take a good look. I’m a monster, and you cast me. But she doesn’t grimace; she smiles instead.

  “I’m glad you’re here, and early. I wanted to try an experiment tonight and I wasn’t sure how it would work if you both showed up here at the same time. Since you’re here first, you get the easy part!” she says smiling at me in that annoying ‘I know something you don’t know’ way.

  She takes my hand and leads me carefully around the maze of chairs to the back of the theatre, which normally holds the longest row of chairs. She positions me in a corner so I’m facing the stage. Confusion spreads across my face.

  She smiles and places her hands on both of my shoulders. “This is an acting game one of my professors taught me. I have found it works really well for breaking the ice, which is exactly what I think we need here.” If she is trying to clarify her intentions with that explanation, she’s failing miserably.

  “Your job is easy. All you have to do is stand here and be quiet.” She gives my shoulders a gentle squeeze. “I’m going out to the hall to catch Etash before he sees where I’ve put you.” That knowing grin spreads across her face again. I groan softly as she weaves in and out of the chairs to the door.

  “Ah, ah, ah! No noise,” she warns before disappearing from the room. What on earth is she planning? She closes the door loudly behind her and it echoes in the empty room.

  With only the dull hum of the lights above, I’m left alone in silence, which starts to make me nervous. Several minutes pass before I hear some quiet argument outside. It could only be Etash and Prof—no, Elizabeth. I can’t help but grin when I hear Etash’s muffled protests at whatever game she has in store. My grin fades and my body tenses automatically when the stage door opens.

  “Naya,” Elizabeth’s voice comes from out in the hall, “remember not to move or make a sound or this won’t work.”

  After a few seconds she comes into view. She’s dragging Etash by his arm into the theatre. No, strike that. She is guiding him to the stage because she has him blindfolded. Now I’m completely lost.

  Once Etash is center stage she lets go of his arm and takes a few cautious steps back.

  “Etash, I have rearranged the chairs in the room. The house chairs are now scattered about the entire space. I have positioned Naya somewhere in the room. Your job is to try and find her and not a chair.”

  She is positively giddy at the brilliance of her idea. “But go slowly. I don’t want you to hurt yourself, but do try and ‘sense’ where she is in the space. When you think you’ve gotten close, raise your hand. We’ll take off the blindfold and see how close--or how far away-- you are.”

  This is not a bonding game; this is stupid. The only objective is to make fun of the hunter, to show how far away he is from his prey.

  Elizabeth slides quietly into one of the chairs on the stage. She pulls her knees up, wrapping her arms around her legs, as though hiding.

  Etash’s reluctance at being forced into being the guinea pig in this twisted game is written all over his blindfolded face. After a couple of stubborn moments, he takes a few heavy steps forward, causing him to crash into one of the chairs just in front of him. Something obscene escapes his lips, and I hold back a smile. A few more cautious steps move him toward Elizabeth. She’s pleased at his misdirection. I shake my head and let out the tiniest of sighs, furious at her for putting him through this humiliation.

  That’s when the unexpected happens. Etash stops his once cautious movements in mid-step. Slowly, his blindfolded eyes turn to the exact spot where he would meet my eyes if he could see. He turns away from Elizabeth, tilts his head to the side briefly, inhales, then starts marching in my direction, not hitting a single chair.

  “Etash, slowdown, you’re going to hurt yourself,” Elizabeth cautions.

  It’s true, he isn’t being careful at all. He’s walking faster than even a sighted person would be among all of these scattered chairs.

  Elizabeth is on her feet now, steps behind Etash; her eyes are filled with concern. This was not how the game was supposed to go down.

  As he inches closer to me, a throbbing ache marches in time with my heart, spreading pain out to my rib cage, then to my lungs. The pressure building inside my chest is crushing me, making it almost impossible to breathe. I need air; I need help; I need...him.

  If I want this agony to stop, I need to be closer to Etash, not further away.

  Ignoring all reason or thought, I find my legs moving towards him as he makes his way to me. I need to rip off his blindfold and look into his dark eyes and soothe him. I need to reach out and touch his hand to let him know he has found me. But just as I am about to reach out to take his hand, his finds mine, and in that instant, the pain is gone, and I am undone. The heat of his touch shoots through my body with a slow, soothing current. His skin on mine feels like a shot of morphine, warm and addictive.

  He slowly raises our intertwined hands in the air and whispers. “I found her.”

  “So you have,” Elizabeth gasps from somewhere behind us.

  Etash

  I yank off the blindfold unable to stand not being able to see her another second. I find her eyes first, they are kind and about to overflow with tears. Then I take in her beautiful face, which is now marked with angry bruises that do, in fact, mirror my scar. My hand reaches up and gently caresses her face, as though willing it to heal with my touch. She doesn't flinch away, but instead presses her head lightly against it.

  It would be so easy for me to lower my head and press my lips to hers, to purge this craving raging inside me, but then I remember. I remember that I’m only pretending to be her 'love' for the stage. And that is just not going
to be enough for me.

  With great control, I pry my hand out of hers, trying to ignore the pain that rushes in afterwards.

  “I can’t do this.” I say through gritted teeth. I don't have the strength to merely pretend to be in love with this girl. “Not with her,” I whisper to Elizabeth, who stares at me, dumbfounded.

  I crash out of the room toppling over chairs as I go. I’m being a jackass, but I’m just so mad at myself and at life for letting me find someone I can't ever hope to have.

  Barging into Elizabeth’s office, I sink down onto the couch and wait for her to come in. I don't have to wait long, because after a few minutes I feel Naya leave, so I expect Elizabeth to come back to her office. But after about five minutes, she hasn’t returned so I go and search for her.

  I find her still in the theatre, hunched over the table, her head in her hands.

  “I’m sorry,” I say.

  She looks up from the table. “What was that just now? How did you know where she was?”

  “I don’t know,” I confess. “I just…felt her.”

  Elizabeth pushes up from her desk. “I knew you were right for this part.”

  “No. No I’m not. I can't play Romeo.”

  “Etash…”

  “I’m not going to bend on this one, Elizabeth.”

  “But…”

  “No. I can’t. Not with her. I just can’t. I lose control when I’m that close to her, and I don’t trust myself.” I hang my head, ashamed. “I’m sorry.”

  Elizabeth touches my arm. “I had no idea you felt this way about her.”

  I contemplate denying my feelings, but I'm so weak and vulnerable that I just admit the truth. “Neither did I.”

  She shakes her head, but then looks back at me, worry setting in. “Does this mean I lose you as my AD too?”

  I know I should say yes; make a clean break from her, but the thought of not at least being able to see her every day, feels like more than I could bear.

  “I'd still like to be your Assistant Director.” She sighs in relief. “As long as you understand,” I continue, “that I need to keep my distance from her.”

  “You can position yourself at the back of the house during rehearsals? Could that work?” I nod slowly. She gestures for me to come with her to her office, but I shake my head. My body has suddenly started to shake. Cautiously, I step back several paces. Naya is near.

  And sure enough, a moment later, the door opens and she's there.

  “I forgot my bag,” Naya says, looking at both of us like she'd rather have a root canal than retrieve that damn bag.

  “I’m glad you did,” Elizabeth says. “I need to talk to you about tomorrow’s rehearsal. Would you be free to meet at 4:00 instead of 6:00?”

  “Um, sure, I guess. I have Fridays off,” Naya replies shifting her weight back and forth on her feet.

  “Good.” Elizabeth turns her focus to me. “Etash, can you see if Zach, Ben, and Eric can come then too? Anyone else you think we should ask?”

  She’s talking about Romeo replacements and I don’t like any of the names she’s mentioned. “What about Thomas?” I suggest. Thomas is gay, which may or may not play a part in my suggestion.

  “Thomas? Really…I hadn’t thought of him, but you’re right, he might be good,” she says.

  “Good for what?” Naya asks.

  Elizabeth lets out a small laugh. “That’s right, Naya, you don’t know what we're talking about.”

  She puts her arm over Naya's shoulder, like a mama hen comforting her chick.

  “Etash and I just talked.” Naya looks at me, and in her eyes I can see her confusion. “I’m afraid I was a bit selfish,” Elizabeth explains. “I didn’t respect Etash's wishes to want to direct and sort of forced him into acting. And that was wrong of me. Therefore, Etash will no longer be playing your Romeo.”

  Naya looks at me, surprisingly crestfallen.

  “It’s for the best,” I say softly, unsure if I'm trying to convince her, or myself.

  She just looks at me with an expression I can't understand. Almost hurt.

  “Naya, try and understand,” I whisper. How do I tell her I simply can't pretend to love her?

  Naya

  He can't even look at me. He's embarrassed. Embarrassed for me. He stops himself before he can finish what he was going to say: 'Naya, try and understand, I just don't feel that way about you.' Suddenly, I see myself as he must see me; as a pathetic little girl who can't handle the rejection of a boy. My throat feels thick, because it's true. I can't take rejection, at least, I realize, not from him.

  Before I’m humiliated even further, I nod my head slowly, and back out of the theatre. I break into a run once I hit the outside, needing to find the safety of my room before my tears have a chance to fall.

  As soon as I'm inside, I close and lock the door and lean against it, as if I’m holding it closed from an unwanted intruder.

  In the dimness of my room, I still feel terribly uneasy—shaky, panicky. I need my meds. Now. Scrambling, I find my bag and start rifling inside searching for one of the bottles, but I can't seem to find it, which only makes me panic more.

  Stars begin dancing across my eyes, and my heart is already sprinting. Shit! It's coming too fast for them to work now. I can already tell that I won't be allowed the easy way out. I won’t be fortunate enough to pass simply out until the panic passes. No, tonight I am to be tortured.

  The only thing to do now is wait for it to be over. But not here. It's not dark enough here. Not safe enough, yet.

  With trembling hands, I open my closet door and close it behind me, and the darkness welcomes me back like an old friend. As though I can't trust the door to stay closed, I hold the handle firmly shut with one hand while the other hand wraps around my chest, trying to control the shaking that's starting to consume me. The shaking will give way to the moaning, which will quickly turn into screams, so I pull down a few shirts from the clothes rack and cram them into my mouth to stifle the impending hysteria. As though waiting for me to be ready, my long caged tears begin to fall.

  I cry out for my parents, out of humiliation, out of regret, but most of all, I cry out of wanting. A want so desperately basic and pure, and yet devastatingly unattainable: to be allowed to feel something other than the numbness. I want to remember being loved and to able to give that love back.

  Curling up into a ball, I let the depression devour me, ravish me, doing absolutely nothing to stand in its way.

  Etash

  The look in her eyes...the look of absolute panic that swept across her face as she backed out of the theatre has left me terribly unsettled. I've spent the last few hours of the night pacing in my apartment trying to shake a building numbness that is crawling up my spine. But the more I pace, the worse the feeling gets. An overwhelming sense of despair clings to me with every step I take.

  As the minutes tick by, everything in my apartment starts to feel painfully bright against the starry night. Even after I turn off all of my lights, a bizarre sensation to find darkness consumes me.

  My feet lead me to, of all places, my closet. My hand trembles on the door knob for a moment before I fling it open. The darkness is strangely inviting. I step into my coat closet and I close the door, shutting out the light. Instantly, I start to tremble in the coolness of the unheated space, but can’t seem to will myself to open the door and seek warmth.

  Before I even know they are there, tears start rolling down my face. I am crying like a baby, and I have absolutely no idea why.

  Chapter 7

  Naya

  Somewhere during the night, between the anger and the anguish, morning arrives.

  It’s the annoying chirping sound of my dorm phone pulsing obnoxiously against the wall that finally forces my eyelids to open. Still securely confined inside my darkened prison, I moan. How long had I been asleep? I shift my weight slightly, pushing away a dress dangling in my face. My head throbs and my muscles are stiff. My eyes are puffy and swollen a
nd feel as though I have been crying for hours. I probably have.

  A phone rings again, but this time it’s my cell. I don’t move to answer it though. It’s Seth’s ring-tone. He’s called countless times during the night. I know I’ll have to pay for not picking up, but I just don’t have the strength to move right now.

  A small beam of light comes in through the space at the bottom of my closet door, and hits me square in the eye. There’s a boot jamming angrily into my back, and that tiny pressure against my spine brings with it the unnerving reality of last night’s episode. And I feel ashamed: ashamed that I'm going through this, again.

  And that does it. I'm now pissed at myself for allowing the depression to suck me under. I stand up, ignoring my protesting muscles and open the door, letting the morning sunlight blind me; awaken me. I take in a deep sobering breath. It’s okay; you’re safe now. You're not alone. You have Seth.

  His ring tone goes off again. Knowing it's dangerous to put him off any longer, I pick up my cell.

  “Hello. I’m fine,” I say quickly, trying to put him at ease. My voice is weak and hoarse.

  “Where are you?” he demands.

  I clear my throat. “I’m in my room.”

  There's a silence on the end of the line. “Are you alone?” he asks.

  “Seth…I…” I’m so focused on trying to explain why I hadn’t called, that I don’t really hear his question until a moment later. Wait. Did he just ask if I was alone?

  “I’m coming over,” he says, then the line goes dead.

  Okay. I wasn’t planning on having to talk to him, or anyone, quite so soon after my breakdown. His dorm is only about three blocks from mine, so that gives me about seven minutes to think about what I'm going to say to him.

  I briefly contemplate telling him the truth, but that will show weakness, and Seth hates weakness. Which means I'll have to lie.

  I have just enough time to run to the bathroom and wash my tear-streaked face, pull a comb through my hair and brush my teeth before he is pounding on the door. So much for getting out of my pjs.