by D. C. Ruins
"Hey," Jen said shyly. She put her hand on Drew's arm. "I apologize if this is too forward, or if it's a painful subject for you still. But I just wanted to say that I read your story in the paper. And I think that you're really brave for testifying."
Drew blinked at her, unsure what to say. She didn't want to be rude, so she gave Jen another thumbs-up, her eyes crinkling slightly at the corners.
Jen nodded and patted her arm, then pointed toward the wings of the stage. "When this dancer goes off, you're up," she whispered.
Drew's stomach erupted in nerves as she moved toward the wings of the stage, in between the curtains. Her heart pounded and her breathing increased through her nose. Her hands and feet went freezing cold and she tightened all of her muscles to keep the shakes at bay. She already knew where her family was seated—they were in the second row near the center aisle. She thought she had seen a blonde who looked like Lana earlier, but she couldn't be sure and didn't have the time to take a good look. She reasoned it probably wasn't; if she hadn't heard from Heath all week, she certainly couldn't expect his family to show up to something he wasn't going to even be present for.
As the music faded away for the dancer currently performing, Drew gulped noisily. She squeezed her eyes shut and crossed herself. With the houselights still low, she hurried noiselessly onto the stage, the wood cold below her mostly bare feet. She got into her starting position, kneeling on the floor, and took another deep breath. Her song started and the lights came back up gradually, in synch with the music. Drew preferred that to the lights coming up blaringly bright before her song started; it allowed her to relax into her movements without the pressure of being beheld by every audience member for a few long seconds before her music began to play.
Drew pushed everything out of her mind—her stage-fright; what her life had been like a year ago; what it had turned into; her stresses with her family; the stress of the weekend; losing the studio; her issues with Heath. She gathered all of those things up, and dumped them into a dirty laundry hamper in the closet of her mind and shut the door. Her mind transformed into blank space with room only for the music, the emotion, and the movement.
And she began.
***
Heath elbowed his way into the theater one minute past seven; he was shamefully out of breath, but he was showered, changed, and clutching a huge bouquet of flowers—a mixture of stargazer lilies, tulips, hydrangeas, and baby pink roses.
The theater was dark and silent, save for soft noises of a throat clearing here and there, someone shifting in their seat, a cough, a sniffle, a whisper. Suddenly the strains of a vaguely familiar song floated through the air and the houselights gradually began to brighten. He saw Drew kneeling in the center of the stage, dressed in black with what looked like duct tape over her mouth and red paint in places on her body. She slowly rose to her feet, extending each leg high into the air gracefully in time with the music, before suddenly, the beat burst to life and she danced with strength and energy.
Heath had watched her dance before, once, when he'd first come to see her at the Y. As a complete ignoramus of the art of dance, he had been impressed. Since then, he'd seen a professional performance and been forced to watch the performing arts channel on cable that Drew insisted on watching regularly. She had explained things to him, and he'd come to develop a tiny, secret appreciation for it. Now that he was just slightly more educated about it, he was floored as he watched her movements.
The height of her leaps, the straightness of her legs, the strength and control she had over her muscles, the fluidity of movement and absolute grace she embodied, the ease with which she executed her complex and expert choreography blew him away. Moreover, he knew there was a difference between going through the movements of choreography and dancing with real emotion. Her eyes would dully move across the audience from time to time, but Heath knew she wasn't really seeing anything or anyone. She was "seeing" with her emotions; he knew she might be in the same room with them all, but she was a million miles away.
Every so often, at a verse change or a music change, she reached up and ripped off a layer of tape. He took it to mean that she was shedding some sort of silence, some sort of fear. At the climax of the song, the houselights dimmed completely, but there was very faint backlighting from the backstage area. He could see her silhouette as she moved, but what caught his attention were the glowing red streaks of paint suddenly illuminated in the darkness. He studied them curiously for a moment, not sure what they meant, until a set of streaks on the inside of her ankle caught his attention and pulled his memory back to that awful night when he'd first learned of her secret.
He abruptly realized he was staring at the brutality she had inflicted upon herself, at one time the only way she knew how to deal with the emotional pain that was tearing her apart.
He watched as she spun on the ball of one foot, her head back, her long hair streaming out behind her, her arms down at her sides and her hands gracefully poised. He studied the straightness of her supporting leg, the point of the other foot lifted to the knee, the arch of her back. The paint flashed around as she spun, and he could only watch in silent amazement. She bore her scars boldly, shamelessly, defiantly. This is who I was, she seemed to be saying. This is what I did.
As the lights crashed back on she stared at the audience fiercely as she came out of her turn, extending a leg at hip-height straight out to the side. Her brown eyes were flashing with something like anger and she yanked the last scrap of tape off her mouth, revealing a thin black X over her lips. She executed a leap/turn combination and as the music wound down, the passion and anger seemed to leave her movements, grace taking their place. Her movements gentled and gradually, as the music faded out, she resumed her original position, kneeling on the floor, in the middle of the stages. The lights dimmed.
Heath heard a wild, ear-piercing whoop from somewhere near the front of the stage and he let out a long, heavy breath, feeling his heart thudding in his chest. He was surprised to discover he'd been actually holding his breath, and had no idea for how long. It seemed that it had been for a long while; he was out of breath again.
He had no interest in watching any of the other performances; he only wanted to find his dancer, congratulate her on her extremely moving performance, give her the flowers he was tired of clutching like a chump, and apologize profusely for neglecting her the way he had. He slipped out of the door to the theater and walked into the lobby, trying to find a way backstage.
"Heath!"
Heath turned at the sound of his name being called and spotted Drew's sisters waving at him. He looked a little harder and behind them, he saw the rest of her family, plus Bunz. And behind them, to his surprise, he saw his own. He walked over to them quickly, offering a half-smile. Mr. Carnevale reached for his hand, his standard greeting, and Drew's mother reached up to brush both of his cheeks with her own.
"We were wondering what happened to you," Nik said, her tone vaguely threatening. "Seemed like you went all MIA for a little while."
"I did, kind of," Heath said. "I had a good reason, though, I assure you." He proceeded to give them a brief summary of the reconciliation from the Smackdown fallout, and what he'd done with some of that money. By the time he was through, Nik, Toni and Mrs. Carnevale were all teary eyed, and Mr. Carnevale looked quietly impressed.
"You can't tell her, though," Heath said. "This has to be kept strictly confidential. When the place is ready, I want you guys to all be there and help me surprise her."
"We'd love to!" Mrs. Carnevale exclaimed. Her eyes glistened. "Oh, Heath. That is just the sweetest thing."
Heath got that uncomfortable feeling he got when he was praised and cleared his throat. "Just wanted to do something nice for her. Hopefully she doesn't hate me."
"She'll be fine," Nik said with a watery smile.
"She'll be pissed that you snatched that place right out from under her," Mr. Carnevale said with a chuckle. "She was sort of looking forward to handlin
g all of that on her own."
Heath tilted his head, considering his point. "I never thought of that," he admitted.
Toni laughed outright. "No good deed goes unpunished. You'll see."
"Well, I'm sure I've already got quite the punishment coming my way," he said. He gestured to the bouquet in his hands. "I better go find her."
"The dressing rooms are down that hallway," Nik said, pointing. "Hers is the seventh door down on the left. Her name is on it."
"Thanks," Heath said, turning to head off in that direction.
"So what was up with that paint on her body?" he heard Nik asking as he walked away. He wondered how Drew was going to handle those questions; as far as he knew, her family had never been aware that she'd ever self-harmed.
He turned down the hallway of dressing rooms, almost getting knocked over by a flurry of activity as dancers in varying levels of dress went rushing back and forth, in and out of rooms. He located the seventh door down on the left, seeing Drew's name printed out on a simple sheet of paper, and knocked on the closed door.
After a moment, he heard the sound of shuffling feet and the door opened a little. Her face peeked out, her eyes watery and her face slightly splotchy red. The look on her face went from cautiously curious to amazed to furious to hurt, in a matter of seconds. Her mouth opened to speak, and then snapped shut as she looked up at him.
"Can I come in?" he asked quietly.
Her eyes narrowed as fresh tears filled them, but she stepped back silently and opened the door wider to let him through. He slipped into the tiny room, feeling real nervousness as she shut the door behind him and turned toward him, folding her arms across her chest. She wouldn't look at him.
She was still wearing her costume, but she had started the process of taking off her stage makeup. He must have interrupted her, or something had, because old tears had left clean rivulets down her heavily foundationed cheeks. There was a box of makeup removing wipes on the tiny lit vanity in the corner and he saw smudges of makeup on them.
"Drew," he said gently. "I—I am really sorry I've been out of the loop for the past couple days. But I came tonight, I saw you perform. You were incredible. Really."
She glanced up at him. "You saw it?"
He nodded solemnly. "I did."
"Where have you been all week?" she demanded angrily. "This has been a really tough week for me. I—" She broke off, almost as though she caught herself. Then she shook her head and barreled on anyway. "I needed you! You just left me high and dry! Was it because of what I said to you at the courthouse?"
"What?" Heath was genuinely surprised at the vehemence of her feelings. He had truly been busy this week, much of that time spent doing things for her, and he knew he'd been wrong to let so many days go by without saying anything. But for her to think that it was because of her telling him she loved him hurt his heart. "No, Drew—hell no!"
The anger drained out of her face, leaving only melancholy sadness. "Then what?" she asked mournfully. "What else could it be? I didn't mean to scare you off, or imply that you should feel the same way about me, Heath. I just—I just wanted to let you know how I feel. How I really feel." She shook her head, the terrible sadness in her eyes making Heath feel like history's biggest asshole. "I guess maybe I shouldn't have said any–"
Heath tossed the enormous bouquet of flowers he'd been holding for the past hour onto her vanity and took one giant step toward her, crossing the room and closing the distance between them. He grabbed her around the waist, ignoring the startled look she gave him and practically scooped her up into the air, pressing her body into the wall as he lowered his face to hers. She squealed in surprise just a little when he voraciously took her mouth with his own, one hand gripping her waist tightly while the other firmly cupped her jaw, forcing her to stay in place lest she try to wriggle away from him. Her bare feet stood on top of his shoes and her hands clutched at him frantically as he moved his lips insistently over hers, desperate to remove any insecurity or doubt in her mind.
He glared down into her face as he continued to kiss her hard and deep, searching for any remnants of sadness that would indicate he wasn't kissing her convincingly enough, and was pleased when he saw her brow had smoothed out, that her eyelids were gently shut and she was beginning to return his kisses. He eased up his pressure loosened his hold on her ever so slightly and sucked gently at her bottom lip before pulling away from her. He didn't move too far back, and brought his other hand to her face as he leaned his forehead against hers.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I really am. I didn't mean to make you feel so neglected. Things have been changing for me, changing fast, and I just –"
"Changing?" she whispered back, some of the sadness creeping back into her eyes. "Like how you feel about me?"
"No!" he insisted harshly, then considered his words. His talk with Connor from the other day flashed through his mind. "I meant my life has been changing, in a good way. I didn't mean my feelings for you, but now that you mention it, I guess, yeah—they did change."
Drew's brow creased again and she let her hands drop from his shoulders, shrinking back against the wall.
"I knew it," she said sadly. "I put too much pressure on you. I'm sorr–"
"Will you shut up?" he said quietly, a crooked half-grin crossing his face. "I'm trying to say I love you back. Okay? This stuff isn't easy for me." He swallowed. He hadn't meant for it to come out quite that way, but there it was. He held his breath as he scanned her face. She looked startled again, then a rosy flush crept over her olive complexion, and her dimples dug deeply into her cheeks as a slow, wide smile spread over her face.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Drew leaned against the wall, Heath's hands still around her waist to keep her there, and they simply looked at each other. Heath felt a little bit uncomfortable, his uttered words hanging in the air between them, unable to be taken back. He knew he couldn't take them back now, and didn't want to. It was hard for him to get to this point, hard to form the words, but he had said them, and he meant them.
As Drew wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face against his chest, still smiling, and he realized he could smell the sweet fragrance of her hair, he thought that he really, really meant them.
Chapter Thirty-Five
When they finally emerged from her dressing room and made their way back to the lobby, the two families burst into applause and Drew blushed deeply, waving them off.
"C'mon, guys," she mumbled. It took several long moments for everyone to get their hugs in with her, congratulating her.
Mr. Carnevale smiled at his youngest, slinging an arm around her neck. "You were beautiful, honey," he said, pressing a loud kiss to her temple. "Listen, we're all going back to the café. I got pizza. You two in?"
"Yes," Drew said. "You said 'pizza'. Duh."
"All right. You all can come?" Mr. Carnevale asked, gesturing to John, Connor, Lana and the little girls.
"Yep," Connor replied with a smile. "Wouldn't miss it. You also had me at 'pizza'."
"Drew!" Lucy cried, dropping her father's hand and rushing toward her with Maggie at her heels. "You were so good!"
"Thanks, sweetie," Drew said with a tiny grunt as the girls barreled into her. "I'm so glad you guys could make it!"
"It was so good," Maggie said in her tiny voice. "I can't wait to start dancing with you at your dance school."
Drew cocked her head curiously. "Well, that won't be for a little bit yet, honey. But one day, yes."
"But Daddy said –"
"Okay, then!" Connor exclaimed jovially, reaching out and grabbing Maggie affectionately by her ponytail and tugging her back toward him gently. "We should get goin', huh? Who's hungry? Who wants pizza?"
The girls cheered, forgetting about Drew for the moment, and Connor, Lana and John steered them toward the door.
"We'll meet you at the café!" Lana called over her shoulder with a wave. "See you in a little bit!"
"What was she talk
ing about?" Drew asked Heath as he took her by the hand and led her toward the entrance behind her family.
He cocked an eyebrow. "Lana was referencing the pizza party at your parents' café, that you father just mentioned three seconds ago," he replied patiently. "You feelin' okay?"
Drew glared at him wryly and smacked him on the shoulder. "I meant your niece. About dancing at my 'dance school'."
Heath shrugged and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her in tight. "You know how kids are. She probably just got carried away from the excitement of finally seeing you dance. You were damn good."
Drew glowed under his praise. "Thanks," she said quietly. "It really means a lot to me that you came." She gestured to the bouquet in her arms. "And got me these. They're gorgeous! All my favorite flowers."
"I do what I can," Heath replied, giving her a mock cocky smile.
"Come on, you slow asses," Nik called over her shoulder. "We're hungry!"
"We'll meet you there," Drew replied. "I want to go home and feed Rocky first, though."
"Well, hurry up!" Toni added. "Don't keep us waiting too long."
"Who said I'm takin' you anywhere?" Heath asked teasingly. "Don't be 'we' and actin' like I'm your chauffeur."
Drew smiled. "Aren't you?" she exclaimed. "C'mon, hurry up. I'm starving!"
They made it back to Bloomfield in record time, caravanning behind Drew's parents and her sisters and their families. Heath drove a few blocks past the café to Drew's apartment and walked with her upstairs.
She stopped short at the site of her door slightly ajar.
"Heath," she breathed.
"I see," he said, and she glanced over at him, seeing his jaw slightly clenched. "Get behind me."
Drew obeyed hesitantly, watching as he pushed her door open noiselessly. She followed him inside her apartment as he made a quick circuit of the living room and the kitchen. When he stepped out of the kitchen, he caught her eye and pointed at the couch. The look in his eyes made her stomach clench with fear.