Truth

by Penelope Sky

  When he came back to my mouth, his eyes looked different.

  Wet.

  Reflective.

  Emotional.

  My hands cupped his face and I steadied him, so I could look at him, see the same look mirrored back at me. My heart shattered even more, witnessing the strongest man I’d ever known come apart the way I did, show his vulnerability like he didn’t care how it made him look.

  He positioned our bodies so he could slide inside me, combine our souls so we wouldn’t have to feel the anguish anymore. So, we could get lost in each other for a while…and numb the pain.

  The instant we were done, he got out of bed and pulled on his clothes, keeping his back to me. He dragged the long-sleeved shirt over his head and pulled his bottoms over his tight ass, purposely not looking at me, like that was the last thing he wanted.

  Then he exited my bedroom, not saying a word.

  I went after him, naked, unsure what I would say, unsure why I was following him at all.

  He moved quickly, like he wanted to avoid me, wanted to get out of my apartment as fast as possible, unable to look at me because it was too damn hard. He stepped into the hallway and pulled the door shut behind him without turning around, his arm moving behind him and locating the knob by touch. Then he left.

  I stared at the closed door and listened to his footsteps as they became more and more distant. Even when they were gone, I thought I still heard them, but that was just my mind playing tricks on me, fabricating my desires.

  I turned around and saw the sunflowers he’d left for me. He did his best arranging them, but they clearly had the touch of an inexperienced hand, a man trying to impress a woman without knowing how.

  I grabbed the stems and moved them around, turning them into a professional arrangement. I stared at the yellow petals, the light to my darkness, the torch on my forgotten path.

  Then I started to cry.

  Sleeping together was a short-term solution that created an even bigger problem.

  Maybe we should stop…for both of our sakes.

  That was so hard to do, to take away the one that kept me going, that kept me focused on the future.

  It was opening night at the ballet for our new production. We’d been training hard for weeks, getting ready to debut our holiday performances. Instead of doing a show we’d already done in the past, we learned new choreography, new versions of old songs, so our loyal audience always had a reason to come back.

  Work was one of the few things that got me through the breakup because it kept me busy—and tired. Without it, I probably wouldn’t be able to sleep at all, and it also gave me a reason to get out of the house, to focus on something that had nothing to do with my own pain.

  During the second act, I had my solo, dancing across the stage alone so the crew would have time to change the set, the dancers would have the opportunity to change into their next round of costumes.

  I’d been dancing a long time, so I considered myself a professional, holding my body tight so nothing would slip, nothing would go wrong.

  But there was a small piece of paper that had somehow made it on stage, and when I landed after my jump, I slipped on it.

  And fell hard.

  Anytime we messed up, we just carried on like nothing happened.

  But I couldn’t carry on.

  I tried to stand, but my foot couldn’t support me.

  That was when I saw the bone pressing against the skin.

  The audience started to whisper, their concerns getting louder. The crew came out to help me, figuring out quickly that something was seriously wrong. They hooked their arms underneath mine and lifted me.

  The audience clapped like I was an injured player at a sporting event.

  But I didn’t hear them because all I could hear was my pain.

  I knew what had happened without checking.

  I’d broken my ankle—and my career was over.

  I was in a daze, traumatized by what had taken place.

  Did this really just happen to me?

  With all the other shit I had to deal with?

  Now, I’d just lost my job?

  “I’ll call an ambulance,” Tracy said, looking for her phone.

  Andre examined my ankle, sighing at the injury. “Yeah, that’s definitely broken. I’m sorry, Cat.”

  Tears streaked down my cheeks, not from pain, but from heartbreak. “No…it’s not broken. It’s just a strain. I’ll be as good as new in a week…”

  Andre gave me a look of pity before he turned to my understudy, who’d just changed into her costume. “After this number, you’re going to jump in. You ready?”

  She nodded, nervous that she was taking my place on such short notice.

  But she wouldn’t be just taking my place for long. Now, she would have my job.

  Tracy returned once she’d found her phone at her station. “I’ll call now.”

  “I’ll take her.” Heath emerged from behind everyone, looking at me with an expression that mirrored my own pain, like he knew exactly what I was feeling, like he understood that my entire world had just come apart. He kneeled in front of me so he could scoop his arms underneath my body to lift me.

  He must have come to the opening night of my show to watch me dance, to hide in the shadows of the theatre just so he could look at me, admire me from afar. So, he’d watched me fall, watched me lose everything in real time. Looking into his eyes, I started to sob, so grateful that the one person who truly understood was there.

  “Baby, I got you.” He lifted me to his chest and carried me out the back door.

  My arms circled his neck, and I cried against his shoulder, sobbed into his t-shirt. “No…” I was so glad I could hide my face from everyone as he carried me away, that I could use his size to cover me, that I had someone who could take care of me when I was too embarrassed to let anyone else do it…except him.

  After some X-rays and an official diagnosis, I went home with pain killers, a cast, and a pair of crutches.

  I sat in the bed with a blank look on my face, praying this was a dream, praying I would wake up and find this was just one of my nightmares. Without my job, I had no way to pay my bills. Without my job, I’d lost my only outlet of happiness. Without my job…I wasn’t me.

  Heath didn’t say anything to me, didn’t try to make me feel better with meaningless words. He knew I was traumatized, knew I didn’t want anything but silence. He also gave me space, like he knew I just needed some time to accept what happened.

  Once I was discharged, Heath picked me up again and carried the crutches with his other arm, because both things at once were no problem for him. He got me into the truck then drove me home, carrying me the rest of the way into my apartment.

  I was usually too proud to let someone help me like that, but I had no pride inside me anymore. No fire. Nothing.

  He carried me to my bed and leaned the crutches in a corner of the room. Then he grabbed a glass of water and put the pills on the nightstand, the next dose of pain killers to get me through the night.

  I leaned against the headboard and stared at my foot, wrapped in a cast, the flesh past my knee swollen from the injury. With my arms crossed over my chest, I just sat there, my eyes as swollen as my ankle.

  Heath sat on the edge of the bed, wearing a long-sleeved shirt and jeans, his elbows on his knees as he looked the other way, like he knew I didn’t want him to stare at me, to watch me hit rock bottom.

  If he hadn’t been there, I would have had to ride in the back of an ambulance, call my brother and listen to him lose his mind with concern, or just sit there alone…and cry. I was at my weakest point, and Heath was the only person allowed to see me like this, the only person I was completely comfortable with. So, I forced the words from my lips, tears welling up in my eyes again. “Thank you…”

  He was quiet.

  I was touched that he’d come to watch me dance, that he was always there for me, even when I couldn’t see him. It was so romantic�
�and it killed me that I couldn’t have him. “You can go, Heath. I’m just going to go to sleep.”

  He didn’t move, staring at the open doorway.

  I’d ended things with him, so it wasn’t his responsibility to take care of me. He wasn’t obligated whatsoever. I could handle myself. The doctor said it would take six weeks to heal, so I just had to have Damien drop off groceries and maybe help me with laundry…and take me to physical therapy. Now that I’d thought through everything, I realized how much work it was. Damien and Anna had jobs, Tracy had practice and performances, and my dad was too old to do that stuff.

  And now I had to figure out how to pay my bills. I had some cash in savings, but not enough. All I had to do was ask Damien for some money, but I was still too proud to do that. I leaned my head against the headboard and sighed loudly.

  Then there was the biggest problem of all… Would I ever able to dance again?

  It was hard for people to get back into it after an injury because their body was never the same again. They couldn’t be as competitive. They couldn’t be as strong. They couldn’t be the best.

  And dance was everything to me.

  Heath slowly turned to me, finally looking at me head on for the first time since he’d lifted me from the bench backstage. “I’m not going anywhere, baby. I’ll be right here until you’re better.”

  I did my best to steady my tears, but it was so hard to look him in the eye without being overwhelmed by gratitude, overwhelmed by the way he loved me. He didn’t owe me anything, not after the way I broke his heart. “You don’t have to do that.”

  He hadn’t blinked since he’d looked at me. “You took care of me. I’ll do the same for you.”

  I shook my head. “But that was—”

  “And even if you hadn’t, I would still be right here.” He rose from the bed and started to strip off his clothes, removing everything except his boxers. He turned off the light then came back to the bed. “Let’s get you into something more comfortable.”

  “You don’t have to—”

  He pressed his forehead to mine. “Let me take care of you.” He gave me a fierce look, his blue eyes commanding.

  I didn’t even know how to get out of my costume without help since everything was so tight. The doctor had to cut off part of the tights to get to my foot. So, I did need Heath’s help. Otherwise, I’d have to sleep in this.

  He helped me out of it, taking his time to make sure he didn’t hurt me, and when everything was gone, he put a pair of pajama shorts and a new top on me, not staring at my tits like he normally would, like he didn’t want me to think this was about sex. “Take your pills, and let’s go to sleep.”

  “You’re going to stay with me?” I whispered.

  He got in beside me, adjusting the covers so they stayed around his waist like he preferred, but they were pulled to my shoulder so I wouldn’t get cold. “Yes.”

  I took the pills and swallowed them with water before I lay down again.

  He grabbed a pillow and placed it under my foot to elevate it. Then he lay down again, keeping a few inches between us so he wouldn’t crowd me.

  I turned my face toward him so I could look at him, just the way he used to look at me when he was injured in his bed.

  His hand snaked to mine, and he interlocked our fingers. “It’s going to be okay.”

  Tears formed in my eyes. “I’m afraid I’ll never dance again…”

  “You will.”

  “I don’t know—”

  “I do. You’re the strongest person I know. You’re going to get there—and I’m gonna push you until you do.”

  When I woke up the next morning, he wasn’t beside me in bed. I moved to get out of bed, but then I was painfully reminded of my broken ankle. I stilled once my nerves winced in pain. I had to use the bathroom, and my eyes moved to the crutches in the corner, which seemed to be a world away. Then I heard Heath moving in the kitchen. “Heath?”

  He stopped what he was doing and came to me. “I’m here.” He rounded the corner and came to the bed, in his boxers, his hair messy from sleeping beside me all night.

  “Could you hand me those?” I nodded to the corner.

  “You don’t need them. You have me.”

  “Well, I need to use the restroom and—”

  He lifted me from the bed and carried me into the bathroom before sitting me on the toilet.

  “You don’t need to do that every time…”

  “I’m a lot stronger than those plastic crutches.” He walked out and shut the door behind himself.

  I did my business then balanced on one foot to wash my hands. When I was done, I opened the door.

  Heath grabbed me again and set me on the couch. “I just finished making breakfast. We’ll eat and watch a movie.”

  I couldn’t believe he really wanted to wait on me hand and foot for the next six weeks.

  He placed the food onto plates then brought one to me. It was pancakes and tater tots, my favorite. He also brought a mug of coffee before he sat beside me with his breakfast.

  I picked at the food, feeling a lot better having him beside me than being alone. I couldn’t imagine doing this by myself, not because I needed him to take care of me, but because he made me feel better…a lot better.

  The week passed quickly, even though I didn’t do anything.

  Heath stocked my kitchen with groceries, did my laundry, took care of me, and when the bills were due, he paid them.

  I argued, but that argument didn’t last long.

  He had to work most nights, but since I was asleep anyway, I hardly noticed he was gone. When he came home, he made me breakfast and put me on the couch before he went to sleep in my bedroom.

  It became a routine.

  We didn’t talk a lot. We didn’t make love either. Even if we’d wanted to, my foot was such a burden in the cast that it wasn’t possible.

  When Saturday night arrived, I was hit with another dose of depression.

  Because the show went on without me.

  My understudy had the spotlight, and if Andre and everyone else fell in love with her, I might not be able to get my job back even if I made a full recovery. I might be booted to the B team…and never climb back to the top.

  I sat in front of the TV and stared at the screen blankly, caring more about the time showing on the cable box. I waited for the performance to be over so I could stop thinking about the evening, the way the hot lights used to make me sweat, the way I couldn’t hear anything over the orchestra when I danced on the stage.

  Then it was finally over.

  Heath glanced at me from his seat beside me, like he’d noticed something was wrong. He grabbed my hand, interlocked our fingers, and held it on his thigh. He stared at me with his piercing blue gaze, like he could read written words in my eyes. “This isn’t forever, baby. I promise.”

  I loved that he knew exactly what I was thinking without me having to explain it, that he was understanding of my emotions but also firm in his belief that I would get better, that I would make a full recovery and be as strong as ever.

  I would never find another man like him.

  No one would ever understand me the way he did.

  No one would ever love me the way he did. “I love you…” I knew I shouldn’t say it, shouldn’t put those feelings into the universe when nothing had changed. But I couldn’t help it. Couldn’t hold back the emotion in my heart.

  His eyes softened slightly, his fingers squeezing mine. “I know.”

  A knock sounded on the door.

  Heath’s hand was still in mine as we watched the movie. His eyes flicked to the door then to me, silently asking me if I expected anyone.

  I shook my head.

  He got to his feet and walked to the door, peering through the peephole. When he turned to me, an annoyed expression on his face, it was obvious who it was.

  Damien knocked again before he spoke. “Cat, I know you’re home. Open the door.”

  Oh no.
>
  Heath grabbed my crutches and helped me onto them before he walked into the bedroom and shut the door. He knew showing his face would just make things worse with Damien, so it was better to disappear than provoke my brother’s wrath. So, he hid his face…like a dirty secret.

  That felt so wrong, it made me sick. Heath was the one dropping everything to take care of me, and he had to leave the room when he had every right to stay. I made it to the door and opened it.

  Damien stood there in a suit, Anna slightly behind him in a gown.

  It took me less than a heartbeat to figure out what had happened.

  He’d gone to my show, realized I’d been replaced, and then came to my apartment to confront me about it. He opened his mouth to issue a million questions, but when he saw my foot in a cast, the crutches supporting me, he shut his mouth and sighed.

  Anna gasped. “Girl, oh no…”

  “What happened?” Damien entered my apartment with Anna, his eyes on the white cast that encompassed my foot and ankle.

  “I broke my ankle, so I’ll be like this for six weeks.”

  He released another sigh, sadness filling his eyes. “Cat, I’m so sorry.” He leaned into me and hugged me with one arm, careful not to topple me over. He was my brother again, loving, affectionate, and with a heart of gold. He pulled away and looked down at my injury, even though he couldn’t distinguish anything underneath.

  “Yeah…” I used the crutches to balance on one foot, but I struggled because I had no experience with them. Heath carried me everywhere. “It’s been hard.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  I shrugged. “I just…didn’t want to talk about it.”

  He continued to pity me, like he wished he could fix it for me. But no one could. “When did this happen?”

  “Last week.”

  He looked around my apartment, seeing the dirty pans on the stove and the perfectly clean apartment. “Then how have you…” He turned around and noticed that my bedroom door was closed.