“I agree to show up,” he says, his body radiating tension. “Nothing more.”
It’s good enough. “One step at a time.” Returning my attention to the paper, I make my choice.Hire out the studio to other teachers.Scary, but not paralysing. It’s a place to start.
Red ink slashes across the paper like blood as I circle the words.
Struck by an idea, I get up to rifle through my junk drawer until I find a thick red marker. Returning to the table, I take off the cap and draw a thick, wet line of ink across my palm. Grinning, I reach out to Tristan. “Give me your hand.”
“What are you doing?” he asks, even as he complies.
“It’s symbolic,” I tell him as I make a red slash on his palm to match mine. “We’re making a blood pact.”
His looks sceptical. “With a red pen?”
I roll my eyes. “We’re not actually going to cut ourselves open. That would be stupid.”
He snorts a laugh. “Agreed.”
Sitting back down, I lift my elbow onto the table and hold out my raised arm. Tristan does the same. We clasp hands, pressing our palms together. “Do or die?” I ask, using a deeply dramatic tone.
A grin tries to struggle its way onto his face, but he tames it admirably. “Do or die.”
The pact is made, and we release our grip to look down at our palms.
Tristan frowns. “Our ink blood didn’t mingle.”
Somehow, his obvious disappointment is the most charming thing I’ve ever seen. “I guess this is the last time we use a quick-dry marker for a blood pact.”
We dissolve into laughter. It’s a little manic and a little broken. But it’s real.
EIGHT
______
TRISTAN
I may be a liar, but I know how to keep my word—on the rare occasion I bother to give it. Which is why Friday night finds me perched on a cushion at the back of Sam’s meditation class.
Dressed in simple beige trousers and a black t-shirt, I have my legs crossed and my hands resting palm up on my thighs. The round cushion separating my arse from the wooden floor tilts my hips at precisely the right angle for a straight spine. Hell, I even have my eyes closed.
I’m the very picture of the perfect meditation student. As long as you don’t count the part where I’m not meditating.
Active participation was not part of the deal I made. It’s a loophole I plan to exploit as needed. If the other students want to sit here focusing on their breathing and allowing thoughts to meander through their minds willy-nilly, that’s their business. I have no intention of joining them. But as long as my butt is on this cushion, I’m fulfilling my end of the bargain.
As for figuring out Sam’s secrets so I can purge him from my new sleep routine, I’m confident the answer will become apparent in time.
Meanwhile, there are benefits to being stuck in Sam’s class, like having the opportunity to wallow in the obscene beauty of his voice.The voice.The one he uses on his app. It was something of a shock to hear him use it when the class began. I’m used to his regular way of speaking now and hearing him talk still makes my toes curl. But his meditation voice… Does. Me. The. Fuck. In.
My dick has long-since learned to spring to attention at the sound of Siren Sam. When he started talking, I had to position my hands over my lap for several minutes to cover the evidence in case anyone—most likely Sam—looked in my direction.
He’s been quiet for a while now, though. Soft music plays from a speaker in the corner, but otherwise the room is silent, despite the dozen people sitting motionless within its walls. I feel like an idiot, sitting here doing nothing. I mean, we’re all doing nothing, but everyone else is doing nothing with purpose. Seems like it makes a difference.
Opening my eyes, I look around the room. Alice is up front. I declined the invitation to join her, preferring to hide at the back where my lack of participation is less obvious. She was excited when I told her I’d be joining the class. I followed her when we drove over after work. Being well-rested enough to get back behind the wheel is a convenience I won’t soon take for granted.
Arriving with Alice turned out to be ideal because she showed me the partially concealed path I didn’t notice last time I came here. Unsigned, but illuminated by solar lights, the stepping-stone path leads down the left side of the house to Sam’s studio. Large ferns and other plants provide a border, and high trellises teem with jasmine. The path ends at a pair of carved wooden doors with a simple sign hanging above.Sam’s Sanctuary.The transition, from the busyness of the world through the calm of nature to the studio on the other side, is truly impressive.
The studio itself takes up most of the bottom floor of the house. The open area in the middle, interrupted only by a few load-bearing posts, is barely filled to half its capacity by tonight’s class. Floor lamps provide ambient lighting, although the wide windows would allow for plenty of sunlight during the day. The flooring is pale, probably bamboo. Shelves provide square storage spaces for the colourful cushions we’re using. Abstract paintings decorate the walls and plants are dotted throughout.
Behind me, the back of the studio is bisected by an L-shaped staircase leading to the top floor of the house. On the left is a small bathroom. The space on the right, tucked under the upper flight of the staircase, has a kitchenette with a wall urn, sink and cupboards. Two small couches and a coffee table delineate the area.
