But itdoesmatter, because he lied right to my face.
Gritting my teeth, I focus on the ache it creates and storm through to the kitchen to grab some water from the fridge before I make my way to the studio. I haven’t danced since the accident and perhaps that’s what I’m missing. Perhaps it isn’t men and their lies that makes me feel like I am drowning, maybe I just need to dance.
I shut the door behind me and cross to the sound system, pausing only for a few seconds to admire the art on the wall. It takes my breath away every time I look at it.
With the system on, I pull up my playlist and scroll through the songs I have saved, there’s a few on here I don’t remember adding and don’t know if I have a routine for them yet. Nothing is calling to me though, so I scroll through the endless list of music until something catches my eye.
It’s not a song I remember dancing to, but I do know it and it’s a fantastic, soul speaking cover.
Hitting play, the first notes ofNothing Else Mattersby Apocalyptica begin to echo through the studio. Closing my eyes, I fall to the rhythm of the music, each note vibrating inside my bones.
My body moves gently, spinning and dipping and usually I’d watch myself in the mirror, I’d watch how my body reacts but with this, I can’t. Not when the way the music is flowing is bringing on more tears, ones I cannot stop. The music forces me to feel it all, the heartache, the sorrow that has nowhere to go. I feel the sting of the lies as if they were a whip, and the deep-rooted ache that makes me crave his presence.
I feel powerless and powerful in every step, my heart thumping wildly inside of my chest. The phantom whisper of his kiss lingers on my lips, my skin pebbling as I replay the way his hands felt on my body. I want those memories; I want them so badly. I need to know.
I know it won’t just happen though; I know it isn’t that simple, but I can pray to whatever divine being is out there and beg for something,anything.
It isn’t fucking fair.
It isn’t fair that he knows, and I don’t, it isn’t fair that he kept it from me, that he lied and took and pretended my feelings were misplaced.
Now I know they weren’t. Now I know there is something tying us together, some type of bond that I need answers to.
Even if those answers are simple and it was a one-time thing.
Deep in my heart, I know it is more than that.
So, I keep dancing, creating a deeply emotional routine that resonates within the walls.
And when the song is over, I restart it to refine the dance, this time keeping my eyes open so I can watch myself bleed all over this wooden floor.
Thirteen times later, I wipe the sweat from my brow, shut off the music and down half my bottle of water before I notice a text notification.
I am sorry, Tiny Dancer.
“You’re stunning,” His deep voice echoes through the room behind me and I jump about a foot into the air, letting out a shrill scream. I didn’t see or hear him come in but when I whirl around, he’s leaning against the far wall, and he looks like he’s been there for a while, bathed in the shadows where the light doesn’t touch.
“Killian,” I place my hand over my racing heart.
His head cocks to the side, and steps forward, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
My eyes widen when I take in his appearance, the dark bruising around his eye, the swelling and the cut on his cheekbone, another on his lip. It looks fresh.
“What happened to you?” I step closer and then force myself to stop.
He gives me a sad smile, “Your brother.”
My head snaps back, “Sebastian did that?”
“I knew he would,” He sighs and pushes off the wall.
“But why?”
“Because I told him,” He glances to the door, “Can we talk?”
“Will it be the truth?” I counter.
“Yes, Tiny Dancer, only the truth.”
