“I’m just saying, I don’t know if?—”
“Babe. I got it, okay? You’re not gonna be there alone. No fucking way.”
I nod, realizing who I’m talking to. “I understand.”
“Do something for me though. I want to watch your body move.”
An unusual shyness comes over me, but I push it away and try to sit in this puddle of vulnerability Specter creates around me. Shaking my hands out, I close my eyes for a second and center myself.
When I can, I like to practice all the ballet still bopping around my head. I don’t have pointe shoes, and they’d be nice, but it’s also been ages since I’ve tried them, so I’m happy enough in my flats. I start with a demi-plié then move into glissade, focusing on my balance and strength. Soft classical music still plays from my phone, my favorite score, “Chopin’s Prelude in E Minor,” and I let it seep into my soul, guiding my movements.
I’m not looking at Specter. I can’t, but I feel his eyes on me. I feel his desire, his protectiveness, just hispresence. I shift into first arabesque before showing off by bending forward and pointing my lifted leg to the sky, my body almost perpendicular.
Specter hums softly, but I continue dancing in my own world, deviating from classic ballet and into my own breed of dancing. Bending backward, I keep going until my hands touch the floor, still with one leg extended.
“Jesus,” Specter murmurs.
I finish by swiveling into a slow back flip, then into splits. Then I crawl to the pole, only inches away, but it’s for effect. I know he’s watching my every move and I’m eating it up.
Shimmying up the pole, I grab the top, using all my upper body strength to pull myself onto it, hook my legs around it and swing, slowly at first, until I pick up momentum and the world becomes a blur as I run my hands up my neck, my hair falling like water around me.
I want to practice part of the routine I have planned for Sunday, so I grip the pole, spreading my legs wide in an aerial split, my arms holding all my weight. I wrap one leg around the pole, flipping upside down and swaying my upper body back and forth in a slow shimmy. Then I shift again, swinging wildly around, flipping my hair through my hands before hooking my knee around the pole again and falling backward to circle it.
I dismount, falling to my knees and crawling into the space between me and Specter until I’m between his legs. He watches me with hooded eyes, his arms crossed tightly like he won’t be able to not touch me if he lets them loose.
Getting to my feet, I walk Specter backward to a weight bench and push his chest. The song changes to “Dernière Danse,” the happy beat lifting the mood.
“What does it mean?” Specter asks.
“What?”
“Dernière Danse.”
I raise an eyebrow. “That’s pretty good pronunciation.”
He smiles, almost sheepishly, a side I haven’t seen before. “What does it mean?”
“The last dance.” I climb onto his lap. “It’s a sad song, even though it doesn’t sound like it. It’s about a girl who’s suffering but she still dances through it all.”
He nods, understanding the words I didn’t say. Yes, the song speaks to me.
“You’re so beautiful. I can’t get over it.”
“You don’t have to.”
“You know I’m not just talking about your face, right?”
Nodding, I whisper, “I know.”
Specter does that thing where he wraps his large hand around my chin, his fingers extending to cover my cheeks, and pulls my face towards his until our lips meet. I practically melt under his touch, which is so disconcerting, but I don’t have it in me to put the walls back up and guard my heart. I don’t know what that means, so I just give in to it and let this man kiss me like he’s possessing my soul.
“I have to tell you something,” he says softly, dotting a few brief pecks over my lips before pulling back slightly.
My chest tightens as that all-too-familiar sense of dread washes over me. “Okay.”
“It’s not bad.” His thumb brushes my cheek. “Just a plan.”
Clearing my throat, I sit up a little straighter. “I’m listening.”
