Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
“I would love that,” I said.
“I have one of our old performances on DVD. I haven’t watched it in ages.”
“Break it out. I’m dying to see it.”
She stood up. “Okay, let me get it.”
I wiped my sweaty palms on my pants as she took off in search of the DVD.
When she returned, I could’ve sworn I saw her hand tremble as she popped it into the DVD player.
“Are you nervous to show me?”
Carys smiled shyly. “A little.”
“Don’t be.”
She pressed play. At first, the camera was so far away, it was hard to tell which dancer was her.
“I’m easy to spot. That’s me in black,” she said, pointing to the screen. “We were performing Swan Lake.”
“The Black Swan. I don’t know ballet, but I know enough to know you’re the Black Swan.”
“You must have seen the movie with Natalie Portman.” She laughed.
“I did, indeed.” I sat transfixed. The orchestral music, the lighting—this was the real deal.
A guy dressed in tights lifted Carys into the air, her legs spreading apart with impressive flexibility. After landing on her feet, she twirled with beautiful precision. The smile on her face exuded confidence and pride as she lifted onto her toes and raised her arms as if reaching for the stars. She was a star. And seeing this drove home the loss she’d suffered. This hadn’t been a hobby. This was a calling. My heart broke to know it had been taken from her.
Her male partner almost seemed like a tool to showcase Carys’s talent. He guided her along, but she was the focal point. She really shined when she danced alone. Without the guy invading her space, Carys spun around free as a bird. Flawless.
“It’s like I can feel your emotions,” I told her. “Not only by looking at your expressions but in your movements.”
“That’s pretty much the biggest compliment you could give me.”
“Really?”
She nodded. “One of my teachers used to say that was the difference between a good dancer and a great one. She said our purpose in a performance was not to simply move our bodies or entertain, but to express our emotions through dance. Then ideally, those feelings would also be experienced by anyone watching. So I always tried to keep that in mind.”
“It’s fucking beautiful.” My eyes met hers. “Truly.” I didn’t merely mean it. I meant her.
Her eyes glistened. “Thank you.”
For the first time in a long time, I felt like tearing up, too, and it had nothing to do with my own shit. What a tremendous loss she’d suffered—the world had suffered the day this woman stopped being able to perform. The emotions pummeling me were too much. It was time to go before I did or said something I’d regret. I didn’t want to be rude and leave before she turned off the video. But I vowed to make my exit at the first opportunity.
“I’m blown away by your talent,” I told her when the video ended. “Thank you again for showing it to me.”
“You’re welcome.”
Carys put the DVD back in the case and stared at it a moment before snapping it closed.
“I think I should probably head back,” I said.
She seemed surprised. “Oh…okay. Yeah. It’s getting late, I suppose.”
“Yeah.”
We stood and faced each other. A few tense seconds passed—tense seconds where the right thing to do felt like kissing her, even though I knew that would be very wrong.
Carys rubbed her arms. “Thank you for coming.”
“Are you kidding? Thank you for having me, for preparing that amazing food, for listening to my sob story, and most of all, for sharing that video with me. It really means a lot that you did.”
“After what you told me tonight, I definitely felt more comfortable.”
“Yeah.” I smiled, and after a few seconds of awkward silence, I said, “Well…have a good night.”
I wasn’t prepared for her to reach out and hug me. I stiffened. But once the initial shock passed, I relaxed into her embrace. Feeling my heartbeat accelerate, I moved back before it became too obvious that her touch had wreaked havoc on me.
I nodded and didn’t say anything else, heading to my apartment in a brain fog.
CHAPTER 8
Carys
DID YOU LOOK IN MY BOX?
A few days went by before I heard from Deacon again. I’d had this funny feeling he was keeping his distance because things had teetered on crossing the line during our dinner—not necessarily on a physical level, but certainly on an emotional one. Sharing that video of my Swan Lake performance was like taking the Band-Aid off a wound that hadn’t quite healed yet. But somehow, after letting it air out, I didn’t feel like I needed the Band-Aid anymore. Reliving my past, even for that brief moment, had been therapeutic. And my confidence in doing so had everything to do with Deacon first opening up to me.