Red Pointe Shoes

Chapter 18

A/N: Happy (belated) Chinese New Year :D It's a wonderful time to get money and get fat, not to mention distracted from writing! (^-^")

Chapter Eighteen

This moment is perfect, one of the few that ever is. The warmth from Evan's body counters the chill of the night, enveloping me in a cocoon of comfort. Neither of us are in our best states, both exhausted and aching all over from dance. It doesn't matter though, because the feeling he gives me washes everything away. It cleanses me of my pain, soothes away my worries, and brushes away my inhibitions like they're nothing. How can I keep anything from him when he's giving me every aspect of himself? He has revealed to me his insecurities, allowed me to care for him, brought up my spirits whenever they plunged. It isn't fair of me to take so much and give so little.

"Evan," I breathe, leaning my head against his shoulder, "do you love me?"  The word slips out from my lips so easily, with such a comforting familiarity that it seems that we've been together for more than just a few weeks. From his spot beside me, Evan tilts his face towards mine, the breeze ruffling his hair. There's no surprise or shock in his face, just pure happiness and certainty.

"Of course," The reply falls out from his mouth so easily that it's hard not to believe him.

"All of me?" The question comes out softer now, and for some reason, I can't stand to look into his eyes. Perhaps this is the perfect moment to falter and cover up, to pretend nothing's wrong. Or maybe I can break into tears that might soften his reaction like every other drama out there. But why should I take the paths that other people create? "Even Sentenial?" His eyes fly up to mine, bright and sharp with so many questions that I know I can't bring myself to answer just yet. The expression on his face changes- too fast for me to catch. Evan isn't stupid, I know he'll be piecing together everything, and he'll know the full truth.

"A... Avery," His words are hesitant, filled with so many turbulent emotions. It pains me to hear that tone. "I don't know what to say."

"Forget it," I squeak, pushing myself up to a standing position briskly. "Forget I said anything." With my cheeks burning and my heartbeat ringing incessantly in my ears, I run away like the coward I am. Why am I so scared? Why do I always run? I ran from my mother's death, I ran from Loyer after the Championship, and now I run from Evan. Something in me whispers that I should be running towards him, not away. Yet, as the door of the staircase nears, I don't hear his voice calling me back. Something wet slides down my face, and the wind pushes it away. The hallways are empty in a miraculous show of sympathy, and the trip back to my room is uneventful and solitary. The room, not so much.

Nat looks up in surprise as I meekly open the door, trying to hide any evidence that I had shed tears. Her eyes are sharp though, and her mind even more so as she throws a tissue box at my head. The box barely misses my head as I duck, and it smacks into the closed door behind me with a loud thud. The short burst of adrenaline dissipates as quickly as it comes, and eventually my heartbeat returns to normal. "What was that for?"

"You looked like you needed it." She replies nonchalantly, turning another page of the book in her lap. Nat looks absolutely comical tonight, wearing an old orange jumpsuit to bed. Still, I can't seem to find it in me to laugh just yet. "So, was it Evan?" My eyebrows shoot upwards in shock as she continues to stare at me evenly, unnoticing of my shock at her accuracy. To give Nat some credit, she has been my friend for years.

"Yes," I mumble as my hands fiddle with the hem of my shirt, "it was him." A sigh leaves her lips as she places her book to the side, making space for me on her bed. The warmth of her blanket helps to calm me down, and in a bit I can think somewhat rationally again. We haven't sat like this in ages, and I realize with a stabbing pang of guilt that it's my fault for being so wrapped up in my life. When was the last time I asked Nat how she was? "I'm sorry, I've been neglecting you." Nat snorts, but smiles anyway.

"I'm not a dog, I don't crave for constant attention and loving." She teases, "Now tell me what Evan did."

"It's not what he did," It's hard to find the right words to put this, and to not reveal what I did to Evan. An image of his judging eyes flashes yet again in my mind, and I vow to never make the same mistake again. I can't, Nat's friendship is too precious. She pokes me with a finger full of impatience, and I jab her with my elbow, "It's what he didn't do."

"Figures," Nat scoffs, "Evan's just a boy, if you look at it that way." I open my mouth to disagree, but the more I think about it, the more it sticks. His carefree, humorous nature, his easily bruised ego. Why didn't I see it before? When Nat speaks again, it's softer, more understanding, "You have to be patient with kids, Ave. One day they'll grow up."

"One day," Echoing her words, a sense of frustration and impatience me. Suddenly, lying down in a comfy bed didn't seem to cut it for me. I needed to get up, to move. A glance at the clock reveals that it's only ten thirty and the Underground operates until two am. I fight the urge to smile- I know where I'm going. "Maybe. Look, I've got some errands to do, I'll be back in a bit!" She chuckles as I stumble out of her bed and shove on my slippers. How long has it been since I'v fought in the Underground? At least three days. That's three days too many. When I run down the corridor, I swear I hear Nat's,

"Go get 'im!"

Honestly, who says that anymore?

***

I sign myself in for an open slot match, and following a ten minute wait, I'm rung in. My opponent is one of the newer ones, you can always tell about the hesitance they have when they walk towards the center ring. We take our stances and the bell rings again. The fight is relatively simple, with the opposing party following a predictable pattern in her steps. She tends to circle and duck towards her right, so whenever I strike, it's always a little towards my left. Still, the forceful movements seem to unwind the ball of tension within me, and it feels wonderful. Muscles used to being tense from dancing are now tensed with the rhythm of the fight, working it in a completely different way. This unchoreographed order is beautiful, liberating. 

Perhaps I may have dragged it on for longer than I intended to, but it ends anyway when she lets down her guard for a split second, and I deliver a hook punch that sends her down. Following the mandatory announcement of the winner, I reach for her hand and pull her up, smiling. She looks shocked, honestly, but eventually smiles back. 

I go for another two rounds, and when my limbs feel like lead and I'm glistening with sweat, I decide to call it a night and go get a few hours of sleep. My hands go through the same routine as always as I enter the shed, tucking away my wig and my fighting clothes. Then I go back to my room, fully expecting to see Nat in bed. Instead, I'm greeted with a cold dark room. My heart skips a beat- where is Nat? It's not like her to wander around at night. Someone clears a throat from behind me, and I whirl around with my fists up. They still when I see who's there, and for the second time tonight I felt a crushing sense of dread.