Dance For Me

New Start

Turn around, please turn around.

But he doesn't. He shakes his head and walks a little faster, leaving out the revolving doors, without looking back.

~

"We're sorry, the number you're trying to reach is no longer in service."

Throwing down my phone, in my queen sized bed, and I let out a shriek.

It's been a week, it's been a long ass week. I've rarely gotten out of bed. I haven't even unpacked any of the boxes.

I've tried calling Corbyn everyday since he dropped me off here, and each time I get the same message. I know he didn't change his number, he wouldn't do that, not with his line of work.

He's not coming back, I know he's not. Corbyn was a stubborn guy, when he makes his mind up, no one is going to change it. I wish I had power over him like Dakota said I did, because if I had that power, I wouldn't be in this ridiculous apartment, I'd be with him.

The apartment Corbyn set up for me, isn't one he'd use as a safe place for one of his dancers, it's a penthouse on the top floor. The apartment, much like his condo, has glass windows for walls, so I can see a lot of the city from the hundredth floor. The kitchen, with stainless steel appliances, and a large living room with cozy black furniture, is too lavish for my old 'sleeping on a couch' lifestyle.

The large, one bedroom apartment, gets too lonely. I haven't tried reaching out to anyone, expect Corbyn. He may have deleted his contact from my phone, but I had his number memorized since my first week at the club. I had it memorized incase something happened to my phone, and I needed to call him, saying I couldn't come in to work.

Part of me wishes I never had it memorized, maybe then I wouldn't be torturing myself, trying to call him.

I force myself to push myself up on my elbows, knowing I have to get out of bed eventually, I have to get a job, so I can start paying for things around here, if I do decide to stay.

First, I have to find where I threw those papers since I balled them up and threw them when I had my first breakdown, when Sawyer left me to get situated. It shouldn't be too hard, the only place I've been, outside the bedroom, is the kitchen, where the food was fully stocked.

Corbyn had this planned so far in advance. Sawyer said rent was paid for, as long as I was staying here, food was stocked and there was money at the front desk for whenever I needed more. I refuse to take the money, I know it's Corbyn's money, and I'm already in too much debt to him.

Stumbling out of the bedroom, that contains its own walk in closest and bathroom, I lean against the wall of the hallway as I walk towards the living room. My body feels like jello, as I haven't eaten properly in days.

I spot one of the balled up papers laying just under the black sofa and I walk slowly towards it, almost feeling like a zombie. I scoop up the paper, laying it on the couch.

As I wander, I find the second on the white counter top in the kitchen and the third somehow got into the main bathroom, across the hall from the kitchen.

Sitting with my three job options, resting beside me, I unscramble the first paper. It's a secretary position at a fancy law office. The second, a waitressing job at Eben's restaurant.

I don't think I could ever work at Eben's restaurant, I know it's Corbyn's favourite, and I wouldn't want him to stop going there just because I worked there. I know Corbyn, I know he'd ask Eben when I worked so he wouldn't see me, more than likely, so I wouldn't be able to see him.

The third, being a secretary, at a clothing company? Who owed Corbyn a favour at a clothing company?

Gripping the paper tightly, I walk back towards the bed room, to grab my phone, making the dreaded call.