Blood Crescent

Life Bites

"I think your four o' clock is here. Let's get together later, okay?" It was like Victor was finishing a conversation I didn't even know we had. Where did he come from? Last thing I remembered was seeing that asshat pocket-square man walk out of here. I didn't remember making up with him about before, to remove the awkwardness. But there he was, casually standing there, and talking as if nothing had happened. As if he didn't suggest running away with me, or sending me a letter about a secret he didn't revealed to me, or about how I made him wait in the rain for days.

Before I had a chance to even say anything in return, he was wiping his chin with his sleeve, raspberry donut jelly disappearing into the black long-sleeve shirt, then opening the door to leave. His blond-brown waves fluttered in the uptake of wind and I tried to remember if we'd hung out earlier, or if somehow I'd warped into a different dimension where I accepted a reality of going back to before things were awkward between us.

The idea of dating him didn't seem to repulse me, it rather made my knees feel weak, but half of me was still trying to remember why I was so evasive with him to begin with. My thoughts distracted by the firmness of his butt as it walked away in those ripped jeans, pops of blue boxer briefs peeking from the stressed threads.

Internal struggle writhed between, around, and through me about thinking that very thought, or pushing it deep down in the dark crevasses of my being, never to think in the light of consciousness ever again. But there he was walking away, wearing those jeans on purpose, no doubt to change my mind about things.

My only question surrounding that struggle was why? It was all so fuzzy, inhibition sent to the grave—I smiled at the thought and let it live. The appointment he referred to was sitting on the bench, their names were in the computer, but all I could think about was Victor. I shook my head and tried to concentrate.

"You've got a fine boy there; you should hug him back next time, no need to be shy around us." The woman winked back at me. It took me a moment before I realized she meant Victor. I nodded at her politely and walked toward the dance floor, confusion muddling my mind.

I tried to take my thoughts off of a hug I didn't even remember receiving, and all the while, sounding out the beats for them.

It wasn't long before they got the beat down packed, all that muscle memory playing its role, then Ryan rushed up to us to take over the lesson. No one swore. No one laughed. It was too routine. Aislin had the whole studio in on her plans to sabotage my work schedule. Wouldn't even let me finish a full lesson without someone swooping in to take over.

This time I was thankful for it. I couldn't focus...my eyes kept drifting. Staring off beyond the feet, beyond the smiling faces...even the music seemed to fade in and out of my ears like a monotone hum.

I waved to them, and as I took my leave from the floor narrowly avoiding a collision with a Viennese waltz couple plowing around the line of dance. I didn't even notice they were there.

I wasn't sure if it was the thought of broken toes or the ridiculous tie that one of my co-workers was wearing to work, but I felt like the floor was moving around me. Having people moving around you was pretty natural in a dance studio, but the floor seemed a bit like being on a boat...a small one, against a slew of waves.

Not only was my vision a kaleidoscope, but all the sounds I might have heard, and had come to expect on a regular basis here, were gone...jammed, it was like falling down a psychotropic tunnel. I saw the receptionist's mouth moving as she zigzagged toward me. Or maybe she was rushing on a straight line, but none of that was something I had any authority to judge right then. I couldn't hear the music behind me, but that was the least of my concerns.