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Theo chuckled in her ear. “Everyone says that. Every hungover person in the history of the world. You’ll feel better in a while.”
“Why aren’t you hung over?”
“Because I didn’t drink half my weight in alcohol last night, and because I have a higher tolerance than you. A hummingbird has a higher tolerance than you,” he added as a final dig.
Kelsey moaned softly, setting off a series of fireworks behind her eyelids. “Why did you let me drink so much?”
Theo didn’t answer, just muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “shriek-mouthed witch.”
Kelsey tried to sit up, ignoring the sudden lurch in her stomach. “What time is it? Don’t we have practice today? We’ll get in trouble.”
Theo pulled her back down. “There’s no way you’re climbing any silks today. We’ll go in later and do a workout if you’re feeling guilty. But I doubt Lemaitre will expect to find you training today.”
Kelsey got a sinking feeling from the tone in his voice. “Oh, God. Lemaitre was there last night?”
“Don’t you remember anything? Anything at all?”
Kelsey rubbed her forehead as Theo offered her more water. She took a tentative sip. The throb in her head was downshifting, but her anxiety was on the rise. “I-- I remember loud music. And dancing. And I think...Wayne was there. Oh, God, did I say something to Wayne?”
Theo frowned. “I can’t really speak to that, but I can tell you that you definitely said something to Lemaitre. In addition to molesting his pets.”
Kelsey squeezed her eyes closed and shook her head. “No. No, I didn’t.”
“I’m afraid you did. Fortunately, your antics seemed to amuse rather than anger him. I can’t really say the same for the pets.”
Kelsey covered her eyes. “I’m so embarrassed. Who all saw this?”
“The entire cast and crew of Cirque du Minuit.”
“Fuck,” Kelsey said, then clutched her head. “Damn. Oh, crap, and I’m supposed to call my mother to tell her I’m feeling better. And I have to take my birth control pill before it gets too late. Can you get me my purse?” She burst into sudden, irrational tears. “Oh God, I’m hung over. And I’m in bed with a guy like you, and I have to take a birth control pill and--and--” She sobbed, holding her aching brain. “And I have to call my mooommm!”
“What do you mean, a guy like me?” Theo pouted, handing over her bag. Kelsey tried to work the zipper and gave up with a groan.
“If she knew, she would be so ashamed of me. Drinking, casual sex. I’m being so bad.”
“Bad? Kelsey, you’re a grown woman, not a girl.” He located her pills and handed her daily dose over along with the water. “Birth control pill. Good hangover medicine.”
“Fuck you.”
“Tsk tsk. Mom wouldn’t like your language either. You are a bad girl. Dirty.” He was leering at her now. How the hell could he look at her hung over in bed, crying and whining, and bust out with that suggestive grin?
“Go away. Leave me alone,” she said.
“I’m not leaving. You’re in my room. But you are welcome to leave if you’re feeling better. If you can get up and get dressed first.”
Kelsey regarded her balled-up, suspiciously stained black clothes lying in a pile on the floor, and shut her eyes, collapsing back on Theo’s soft pillows. “I can’t. I don’t ever want to move.”
“Then sleep.” He settled against her and pulled her close. “Tomorrow you’ll feel better.”
“I hope so.” She lay back against his shoulder, against his solid warmth. “I’m never going back to the Citadel. I’m done with that place.”
Theo made a noncommittal sound. “Do you think so?”
I don’t know what I think. I don’t know what I want. I don’t know what’s happening to my life.
“Just sleep, little one,” he said.
Chapter Nine: Power
By the following day, Kelsey felt somewhat human again. Human enough to suffer through a low impact warm up and do some work on the silks.
Little by little they were developing a narrative for their act, a storyline to inhabit their movements. They’d created the fantasy of a man trying to catch a butterfly at dusk. As the butterfly, Kelsey had to be both graceful and alluring. Her beauty was supposed to provoke the man so much he wanted to possess her. But when he finally had success, when he finally grabbed her and slid down the silks to tuck her away with his other belongings, her delicate wings were damaged. In capturing her, he harmed her so she could no longer fly.
Or maybe he just got her really, really drunk.
It was a simple, sweet story, and tragic enough to work perfectly as the grand finale of the Cirque du Minuit. Soon after, the director provided them with music, the final component of their act. It was a breathy, pulsing euro-sex composition that gave her a strong urge to giggle. Only Theo’s scowl kept her in check.
They showed Guy Benoit what they had so far, while Theo muttered the whole time about how awful the music was. Guy loved the flying stuff and wanted more of it. He loved the tragic beauty of the butterfly story and encouraged them to flesh it out. Then Guy mentioned the teeth trick and Kelsey lost it, snorting in laughter behind her hands. She had to run off and collect herself, grabbing her bag and pretending to look for a tissue. After a few minutes, Guy left and Theo stalked over, eyes blazing.
“That was very disrespectful.”
“The teeth trick!” Kelsey wailed, still laughing. “Oh, my God. It’s just...he so clearly knows nothing about aerial silks.”
“Neither did you, a month ago.”
Kelsey sobered and stared up at him. “What are you so pissed off about?”
“Because he’s the director of the show. His opinion means something. You can’t laugh at him and run away and expect to maintain his support. This act could be cut. Any act in the circus can be cut, any time, any reason. Even the night before the show.”
She dug in her bag, found what she wanted. Sugar straws. “Fine. Next time I see him I’ll apologize.” She needed a red. Badly. She sorted through the various colors, only to have the entire package plucked from her grasp. “Hey!”
“I just decided. You're giving up candy.”
“What?” She stood and lunged for her Licky Stix, but he raised them out of her reach.
“I gave up cigarettes, you give up candy. It’s only fair.”
“Fair, my ass. Candy doesn’t kill you. Candy doesn’t cause cancer and emphysema.”
“Cavities.”
“Oh, seriously?”
“Cavities, diabetes. Hyperactivity,” he added as she jumped repeatedly to reach the sugar straws he held over his head. “You’re like a junkie.” He swatted her arm away. “Stop. If I don’t get cigarettes, you don’t get candy. No more candy.” He shook his finger at her. “And no sneaking. I’ll know.”
“I hate you.”
