15
Julia
Istare at Nathaniel, any joy from a moment ago gone. This is another side of Nathaniel I’ve not seen. His mouth is a tight line. He looks … mad. It occurs to me then I’ve only ever seen him happy or friendly. Or at worst, mournful.
“We’re done already?” I ask carefully. The towel in my hand twists around my wrist.
“You made it seem like you’ve never danced before without going off. Now you go three songs without a thing?” His voice is tight with barely suppressed emotion.
“It’s a big deal. I’m happy about it.” My defenses go on alert. It’s like he’s mad at me but trying to keep it locked away. I’d rather he just say what he has to say. I shared everything with him.
“Help me understand. The point of this is to test your abilities. And yet we just wasted this time for nothing.”
“Wasted?” My eyebrows shoot up. “And by the way,” I say, “the point is to stop my disability so I can live a normal life and so your contract can succeed. Those are the goals. To me, it’s a win.” I keep my voice steady as I can. Nothing makes a man more convinced of women’s hysteria than her showing any sort of emotion. I would have never thought Nathaniel held on to that old-school mentality, but I also never thought he would subtly accuse me of wasting his time either.
“I’m trying to understand. You said that dancing triggers it,” he says.
“I said Ithoughtdancing triggered it. I’m not exactly an expert on it.”
He makes a frustrated growl sound. “I don’t understand that. How can you not know how it works?”
“It’s not exactly something I can play around with,” I snap.
He really has no clue. How could he not understand?
Heat burns my cheeks and my shock must be written all over my face. He’s frustrated after one attempt? I’ve had an entire adulthood of helplessness. Years of doctors telling me my symptoms were psychosomatic because I could never give the whole story. I’m exhausted by people telling me that I don’t know my own body. Are we really that far off the same page? We aren’t even in the same book.
We stand in the small hallway outside the testing room. There’s barely a foot between us physically but I have never felt further from him.
“If you think I’m lying, then I’m leaving right now,” I say.
He holds up his hands. “No. I don’t think you’re lying. Obviously. It’s just frustrating. I have so many questions. Why are you so eager to get rid of something so amazing? I have seen your abilities with my own eyes. You’re incredible.”
I scoff so loudly he has no choice but to stop short and look up at me. “Incredible?” I hold up a hand to find my words. “Do you remember your first kiss?” I ask.
He opens his mouth but I’m not actually ready to hear him talk so I keep going.
“Remember how nervous you were? Remember how it felt like the most important thing in the world? Now imagine that you are almost eighteen before you have your first kiss. Most people your age are already having sex. And yet you finally meet someone and trust them enough to try a simple kiss. Imagine spending months convincing yourself it’ll be okay, that you’re ready. Now tell me how it would feel to kiss that person only to end up making them so sick they have to go to the hospital?”
He runs a hand over his face. “I’m sorry.”
“No. You are frustrated. You think that I’m some magic riddle you can solve. You think that I don’t care about what I have. Trust me, I care. It’s all I ever think about. You cannot fathom the amount of people that I care about that I have accidentally hurt. Think of all the handshakes and hugs … the haircuts, for Christ’s sake. I don’t get any of that. None. I am almost thirty and have hardly been touched.” I am glaring, my chest is heaving, and I’m so humiliated. “Reallythinkabout what I’m saying.”
I’m not about to tell this man that I’m a virgin. That is none of his business and a label that doesn’t define me, but he can get the frickin’ gist.
“You can’t imagine how lonely I am,” I whisper, losing steam as embarrassment overtakes anger.
“You’re right. I didn’t think of the cost,” he says, holding eye contact. “I’m sorry that I upset you. My words are coming out all wrong. I’m so sorry.”
I’ve never felt more like a freak, never felt more isolated and alone. I thought that sharing with someone would make me feel less alone. I thought it would be freeing but now I feel heavier and even less understood.
I heft my duffle bag onto my shoulder. “This shiny new toy that you want to play with has cost me any semblance of having a life. I am destined to be alone forever.”
I can’t help the tears that hover on my eyelids. I didn’t want to share so much. It was a mistake to be here. And to do this.
“Julia, I’m so sorry.” He reaches for me and then stops.
I throw my hands up and point to the gesture as if to saysee.
