Page 113 of Healing Eleanor

“You drive me totally crazy,” he slurs, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

“I—I’m sorry?” I stammer, unsure whether to laugh or retreat.

He cracks an eye open. “That light is driving me totally crazy, too. Can you shut it off, baby?” His eyes close again.

Baby. He actually called me baby, and this time it wasn’t because of some character in a movie.

My heart skips a beat. I quickly pull my hand from his and pad to the kitchen, switching off the light. On the way back, I grab a blanket and gently drape it over him, trying to cover as much of his frame as I can—but he’s too large. At least he’s wearing socks.

He snatches my hand in a swift motion. “Where are you going?” He hiccups. “You said… You said you wouldn’t leave.”

I nod, though he isn’t looking at me. “I just need to grab my pillow and blanket.”

He releases me softly, snuggling into the pillow I’ve given him. “Kay.”

I retrieve my pillow and blanket and place my pillow on the floor. I don’t want to sit on the hard ground all night. Once I’m settled, his hand finds mine again, fingers lacing together naturally.

He opens both eyes, illuminated only by the dull amber glow from the window. I can feel his drunken gaze on mine. “You really are beautiful… I hope you know that,” he whispers.

I gulp nervously, my cheeks heating even more. “Th—thank you,” I stutter, not sure what else to say. My heart hammers, and every inch of me leans into the warmth of his hand.

He shifts slightly, his body pressing closer to mine on the too-small couch. “I can’t… I can’t stop thinking about you, Elenochka,” he slurs softly, his forehead resting against the pillow. “Every time I close my eyes, you’re… everywhere.”

I sit motionless. The words don’t seem like just drunken nonsense. There’s raw and unguarded honesty in them. Like a moth to a flame, I’m drawn to him, helpless to stop it. My fingers twine tighter with his, as if holding him this close can somehow tether him to me and keep him safe.

“You’re… you’re kind of crazy, you know that?” I whisper, my voice trembling.

He lets out a low laugh, barely audible, and tilts his head so his lips hover near mine. “Crazy… Maybe. But you—you’re breathtaking… Everything I can’t… I can’t get out of my head.”

My pulse spikes, my breath catching. I want to tell him how I feel, to reach out, but fear and uncertainty crashes in, tangled with memories of everything I’ve been through. Soren. His struggles. The undeniable fact that he’s my coach. It all collides inside me. So instead, I rest my forehead against his shoulder, letting him feel my presence.

He sighs contentedly, the tiniest smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Promise me… you’ll never stop looking at me like that.”

I shake my head softly. “Nik, I—”

“Shhh,” he interrupts, pulling me just a little closer. “ Don’t tell me this is wrong. Just… stay. Stay with me.”

And so I do. I don’t know when or how but in the past few weeks, Nik’s burrowed under my skin, sneaking into a heart so broken I’m not even sure it can be repaired. I like him. More than a coach. More than just a friend.

He’s everything I’ve never had and more. I trust him. Want him. Need him. Believe in him. I’d follow him into any dark valley, and that thought frightens me. I shouldn’t want this. I’m only twenty-four; he’s thirty-three. If my mother knew… Gosh, I don’t even want to think about what she’d say.

It isn’t worth thinking about anyway. Nik probably doesn’t see me that way. Not only is it inappropriate given our roles, but he’s drunk. His whispered sweet nothings can mean nothing at all.

A niggling part of me whispers that they aren’t nothing.

Nik deserves more than I have to offer. While he offers the world, all I have is ballet, and that isn’t enough.

Silent tears streak my cheeks. For the first time, I want something more than ballet. And I can’t have it. At this point, I’m not sure ballet is what I want anymore.

Nik’s thumb traces the wet trail on my cheek. “What’s wrong, baby?” he whispers into the quiet room.

Gosh, I wish he’d stop calling me that. “I’m fine,” I sniffle, my voice trembling.

“It breaks my heart to see you cry… and when you hurt yourself,” he utters under his breath.

I stare at him, unsure how to respond. “Really. I’m fine,” I say, though the words ring hollow even to my own ears.

He carefully wipes another tear away from my cheek. “You’re a bad liar, remember?”