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“Tiny…”
“BecauseIdo. I remember. You came to my house. You stood on my doorstep, looked me in the eye and said that I wasdeadto you. You broke what was left of my heart that night, Xeno, and I’ll be damned if I let you do that again, not after everything we’ve been through to get to this point. I love you but I willnotlet you break me one more time.”
“I was a kid. I was angry, Tiny. So fucking hurt. I was lost, insane with sadness. I wanted to hurt you—” I counter.
“—And you succeeded. This time you won’t,” she says adamantly. “If you leave for Mexico, if you do this despite everything we’ve said, I won’t forgive you a second time even if you’re lucky enough not to fucking die!” She lets me go, stepping back, her body shaking. We stare at each other, neither one of us wanting to back down, too stubborn in our anger.
“What’s the plan then, Tiny?” I find myself eventually saying.
She looks at me with suspicion as I lean my head back against the door, fucking exhausted with it all. The fear inside my chest expands, and where once I would’ve used violence to appease the emotion threatening to tear me apart, all I can do is let that fear chip away at my defenses. My fingers curl into my palms, my nails cutting into the soft flesh there as I seek out some form of release. I hate this feeling of being so out of control. The thought of putting a bullet in David’s brain was the only thing keeping me sane. If I don’t have that, what else is left to keep me in check?
“I need a coffee. We can talk some more,” she says, lifting her chin stubbornly.
My gaze trails over her face, lowering to her neck and resting on the two-inch horizontal cut that’s already crusted over. She won’t scar, but that means shit. We’re all fucked up from the wounds that have never healed inside. A familiar rage builds in my stomach and I know that I need to find a way to override it right this fucking second, that I need to find a way to work through my issues, and given violence isn’t an option right now, the only logical way to do that is through dance.
Mydance. Bachata.
“I’d rather dance.”
“Dance?”
“Yes. Will you dance with me, Tiny?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea right—”
Grasping her arm I pull her towards me. “Dance with me.” It comes out as an order but really, it’s a plea. Acting one way, feeling another. Typical fucking me. Earlier I had shown her anger when really all I felt was fear. Still fucking do.
“Are you trying to seduce me into submission? Is that the plan, Xeno?” she asks with a soft voice, her gaze landing on my hand wrapped around her arm. There’s caution in her gaze, a flash of fear. I release her.
“I’m fucking this up…”
“Fucking what up?”
“I don’t want to seduce you, Tiny,” I say in frustration. “I just want to dance. Nothing more.”
She holds my gaze for a long time and I’m fully aware that at this moment she’s fighting her own demons. Eventually she nods her head, determined. “Then let’s dance.”
Pushing off the door, I grab my mobile phone, feeling the heat of her stare as she watches me select a track.I Just Want You, an instrumental bachata track by Marco Lopetuso, begins to play.
“What’s this?” she asks, cocking her head as she listens to the song. Her long brown hair falls over her shoulder, and I have the urge to run my hands through the silky strands.
It’s not a song I’ve ever played in my lessons at the Academy or shared with anyone else before today. It means something special to me. This is a song that I’ve invented countless routines in my head to but never shared, and that’s because of the woman standing before me. I never wanted to dance to this track with anyone else but her. Deep down, hidden beneath the lies I told myself, it was always her.
My Tiny.
The girl who holds my beaten-up, broken heart in her hands and has ever since we were kids. The woman who tears me up inside because I love her so damn much, and don’t know how the fuck to handle that. The dancer who makes my skin burn just to move with her. She’s the one I’d die for above all else. She’s the one I’ll kill for without fucking question.
I’m a man of few words, yet I’m filled up to the fucking brim with intense emotions. Over the past few days, I’ve felt them all. I’ve been plagued by rage, shame, helplessness, guilt, insecurity,love.
Somehow this track allows me to express them without losing my ever-loving mind. When things get really bad and violence isn’t an option, I dance to this track until I can breathe again. Now I want to share it with her.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispers.
“I’ve never danced to this song with anyone else before…” I say, swallowing my nerves and ignoring the roaring, pulsing, rush of blood in my ears and the fucking heat the burns beneath my cheeks. Turning my back to Tiny, I pull off my sweater and t-shirt needing to relieve myself of the confines of my clothes, not because I want to seduce her, but because suddenly I can’t fucking breathe. I push away the memory of Frederico holding a knife to her neck as I concentrate on the song.
“You’re undressing?”
“It helps…”
