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It’s not my weight that worries me at all.I’m happy with my body.After so many years, I finally won the battle against my mother’s insecurities even though I still struggle with food.
But my true fear lies within my bones.I’m afraid they’ll give up while I dance because a part of me believes they’re still broken.It may sound foolish, considering the orthopedic surgeon mended them, as proven by the X-rays.
Yet, the memory of my sister’s minions brutally fracturing them lingers in my mind.Her words “If I couldn’t be a prima ballerina, you can’t either.You’ll never dance or walk again,” still come back with the night terrors.
The silence is shattered by Greyson’s voice, gently breaking through.“You were amazing,” he whispers.His eyes, filled with tenderness, never leave me.“I’ve missed watching you while I played.”
Within those words, love and pain intertwine, flowing as deeply as the music coursing through our veins.
“It’s been so long since the last time I danced,” I confess, my words masking the hollowness and weariness I carry.“I’ve missed this, but I didn’t possess the emotional strength to do it.Thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me,” he says as he stands from the bench and crosses the space between us, his touch light as a feather against my heated cheek, as soothing as a cool breeze.
“You were breathtakingly perfect, as usual,” he murmurs, his words accompanied by his fingers tracing a path along my jawline.“Your passion, Aerin, it brought to life every note I played in every step, every twirl.We should do this more often.”
A small smile tugs at the corners of my lips.
“I might need some time,” I reply, a soft chuckle escaping my throat as I cast a glance down at my weary legs, “to convince these stubborn muscles to remember the rhythm they once knew.”
“They say life is a marathon, not a sprint,” he says.“I’m sure it can be applied to dancing too.”
“True, I’ll try to keep practicing, maybe with less intensity.”
“I doubt you can do things less ...passionate,” Greyson says, a spark igniting in his eyes.It’s an unspoken promise or perhaps a desire.
There were moments like this—when he played and I danced—we’d undress and make passionate love on the floor, against the mirror wall, or the piano’s bench.Our bodies merged and intertwined just as his notes and my body had melded. I wish I was ready for it, for him.I just can’t—not yet.
“I’ll be here for you,” he pledges, the resolve in his voice a rock against the crash of waves.“Every leap, every fall.”
His words infuse me with a surge of hope.Together we’ll pick up the pieces and put ourselves together.We’ll reignite the flame and follow the siren call of the melodies that still resonate within our souls.
As Greyson’s hand cradles my face, warmth radiates from his touch, diffusing through my wearied body, soothing the dull throb in my legs.It’s as though he possesses an inherent power to alleviate not just the tangible aches but also the hidden, intimate pains that are etched deeper within.
He leans in, and our lips meet in a tender collision that speaks volumes of understanding and acceptance.His kiss, gentle and lingering, wraps around me, melting away the physical discomfort as our connection deepens.
As our kiss intensifies, a rush of thoughts flood my mind.We are reminded of who we are—two souls intricately woven together in a tapestry of shared histories, shared pains, and unwavering love.
In this kiss, I taste the resilience we have earned through our darkest days.It’s a silent promise, a testament to our unyielding determination to mend what was once broken.We are two fragmented souls, finding solace and renewal in each other’s embrace.
When our lips part, our eyes lock, and an unspoken understanding passes between us.Our scars, both visible and hidden, are not mere blemishes.They are reminders of the battles we have fought and the strength we carry within.
Together, we will rekindle the joy of dancing, the enchantment of love, and the exquisite beauty in piecing back together our fragmented selves.
The shrill ring of the doorbell echoes through the house, disrupting the tranquility of the moment.Greyson’s grip around my hand tightens, a mixture of tension and annoyance in his eyes.
“Leave it,” he urges, his voice edged with irritation.
“It could be something important,” I counter, torn between curiosity and a desire to see who’s at the door.Slowly, I make my way to the stairs.
“It’s probably just a salesman or, worse, my sister,” he reasons, his voice tinged with exasperation.
I pause midway up the steps.“Winnie or Piper?”I ask, though deep down, it doesn’t truly matter.I love them both.
“Doesn’t matter,” he grumbles.“Either way, I’m not in the mood.”
“But I haven’t seen them in so long,” I reply, a surge of excitement coursing through me.And perhaps soon, I’ll be able to visit their cousin and my best friend, Lyric.
“We were in the middle of something,” he reminds me, his tone gruff.
