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The man looks to where I'm pointing, smiling when he sees the exact ring I'm referring to.
"Ah, nice choice." He pulls the rack out, using the utmost delicacy in lifting the ring from the holder. He holds it out to me, and I take it, knowing without a doubt this is supposed to be on Luna's finger.
"I'll take it." The diamonds in the center glimmer in the brightly lit room. It's perfect. Delicate. Not too heavy, but not too small. Small white diamonds surround the larger pear-shaped diamond in the center. The part of it that gets me, though, is the rose gold band. Seeing it, I instantly thought of her leotard. It has a pinkish hue that resembles every bit of Luna. It's so her. My heart crashes against my chest as I hold it in my fingers. Every other ring in this store seized to exist the moment my eyes landed on this one. There is no other ring.
This is the ring.
He rings up the total, and I hear Dylan choke behind me. I don't even blink, handing over my credit card. Being a rock star for enough years, I'll never be without money. I don't even need a job, to be honest. But not having anything to do with my days wouldn't be good for me. I needed something. Being a firefighter was that thing.
But Luna just completes my happiness. Entirely.
It's been six months since Luna came to me. Six months of her sleeping next to me. Of her eating with me. I have never felt as good as I have over these last six months. With me working, and her practicing for her upcoming audition, we've both been busy, but by the end of the night, we're together.
We talk, we touch, we heal.
The brokenness in her eyes lessens by the day. What she's been through is soul-crushing. Not anything I would even want someone I despised to go through. The fact that it happened to Luna makes me enraged with a need to kill. Not a feeling I've ever felt in my life, but with Luna, the feeling comes naturally.
She wants me to heal her. In bed, she pleads for it, her fingers gripping me with a desperation I know aches through her limbs. She needs me. I need her, too, but I refuse to break her further, and being with her when she isn't healed, mentally or physically, isn't something I'm okay with.
She hates it, but when she's ready, she'll understand why I waited.
I wait for her. I'll always wait for her.
The man slides the ring into a small velvet box, and puts the box into a thick, expensive, plastic bag. He holds the handles out to me. "Congratulations."
I smile, anticipation lighting my heart on fire. "Thanks."
I have a plan for how I'm going to ask her. It's been something that's been on my mind ever since we were little. Now that we're older, I can make it possible. It's right. The entire thing is just so fucking incredibly right, I can feel it in my bones.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
LUNA
My back extends, arching as my arms float over my head. My toes press into the floor, and I alternate foot to foot, swallowing down my wince with every step. My leg shifts up, becoming vertical with my body. My hand curls around my ankle, and I spin, each muscle in my body screaming in protest, but I continue on, finishing the routine that I'm determined and bound to perfect. I will, even if it breaks me.
My leg drops to the ground, and I rush into a leap, my legs going into a split before I land on my toes, spinning around on one foot, toe pointed, while my other foot lays against my calf, the sole of my foot flush with my skin.
Once my routine ends, sweat dots my skin, my black hair around my forehead sticking to my temples. My muscles burn, and every step aches as I walk to the bench. I can feel the fabric of my leotard sticking to my back.
I'm in the studio alone, and I'm grateful for that, because for anyone to see me right now would be embarrassing. I feel like I’m new, which in a sense I am. Staying away from dance this long really put me behind. It makes hesitations float from the back of my mind to right in front of my eyes.
Can I still do this? Or was my break too long? Maybe I blew it for good.
I keep my hesitations to myself, not even telling Roman that I'm worried it's over for me. That I'm too old. That I lost my chance. The thought brings tears to my eyes, and I bat them away angrily with the back of my hand. I don't want to be like this. I don't want to fail. I want to prove to myself that I'm still as talented as I used to be. I wouldn't be gifted with this need, this ability to dance if it was all for nothing, right?
I slouch onto the bench, my spine pressing against the brick wall behind me. Bringing my foot up, I pull the soft ribbon of my slipper, and it collapses from my ankle, the ends fluttering to the ground. I let out a whimper as I slide my slipper off and gasp when I see my toes. Blood seeps from under my nails, mostly from beneath my big toe, it’s cracked, split all the way down to my cuticle. I could tear my nail off easily if I wanted to, and I probably should, to make an infection less likely. But I don’t want to go through the pain, and dancing with a wound like that on my toe would be torture.
I slide my other slipper off, seeing my other foot in a similar condition to the first one. My toes are bruised, cracked and bleeding. My entire body aches in places that have never ached before, but I also have a feeling of absolution. There's this feeling inside of me the moment I put on my leotard. Like this is exactly where I'm meant to be.
Being with Roman completes that.
Grabbing my slippers, I walk barefoot to the back of my dressing room, putting as much weight as I can on my heels. I slide into the bathroom, slipping out of my leotard and into my clothes. I slide on my jacket, zipping it up to the neck. I haven't been exposed to the cold weather since I left home. New York doesn't get as bad as Wisconsin, but this winter has been a long one, as if it knew I was coming back from a long, warm adventure.
Sliding my leotard and slippers into my bag, I head out, locking the door behind me. The sidewalk is slushy as I walk onto it, the most recent snowstorm not staying long with the fluctuating temps. It makes for a sloppy city, full of brown snow mixed with puddles of ice and water.
I raise my hand, and within minutes a yellow taxi pulls up to the curb. Snow sprays from behind the tires, and I step away from the edge so I don't get splashed. I slide into the taxi, giving him the address to Roman's apartment.
All I can think about, at this moment, is a nice bath. I need to soak my muscles in hot water. I need to ice them, too. But warm water curling around my skin is the only thing on my mind.
