Page 128 of The Sounds of Her

She programs the GPS, which is directing us to the West Village, I’m not sure why we’re going there but I follow the directions.

After another ten minutes of silence, she speaks again. “I need to dance.”

There is so much I want to say. I want to stop this damn car, hold her and tell her they don’t matter. That so many other people love her.

That I might... Shit. If I can’t admit it to myself, how am I supposed to tell her?

She is so fucking strong, so brave, but she needs to let this out. She can’t bottle her pain up the way I did.

“Brooke?”

“We can talk afterwards.”

“But-”

“I promise. Archer, no one has ever been here with me before.”

She’s telling me without saying it, she trusts me with her most sacred place, the place where she feels safe. So I drive.

When we arrive at Dynamic Dance, I park and lock up the car, and we walk to the studio. It’s not quiet around here, but it’s dark and no one is paying any attention to us. The studio is closed. Brooke takes out her keys and unlocks the door. I follow her inside and she flicks on the lights.

We head up the stairs to the darkened second floor. Brooke takes my hand because she puts no more lights on, knowing the way in the dark.

We enter a vast room with polished wooden floors, high ceilings and a wall of windows that run the length of the room. There is a mirror at the end with a barre in front of it. It makes the room appear longer than it is.

The lights from the city outside are enough to illuminate the space, so I don’t fall on my ass when Brooke lets go of my hand.

“I won’t be a minute,” she tells me and walks to the other end of the room, going through a door.

The window beckons me, I stand in front of it, looking out at the city. I see why she comes here. The space is amazing, and even though we’re not high up and looking down at one of the busiest cities in the world, it’s quiet in here.

A low light flicks on and I turn around to see Brooke walking towards me. My eyes roam up and down her body. I don’t know where she got it from, but she’s changed into a dress. It’s peach coloured, tight on the top, a thin strapped leotard, and the skirt is floaty and layered with fabric that swishes around her legs. I guess she couldn’t dance in the pencil skirt and blouse she wore to work.

She’s taken off her shoes too and her hair is tied up. Stopping in front of me, she leans forward and kisses me. Before it can deepen, she steps back.

“Take a seat.”

While she walks to the corner where there is a sound system, I look around, but there are no chairs. So I sit down on the ground and lean against the centre window. It’s cold against my back, but I stay still as Brooke sets her phone down on the docking station, concentrating on picking some music.

My heart races as she walks to the centre of the room, her eyes cast downwards. I barely move a muscle, and when the music starts, I hold my breath. A piano fills the room, then an acoustic guitar picks up the tune. I can’t take my eyes off her.

As the lyrics kick in, Brooke moves. It’s like she becomes a part of the music, her body flowing, barely moving out of the space where she started, but it’s as if she fills the room.

I recognise the song as ‘Flaws’ by Calum Scott. It’s all about falling in love with someone who isn’t perfect, who has flaws, and they don’t realise how perfect they are in his eyes. He is imploring despite what they see as flaws, he loves them as much as every other part.

Brooke’s movements flow with the beat, the rise and fall of the lyrics and she moves in a wider circle, her eyes closed tight as she spins. I’d be worried she is going to fall, but it’s obvious this place is a part of her. She will never fall here.

My eyes sting as I watch her dancing out all of her pain and fear. I can’t sit and just watch her anymore. I push up off the floor, toe off my shoes, and walk closer. Brooke senses me and her eyes open, she doesn’t stop moving but watches me walk towards her.

I can’t dance. I mean, not the way she is moving, but I stand in front of her, letting her see my emotion watching her. It’s fucking beautiful.

She puts her hands on my shoulders and presses towards me, twirling round me, her hands never leaving my shoulders. All I can do is stand and watch her in our reflection at the end of the room.

As the song reaches the bridge, she lowers to the ground, her legs folding gracefully, but she keeps moving, her arms winding around each other as if she is reaching for something. I take her hand and she lets me pull her up, so I can wrap my arms around her waist. The final lines of the song play out, the piano as an accompaniment to his melancholy voice.

Brooke drapes her arms around my neck and presses her forehead to mine. We sway in place in the silence.

Then ‘You Can’t Stop The Girl’ by Bebe Rexha plays.

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