Page 9 of The Sounds of Her

“My calendar is full for the rest of the week.”

Another frown. He looks at the dresser behind me, then the bed. He looks a little constipated. I’m not helping him out, I’m fairly sure he wants me to come, but until he asks, I will not respond. I wait, but the silence says it all. I can’t decide if he is too afraid to ask, or he doesn’t care.

“I hope the tour goes well.” I smile, knowing it doesn’t reach my eyes.

Ciro’s jaw clenches, but he still says nothing. It seems wrong to say see you around, or even goodbye. I’ll see him again, we run in the same circles. Who knows, maybe he’ll loosen up a little more, but I doubt it.

I grab my jacket and leave the room. Holding my head high, I feel cheap as I jab at the elevator button. Secret meetings in hotels for sex? When did my life come to this?

I don’t own a car, there is no point in New York, I use a car service. The driver takes me to my apartment, where I change and grab what I need. I don’t chitchat with the driver as he takes me to my next destination,Dynamic Dance in West Village. It’s near closing time, but the lights are still on. I have my own key but am surprised it’s still open.

I enter the lobby and call out. Raine, the owner of the company, pops her head out of her office.

“Hey, wasn’t expecting to see you tonight. I was about to head out.”

“I can see to it.”

I step into the office as she pulls her coat on. I’ve known Raine since I was a wide eyed, shy seven-year-old. My elementary school best friend, Eva, introduced me to dance. She stopped when we went to high school and found a new group of friends.

It’s clear I don’t want to talk, and Raine knows me well enough to understand my body language. Wordlessly, she pats my arm.

“Don’t overdo it,” she tells me as she walks to the door. “And lock this behind me.”

I do as she asks and head upstairs to the massive studio. It has high ceilings, wooden floors, and a wall of mirrors with a ballet barre.

I dump my gym bag and kick off my sneakers, then head over to the table in the corner where the sound system is and connect my phone, scrolling my playlists until I come to one titled Sensual Beats.

The only thing that can settle me, besides sex, is to dance. I don’t turn the lights on, the vast windows let in enough light from the city. Walking to the centre of the room, I stand with my feet slightly apart, head down, and eyes closed.

The music starts, and the beat flows through my body. It’s slow at first, and I start to move in place using my arms and legs, twisting my torso in fluid movements.

There is no routine to it, though I know more than a dozen I could dance to this music. I don’t want that, no routine, no rules, I just want to dance.

Despite Raine’s warning, I dance for an hour non-stop, until my feet and calves ache, and sweat is dripping down my throat and back.

My mind is blank, focusing only on the movements, on the floor beneath my feet, and the shadows cast across the floor, although I avoid looking at my reflection dancing alongside me in the mirror.

Panting heavily, I head to my bag and grab a bottle of water, drinking it down as I stare out of the window. The music still plays, keeping the silence at bay.

Dancing has always grounded me. I don’t advertise that I do it and haven’t competed in years, not since college, prior to starting law school. Raine wanted me to go professional, but it wasn’t on the cards. Mom allowed it as a hobby but would never let it be my profession. She even made me pull out of a dance competition when I was seventeen, because it was taking me away from my studies and ruining my chances of getting into college.

Raine tried to tell her how talented I am, but mom wouldn’t hear it. Dancing is not prestigious enough, it didn’t bring in enough money. Unless you are a prima ballerina, and that was never my forte when it came to dance.

Mom was more worried about what her friends in high society would think of me being a dancer, when her plan from the moment I was born was to be a lawyer, like her father and grandfather. Not that she followed in their footsteps. She’d married a lawyer though, I guess she thinks that counts.

Part of me wonders what it would have been like had I been allowed to compete, to put all of my focus into the thing I loved. I have friends who have gone far with their careers, in theatre, dance crews, even ballet.

The regimes and strict discipline are tough, but I loved dancing enough I believed I could overcome all of that, especially with Raine behind me. Mom forced me to give it up, saying it was a stupid and unhealthy hobby.

She’s right to a degree, I’ve seen girls make themselves sick to stay in shape, dancing through the pain of shin splints, bruised toes, aching hips. None of that bothered me. All I wanted to do was dance.

My mom stole that dream from me and didn’t care how much it hurt.

All I can do is make the most of the time when the studio closes, dancing for hours until I’m whole again.

Finishing the water, I grab a towel and wipe down my chest and neck, then pick up my phone. It’s after one in the morning. Fortunately, I don’t have to be in court tomorrow, I’m meeting Megan, one of my close friends for breakfast. I’m looking forward to seeing her. She’s been gone the last couple of weeks with Joey, her MMA fighter boyfriend, in Vegas.

Both of my best friends are off living their best lives with men who would walk through fire for them. My mind goes back to Ciro. I’d once imagined things becoming more between us, feelings to grow, him to open up.

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