Page 11 of Rome: The Ballerina

Laughter felt so freeing. My chest rose and fell as it escaped me. I rolled my eyes as my shoulders lifted.

Whatever. I mouthed.Run!

He picked up his pace, leaving me behind. I wasn’t worried about him going far. The music would cut off, and he’d return. I was worried about his pace and him tiring out long before the hour run concluded.

Twelve minutes into our run,the sun’s beauty graced the sky. The reddish–orange hues nearly stopped me in my tracks. It was a sight to behold as it kissed the land beneath it. Every home. Every building. Every street. Every vehicle.Everything.

At the thirty-minute mark, the burn began. I had been waiting for the tingling underneath my skin and the overheating of my frame. I was ready to break a sweat. As soon as the first bead began to form on my forehead, the whistle sounded again.

Prrrrt.

Like a pack of wild animals encountering an enemy, everyone halted. While their legs grew still, one by one, I lifted and lowered mine. Slowing down or stopping wasn’t on my agenda, but I respected the rules of the run. So, in place, I jogged, waiting for the two-minute break to conclude.

“Alright, we’re halfway through the run. Congratulations. We’re going to head back to our starting point after one hundred and twenty seconds. Drink your water, take a seat, stretch your body, or whatever you need to do in the next two minutes. When th–”

“You can stop now, happy feet.”

Every piece of hair on my body stood tall. Hadn’t the hair on the mound of my vagina been lasered, it would be standing atattention too. I could feel it trying its hardest to sprout, but there was no use.

He rounded me, taking me in as if I was a meal on his plate. I caved a hundred times within the four seconds of silence. However, my legs never stopped moving. I needed a distraction of some kind to keep me from jumping this man’s bones.

I’d never been sexually involved with a man, but somehow, my pot of honey had awakened forthis man. It was no surprise to me. I knew him. We knew him. My body and I. My insides and I. My heart and I.

We understood his position. We understood his nature. We understood his intentions. And, we all knew that he wasn’t here to harm. He was here to honor, respect, court, and completely consume when our time came. Because of that bit of wisdom, I was eager to feel him near me. Inside of me. Engulfed in me.

“Rest.”

There was something in his tone. His stance. The sincerity in his eyes as he stood in front of me with his arm extended, demanding I drink from the bottle he’d retrieved from the weighted backpack he wore.

I slowed to a creep before stopping completely. Listening to him came naturally. He was a leader. He exuded the energy, making me submit to him instinctively. I stared at the bottle he was offering, unsure of its contents.

“It’s water,” he explained, “I haven’t put my mouth to it yet. Have some. Even if it’s just a sip. I’ll take whatever is left.”

He hardly knew the first thing about me. I was a stranger. Unfamiliar energy. Unfamiliar territory. Unfamiliar thoughts. Unfamiliar ways. Yet, I’d quickly become his priority. Seemingly, his responsibility. There was no doubt in my mind that he wouldn’t allow me to pass up the water. He’d pour it into my mouth himself if he had to.

I knew him. I felt him. I’d spent so many nights with him. He was no stranger to me. He was my husband. He was my boyfriend. He was my friend. He was mine. In every lifetime. And, there was no denying his position in my world, although we’d technically just met.

“And, what if there’s none?” I asked, curious about his commitment.

“Then I will have the bottle in my truck once I return.”

I accepted the water bottle, pleased with his response. My lips parted, inviting the cap into my mouth. I tilted my head while squeezing the bottle, pouring the chilled water down my throat. My overheated frame cooled immediately.

Though I’d been anticipating the burn, the water felt heavenly cruising down my esophagus. I gulped. And gulped. And gulped before lowering the bottle. Almost half was gone. I leaned forward, placing a free hand to my chest as I steadied my breathing.

He didn’t reach for the water. Instead, he watched intently as I gathered my bearings. His beauty was disturbing. Perfection existed. If not before him, then it started the second of his conception.

I couldn’t help myself. I gnawed on my bottom lip to suppress the smile I felt approaching. However, my attempt fell flat when my lips pulled upward. With a shake of my head, I surrendered.

“You alright?” He asked.

I nodded. “Yes. I’m well.”

I extended my arm, ready to return his property. He needed a drink, and we were set to take off in approximately sixty-eight seconds.

“Your water,” I reminded him.

“Have you had enough?”

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