Page 2 of Rome: The Ballerina

Achingly.

He felt it, too.

“Talk to me, baby.”

“It’s not– It doesn’t matter. I’m awake. Thank you for the wake up c–”

“Rome,” he breathed slowly, “That wasn’t a suggestion. It was an order.”

Though his voice was soft, his words were potent. So was his pain.

“Bab–” he began again.

“Your absence is so heavy.” I exhaled, unable to keep my tears at bay.

One.

Then two.

Three.

Four.

Before I was able to gain control of my emotions, my cheeks were drenched in my sorrows. I wasn’t one to mask my feelings. I wasn’t taught to. I wasn’t encouraged to. I was the heart of our family. Everyone understood it. Understood me. And, they never allowed me to be anything other than that.

I felt.

I felt deeply.

I felt everything.

And, right now, I felt like a child who’d been pulled from their father’s arms prematurely. Though I was a staggering twenty-four years of age, I was no fool.

My license said I was an adult, but I hadn’t reached the level of maturity that fooled me into believing I didn’t need the people who made my life better. Easier. Calmer. To be frank, I wasn’t in a rush to get there either.

“Do you need me, Rome?”

I nodded slowly.

Always.

“Baby– Do you need me?”

“No,” I responded. “I’m fine, Teddy.”

“Then what’s the matter?”

“I’m just adjusting,” I admitted, “I’m adjusting. Still adjusting.”

“Come back. Come back for a week. Maybe it wi–”

“I can’t keep running back every time my heart hurts. It’ll never grow strong enough to withstand the world without you or mom.”

“I pray that it never has to.”

“Ted–”

“You’re not taking on the world alone, baby. I’m here. I’ll always be here. Just a little further away. Though it feels like the end of the world for us both, it’s not. You have to be– Youneedto be in Clarke. You have dreams, Rome.

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