Page 163 of The Breaking Pointe
“Noelle…” I grunt, then sigh, lifting a hand to carefully
take hers,butImissit.
She then forges a slap against my arm and then my chest. “No…” she disgruntles.Something akin to pride flashes across her eyes, but only for a split second.
Pursing my lips to the side, I let her go, because I know what this is.I know she wishes she was hitting him, but that’s just not the case.I wish there were a way that she could make him feel what she felt, in a physical manner.She doesn’t mean any of this, but it has to escape, or she’ll bottle it up more.
I know better than anyone how that goes.
She rushes some more hits at me, mostly slapping move- ments, attacking my chest and arms until her sobs become a little too violent for her to both cry and attack at the same time.
“Hey—hey, it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay,” I murmur.As her wailing arms slow down, my calm arms reach around her, containing the blows that she has left until she’s coddled into my torso, holding me instead. Closing my eyes, I keep her there, and run my fingers through her soft curls to soothe her.
“Please…” she mutters, pulling on my shirt harder. “Tell me you love me…”
I take a deep breath in through my nose and kiss her head, lingering my mouth against it. “I love you. I’m never going to stop loving you.”
I’mnotgoingtodoit.It’sjustnotpossible.
41
no more fears
COLTON
One of my biggest pet peeves is when someone tells you they know how you feel. Nobody ever really knows how any of us feel about anything.
Yawning, I shuffle towards the kitchen counter, setting my mother’s sticker covered carafe back onto the coffee machine after pouring myself a hardy cup. I never needed coffee in the evening, but I guess cruising into my thirties, I should expect that.Scratching my side softly, I rub the dated scar, feeling at the recently removed stitching.
“So the meeting went well then? No more coffee shop?” I ask Noelle, clutching my phone between my cheek and shoulder as I pick up my mug to take a big sip.
“No more coffee shop,” she responds in a bubbly tone. “Although I do feel bad for the owner. I’ve been there for a long time,” she says over the call.
“Don’tfeelbad,sweetheart.Peoplehavetomoveon
eventually.You wanna focus on dancing.If you’ve been there for so long, they should understand,” I tell her in between taking another quick sip.
“I’m sure everyone understands, but I still feel bad, though. I hate letting people down. Now they have to hire someone else—and no offense—but I don’t think anyone wants to work where hardly anyone comes in. Maybe I feel worse for Annie,” she says, prolonging her words as if that sent her into deep thought.
“You’re allowed to feel bad. In the same breath, I’m sure Annie understands as well.This will all be worth it, in the end, you know?Maybe if feels crazy in this moment, but it’s all in good taste,” I tell her, offering up reasons for a brighter side to be observed in this situation.
It’s not all bad. At least not to me. Her empathy doesn’t allow her to free herself from what might hold her back, which to others may be bad. I, on the other hand, really do appreciate her free will to feel openly.People don’t do it enough anymore. I remember thinking I was the only one who felt too much, but I was so wrong. We have been riding in that same boat without knowing it until now.
She lets out another deep, harsh breath, clearly frustrated by the topic.
“I should go into group, now,” she says in a hushed voice. “Alright…”Ilinger,staringintomycoffeecupwitha
hesitantthought.
I should be there.With her.
“I’ll be there to pick you up,” I add.
“I know. I love you,” she responds, still hushed. Maybe even more hushed.
“I love you,” I tell her, still pondering as I listen to her
hangup.
