Page 65 of The Breaking Pointe
“Hm?”she hums.
“Elle…can I call you Elle?”I whisper shyly, taking in every
twinkle in her beaming, green eyes.
She nods, looking sleepy and ready to rest her head on my chest.
“So Elle…how long are we gonna pretend like what hap- pened,neverhappened?”Iquietlyjest,holdingsome seriousness to the question.
“Well, actually, I dunno.”She turns her eyes away now, tucking her hair behind her ears.“I honestly didn’t think you would take me seriously.I wasn’t sure what this was gonna be.I’m not even sure if I know what I want,” she admits. “Or if it’s safe to want you…”
Kinda brutal, but who am I to say what she needs.I just wanna be what she needs.For a little while, at least.My brain pokes me at her last sentence though, that there is something else going on.
“Noelle,” I chuckle softly, “I haven’t stopped thinking about you.You pitched a tent in my mind, and I can’t get you out.”
She throws her head back, letting out a light but joyous laugh followed by a sigh, making me smile as I watch her, holding onto her body.It’s like she doesn’t care about gravity or anything else.Her hand moves to the sides ofmy neck, holding onto me as she sits on my lap.As her laugh fizzles out, she kisses my jawline softly, smiling widely now. Her amusement is wonderful.But I can’t help but wonder how she feels, if she feels the same. I mean, truly. A lot of people can say whatever they want and still not mean a damn thing.
“Did you think about me at all?” I whisper as she kisses my cheek now, right near my ear.
“Ithinkaboutyoutoomuch,”shebreathesoutsoftly,
running a few fingers through my hair, turning my head to face her now.
Our lips brush together softly as she lingers there.
“I just want to know that you’re feeling what I’m feeling…” I continue to speak quietly. “So badly—”
Before I could go on, she shuts me up. Her hand holds my head securely, ensuring that I can’t escape her lips.But I don’t want to.Our lips begin to move in sync with each other, like they’ve been familiarized with every move we are going to make next. Perfectly synchronized with one another.
My nose fills with the smell of strawberries as I taste her lips, deepening the kiss. It’s tender. Delicate. I’ve missed it so much. I don’t think I even knew I wanted this, this badly until this moment.
It’s the warm, fuzzy feeling that has me locked in.Her fingers still exploring my hair. She’s so effortlessly sensual and fiery.
Her lips begin to slowly part from mine. I don’t want it to end. My lips follow hers, hesitant to pull away, but letting her go anyway. She then rests her head on my chest, leaning into me. Wrapping my arms around her, I lean back in my chair, holding her. I could hold her all night. And I think I will.
16
prince charming
NOELLE
It takes a mile’s worth of turmoil to make me despise something or dislike a specific product or process.In the case of receiving mail, I used to love it.It always was a package, a letter, or likely anything to make me feel enthusiastic about being able to look in my mailbox or check my porch for a sign of something.The feeling motivated me and probably instilled a sense of expectation within my brain that receiving mail is always a good thing.
I have never disagreed with a statement more than that specific one now.
Now when I check the mail, it’s all reminders that I can’t keep affording the life I crave and have kept up for the past few years. The moment I became single again, only needing and relying on myself to get by, my bank account felt it. Being independent is possibly my most rewarding decision, but as rewarding as it may be, it’s humbled me more than
I prepared myself for. Arguably, it’s keeping me grounded, and I can accept that.
I also accept the sheer fear that I might not be able to make rent on my studio every time it’s due.
Last month I was able to scrounge up something with the last of my savings, just in time.This month, I’m wondering if they’ll let me be just a little bit late.Since shows have been scarce at the theater, my payouts have been nonexistent most of the time.You would think that working at the cafe would fill in the blanks financially, but it turns out that the hipster coffee culture has plummeted into its grave. The only visitors we get are old couples on the prowl for a feeling of youthfulness and young women hunting for an aesthetic feeling while they read their books.Instead of sitting, everyone prefers their hot cup of goodness on the go. Sadly, we’re just a little sit-down shop on a corner.
I still do it in hopes that maybe one of these days I’ll wake up to a sudden change. I’ll magically become wealthy enough to support whatever ideas and projects that I believe in, or maybe someone will believe me enough to invest in me. I know my odds are looking slimmer and slimmer these days.I’m praying they haven’t completely thinned out by the time my girls are all grown up and ready to explore the world like I was when I came to New York.
Some of these girls come to my class and it’s the only place they can be themselves without second guessing it. I try to make it affordable for the sake of knowing how hard it isto support your kids when it comes to their extracurricular activities, but it’s almost beginning to backfire on my end. The last thing that I want to do is have to sit down with all of them and announce that I’m shutting the company down.
They wouldn’t know where to begin to understand why, and I’m afraid I just don’t have the answers that they would want to hear. It would be unnerving, admitting defeat, and accepting that I failed them completely.
