Page 33 of Tension
I’m shaking my head before he even finishes, but the denial feels weak and half-hearted. “You don’t understand,” I beg, my voice trembling. “This isn’t about what feels right or real. It’s about what’s practical, what’s ethical. I can’t… I won’t cross that line.”
His jaw tightens, and for a moment, I think he might argue, but then he takes a step back, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I’m sorry,” he breathes out, his features saturated in pain. “I didn’t mean to…” he trails off, running a hand through his hair.
“You should go,” I press, though the words feel like they’re cutting me as I speak them.
He nods, his gaze lingering on mine for a moment longer before he turns and heads for the door. I follow, my steps faltering as he reaches for the handle.
“Happy birthday, Vaeda,” he says softly, glancing back at me.
I don’t respond, my throat too tight with emotion as I watch him leave. When the door closes behind him, the silence feels deafening. I press my palms to my face, exhaling shakily as I try to steady myself.
Whatever this is, whatever we’ve become… It’s dangerous, and I’m not sure I’m strong enough to continue fighting it.
MATEO
The elevator chimes softly, the glow of the floor numbers flickering as I wait. My hands are shoved deep into my pockets, my heart still hammering from the exchange with Vaeda. The taste of her proximity, the near kiss. All of it is seared into my mind. I glance back at her door, my chest tightening with fear.
It’s been my constant companion since the day I woke up in that hospital bed, staring at the ceiling and realizing I’d almost thrown my life away. I’ve been so damn afraid of making a mistake, of letting people down, of losing control again. Every step since has been cautious, calculated, like I’m walking on a tightrope above a pit I’ll never escape if I fall.
But I’m tired of being afraid and fearful that my inhibition is stealing my second chance at life.
The elevator arrives, but I don’t get on. I push through the stairwell instead, needing the burn in my legs to distract from the ache twisting inside my chest. By the time I reach the bottom, my legs are trembling and my forehead is lined with sweat.
I push out of the doors, regretting leaving my jacket at home and knowing I risk catching a cold, but I throw the worry away as I curse under my breath. I’ve been so damn fearful since I woke up in that hospital bed. The city is hushed this late, its sounds muffled by fresh snow and the pounding of my heart in my ears. I walk the few blocks home, every step pressing Vaeda deeper into my thoughts.
She’s becoming a problem.
Not because of what she is, my instructor, a married woman, someone entirely off-limits, but because of how she makes me feel. I’m supposed to be clean, clearheaded, in control, but when I’m around her, the urge to spiral is almost too tempting to resist, and I can’t tell if that’s terrifying or addictive.
I reach my building and climb the ladder to the fire escape, my palms absorbing the sting of the frigid metal. Once inside myapartment, I close the door softly behind me and lean against it, the echo of tonight still ringing in my ears.
I’ve fought so hard to stay balanced, to be seen as trustworthy again, but the way my heart races when she’s near, the way I crave her attention like it’s oxygen, feels too close to how I used to crave the numbness of a high. When I would become reckless and dangerous.
Only this time, the high has auburn hair and a voice that unravels me with syllables.
I sink onto the edge of my couch, elbows on my knees, running a hand through my hair. This can’t happen, it shouldn’t, but the thought of walking away from her… It makes my chest hollow.
There’s a fine line between love and addiction. Between beauty and destruction. I’ve danced along that edge before and almost didn’t survive it, and now I’m doing it again, only this time it’s Vaeda I can’t stop reaching for.
I sink back, staring at the ceiling, forcing my breath to steady. Tomorrow, I’ll pretend I can handle this. Tomorrow, I’ll go back to being her student, but tonight, I admit the truth to myself: I’m not sure if I want to be saved from her.
The city is hushed beyond the glass, its skyline softened under the shroud of a winter night. I stand in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows of my apartment, barefoot on the warm hardwood, pressing my hand to the pane. The party ended hours ago, but sleep hasn’t come. It won’t. Everything feels too loud inside my head.
The silence out there, in the city that never sleeps, is deceptive, because inside me, there’s noise. Her voice. Her face. The way she looked at me before I left.
I close my eyes and lean my forehead against the glass, letting the cold bleed into my skin. My body still craves her scent, her nearness, the melody between us that keeps getting louder no matter how many times we try to deny it. There’s a weight on mychest that won’t ease. A need that has nothing to do with pills or powder.
I push off the window and head to the kitchen, needing something to ground me. As I open the fridge, my phone buzzes on the counter, and I glance at the screen.
Voicemail. From my father.
My stomach knots. I don’t play it right away. Instead, I open a bottle of water and take a long sip, trying to steady myself. Then I tap the screen and hold the phone to my ear.
His voice is as cold as ever, clipped and direct. “Mateo, your mother says you’ve been doing well. I hope that’s true, but remember why we sent you to New York. Stay focused on the promises you made. Don’t get distracted by old habits. Call me.”
That’s it. No warmth. No questions. Just warnings.
It sounds like he doesn’t know I’ve gone back to dancing yet. My mother must be waiting to break it to him, and that makes me more nervous, but he knows me well enough to suspect, and that suspicion feels like an impending storm, threatening to disrupt everything I’ve built.
