Page 37 of Tension
“Mind if I join?” Yvonne asks, not bothering to wait for an answer as she slides into the booth next to Vaeda, her eyes fixed solely on me.
“Actually,” Vaeda interjects smoothly, “I was just about to leave. You two go ahead.”
My stomach knots as Vaeda crowds into Yvonne, forcing her to get up and let her out of the booth. She stands gracefully, her eyes avoiding mine. “Vaeda—”
“I’ll see you both tomorrow,” she interrupts gently, her eyes focused ahead as she moves swiftly toward the door before I can respond.
As the bell jingles again, signaling her departure, Yvonne shifts to the spot Vaeda vacated, immediately changing the energy between us.
“Didn’t mean to scare her off,” Yvonne says, a note of smugness in her voice that irritates me instantly.
“What are you doing here, Yvonne?” I ask, my tone cooler than intended.
She shrugs, feigning innocence as she takes a menu in her hands, eyes not meeting mine. “I come here often, remember? I didn’t know you two were that... close.”
“We’re not,” I respond curtly, though it sounds defensive even to my own ears.
Her gaze snaps up sharply, eyes narrowing slightly. “Really? Because that’s not how it looked.”
“It’s not like that,” I insist, a lie that tastes bitter on my tongue. The tension in the air thickens, frustration and confusion battling inside me.
“Mateo…” Yvonne sighs, dropping her pretense. “We’ve been partners for a while now. You must’ve noticed how well we work together.”
“Yeah, we’re good partners,” I concede warily, sensing where this conversation is heading.
She leans forward slightly, lowering her voice. “It could be more than that. We could be amazing together, both on and off the dance floor.”
I sit back, taken aback by her bluntness. “Yvonne, I don’t think—”
“Think about it,” she presses gently, reaching across the table to rest her fingers lightly over mine. “We have chemistry, Mateo. Real chemistry. Not something forbidden and needing to be hidden away.”
Her words sting, a direct jab at my complicated feelings for Vaeda. I withdraw my hand gently but firmly, shaking my head. “I value our partnership, Yvonne, but I don’t see us that way,” I say quietly, hoping to soften the rejection.
She withdraws her hand slowly, disappointment and hurt flashing briefly across her face before she masks it behind a neutral expression. “Alright,” she murmurs, leaning back. “I just thought you should know how I feel.”
Silence hangs heavily between us, interrupted only by the quiet clatter of dishes from the kitchen. My appetite gone, I find myself searching for an excuse to leave.
“Look,” I finally say, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “I appreciate your honesty, Yvonne, I really do, but I think it’s best if we just stay partners, okay?”
She nods as a faint, resigned smile touches her lips. “Understood.”
I rise, forcing a smile, unable to shake the lingering discomfort from the conversation. “I’ll see you at rehearsal.”
“Sure,” she mutters softly, watching me carefully as I move toward the exit.
Stepping into the cool afternoon, I exhale heavily, the weight of the situation pressing heavily on my shoulders. My mind races with confusion, guilt, and desire. Yvonne’s revelation complicates things even further, yet all I can think about is the pain in Vaeda’s eyes as she left.
My feet carry me down the quiet street, but my mind stays tangled in the messy web of emotions. The truth is clear, painful, and unavoidable. My feelings for Vaeda aren’t fading; they’re deepening with every shared moment, every stolen glance, and every charged touch. And no matter how dangerous or impossible it may be, I’m starting to realize there’s no turning back.
VAEDA
The pavement beneath my feet feels unrelenting, harder than usual, as I cross the street back toward Fusion Core. My pulse pounds, frustration simmering beneath my skin. I’m furious, mostly with myself. How could I have been so careless and reckless as to let Mateo draw me in like that? I should have known better, especially with Yvonne’s obvious interest in him. The image of her eyes, bright with jealousy and desire, burns vividly in my mind.
The studio door slams shut behind me, echoing harshly in the quiet space. I move quickly, needing privacy and space. Pulling off and dropping my sweater carelessly onto the bench, I headstraight to the sound system, my fingers shaking slightly as I flip through songs until I find a driving, relentless Rumba rhythm. The beat immediately fills the room, powerful and consuming.
I step onto the polished floor, the ache in my ankle barely noticeable beneath the fury propelling me forward. My body responds instantly, years of practice guiding my movements as I channel my anger and confusion into every sharp, decisive step. The music builds, wrapping around me like a storm, pulling me deeper into its fierce embrace.
My hips twist sharply, arms sweeping in controlled arcs, each movement punctuated by the rhythmic pulse driving through the speakers. I spin, losing myself completely, the world fading until there’s only the dance, only the raw intensity of emotion bleeding from me with every move.
