Page 9 of Tension
By the time I’ve finished, the tension in my shoulders has eased. I pay the bill and step back into the brisk air, feeling more centered. Mateo’s class is only an hour away, and I want to be ready to see if Greyson’s gamble on him will pay off.
Slipping into the lingerie boutique a few shops down from the bistro, I figure I could pass the last hour by finding something to spice up my night with Gerardo later. Maybe I should put forth more effort, and even though the passion has been lacking lately, our love is still as strong as ever.
I’m sure he would love to see me in something red and lacy, his favorite color. It’s been a while since we’ve spent a romanticnight together. I’ve been exhausted working every day to make sure the studio stays afloat, and Gerardo has been working odd hours. Writing is his second love, dancing being the first. Admittedly, romance is the furthest thing from our minds when we walk through the door each night.
My fingers slip over the delicate silks as I make my way around the small displays, the smell of lavender and vanilla slipping through my nostrils.
“Can I help you?” Turning, I find the smiling face of a beautiful girl, her brown hair shining and her lithe body at ease as she watches me. I’ve been a dancer for nearly my entire life, and because of it, a person’s athleticism is the first thing I notice.
“I’m looking for something to surprise my husband with. He loves the color red.” I lift a bra and panty set, the bright red screaming debauchery.
“Oh, put that back.” She gives me a mischievous smirk. “I’ve got just what you’re looking for.”
I follow her to the back of the store, and when the rear wall display opens up in front of me, I nearly choke on my intake of air. When I said I wanted something sexy, I didn’t realize that it could mean something completely different to another person. Yet, when I reach up and touch the smooth material, I feel myself grinning widely, my cheeks lifting with the motion.
Maybe this is exactly what we need.
MATEO
The phone buzzes on the nightstand, and I groggily reach for it, the screen’s brightness making me squint. Roger’s name flashes across the screen. With a groan, I swipe to answer, tryingto sound convincing despite the guilt of my plan rushing through me.
“Hey, Roger,” I croak, adding a sniffle for effect. “I’m feeling under the weather today. I don’t think I’ll make it to class.”
“Understood,” Roger replies, his tone professional but laced with concern. “Do you need anything? I can bring over some soup or medicine.”
“No, no, I’ll be fine,” I insist. “I’ll just take the weekend to rest.”
Roger hesitates before responding. “Alright, Mateo. Rest up and let me know if you need anything. I’ll see you on Monday.”
I hang up and drop the phone onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. Skipping another day of school isn’t ideal, but I need the day to prepare for tonight’s class. My thoughts are interrupted by the shrill ringtone piercing the silence again. I glance at the screen and feel my stomach drop.My father. Honestly, I’m impressed with just how quick Roger was in telling him I’m taking the day off.
I answer, bracing myself. “Hi, Dad.”
“Mateo.” His voice is sharp, already full of distrust. “Roger tells me you’re not feeling well. What’s going on?”
“It’s just a cold,” I answer him, keeping my tone light. “Probably nothing, but I thought it’d be better to stay home and rest.”
There’s a pause, and I can almost hear him calculating whether to believe me. “You’re not… slipping, are you?”
The accusation stings, but I swallow my frustration. “No, Dad. I’m clean. I’ve been going to my meetings. This is just a cold.”
“Good,” he says curtly, though the doubt lingers in his voice. “Because if I hear otherwise—”
“You won’t,” I interrupt, trying to keep the conversation from spiraling. “I’ll be fine. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”
“Alright,” he relents. “Rest, Mateo.”
Then the line goes dead, and I exhale deeply, the tension in my shoulders refusing to dissipate. I can’t dwell on it. Tonight’s class is too important. I drag myself out of bed, heading to the kitchen to make a light breakfast. The mundane act of cooking steadies me, grounding my thoughts as I prepare for the evening ahead.
Leaving my building is easy enough because it’s around the same time as my NA meetings. Sure, if by chance my father calls the main desk to ask if they’ve seen me, I could be caught. It’s a risk I’m willing to take though. If all else fails, I could tell him I decided to go for a last-minute meeting without bothering Roger for a ride.
By the time I arrive at the studio, the nerves are back, twisting in my gut like a coiled spring as the worry of my family finding out fades. The familiar scent of polished wood and slight traces of rosin fill the air as I step inside. The other dancers are already milling around, stretching and chatting in low voices.
“Mateo!” Yvonne’s cheerful voice cuts through the throng of conversation. She waves me over, her smile bright and inviting. “Glad you made it.”
“Hey,” I reply, trying to match her enthusiasm. She’s dressed in a sleek, black leotard and tights, her hair pulled back into a neat bun. Her confidence is infectious, and I feel a little less out of place.
I sit on the bench and pull my shoes from my backpack, the feel of them supple to my fingertips. These are the shoes I wore during my final competition, the one I won and celebrated by swallowing enough pills to end my life. I force the thoughts away, determined to create new memories with them, hoping they replace the old.
