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-14-
The room was almost dark. I clicked the switch of a corner lamp. A dim watt shaded in stained glass cast the room in jeweled light.
A pair of dance sweats hung over the balance pole, and I wriggled out of my jeans and into them. When I turned on the music player, the cat thudded his paw against the door on cue. He strode through the room with his tail in the air. This was an almost nightly ritual. Oliver would watch me with his front paws folded beneath him in the middle of the floor as I twirled around the room.
A piano tune, its simple three chords, pristine as birdsong, filled the space. Before the mirror, I extended my arms until I felt the muscles twinge and did the same with my legs. With one hand resting on the balance pole, I held my ankle with the other and pulled out angled at first. I then lifted my foot above my head, willing my leg in a taut line. I stretched into the pull of my tendons, an escalating twinge that winced from ankle to calf to thigh to groin. I pressed until I met the threshold of tolerance and breathed into its face, then pushed further into drawn muscles until the body submitted, the pain barrier was ascended, and there was only feeling. In that place, judgments about pain or pleasure were only notions. There was only sensation, there was only the dance.
Each time the piano tune lilted to its ending, I hit replay, moving with each high and low note. In a fusion of yoga and ballet, I held my hands vaulted above me and moved with centered concentration arching backwards stretching, holding and then folding forward so the curls of my hair swept the floor. As I rose straight and faced the mirror, I saw Scott reflected in cathedral light. His eyes locked on mine. He leaned against the door frame, arms folded, listening, watching. A soft smile brushed over his lips.
He unfolded his arms, stepped behind me, and sealed his body against mine. He swept my hair off my back and touched his lips to my shoulder, the nape of my neck. His breath was warm in my ear. He wrapped his hand in my hair, lowered me to the floor, and rolled on top of me. I burrowed my nose against his neck and inhaled his warm lavender scent. The weight of his body pressed my bones into the hardwood. He brought his mouth down on mine and entered me with his tongue.
I unfastened his belt and popped open the button of his pants. Hurry. I lowered his zipper and raced to push my dance sweats down, fast, before he can think.
“Wait,” he said.
“No,” I said through a kiss. “Just do it here, now.”
“No.”
“Yes,” I said. “Please.”
“Let’s get your diaphragm.”
I pretended not to hear and arched my body to entice him into me. Almost there, I thought, closer. I gasped in relief as I felt him push through and into me. He shared a few frantic strokes before pulling free. We both lay still, breathy, him trembling and swollen hard against the bone of my hip. Our eyes locked.
“Come here.” Scott rose to his feet and started to lift me so he could deposit me on the bed, shoot me full of poison, and insert a barrier between us.
I squirmed against his arms, and he freed me. “Please,” I begged again.
“Chlo, we’ve talked about this.” He zipped his pants and turned to leave the room.
I followed on his heels. “You’ve talked about it.”
“You know how I feel.” He walked into the bedroom.
I turned hard right behind him and flounced on the bed, cradling a pillow to my chest. “But do you know how I feel?” I looked up at him with pleading eyes.
“Yes, sweetheart,” he whispered. “I think I do.”
