Dance: The Collected Series Page 17

  And he does just as I ask, picking up pace as my body yields to him, fucking me harder and harder, until it feels like he might tear me right in two, thrusting himself so deep inside me, I become lost inside the pleasure, my whole body shaking, the moans and cries flying from my lips. But I need something else to come.

  With a shaky hand I reach between my legs, finding my clit so swollen it takes me by surprise. I start to work myself with my fingers, in slow delicious circles, as Dylan continues to fuck my ass, and soon I’m coming, whimpering as I feel myself clamping so tight around him ...

  With a final growl, I feel Dylan pull out of me, his cock pulsing thick jets onto my back, before he lowers himself onto me in exhaustion, the glistening heat of his body pinning me now, covering me completely, pressing me into the hot wet leather of the couch beneath.

  A moment later, he lifts himself off me again, and I slip around onto my back, throwing my arms around his shoulders and drawing him in to a kiss, this time soft and tender.

  “That was ... intense,” I say. “And just what I needed. It really took my mind off things.”

  “I’m glad I could be of service,” he murmurs, getting himself comfortable on the large couch, our bodies fitting together in a relaxed cuddle with surprising ease. Maybe this should feel weird, but it doesn’t. It really, really doesn’t. Even the silence feels comfortable. But soon my mind is drifting – back to the things I’d been trying to avoid thinking about.

  Fuck Maurice, I think. Fuck the school. I don’t need them in my life. All I need is Dylan and my friends. Nat. Oh Nat. What I need to do right now is make it up to her ...

  I just know that her and Dylan would get on if they could meet again, without Isabella there being a total bitch. And just like that, I have an idea.

  “Hey listen,” I say, finally breaking the comfortable silence. “Next week there’s a show at my old dance studio, downtown. Why don’t you come with me? There’ll be a party afterwards. It’s gonna be really fun.”

  “Come on, Julia,” he sighs. “I’ve tried meeting your friends. And look how well that went. I think that’s best left alone, don’t you?”

  “But it’ll be different this time ... Please?”

  “I’d rather not chance it,” he says. “You go on your own. You’ll have a much better time.”

  “No, come on!” I reply. “I went to your party. Now it’s time you came to mine.”

  “I don’t want to go to some amateur dance recital, Julia,” he says, his voice becoming stern and cold. “So just leave it, okay?”

  And then I say it, the words flying from my mouth before I quite realize what it is I’ve even said: “You’re supposed to be my boyfriend, Dylan.”

  I freeze.

  Oh God. What the fuck have I just said?! Where did that even come from? Do I really think he’s my boyfriend?

  “Wait a minute, what did you just say?” he says, quietly and coldly.

  “Nothing,” I mumble. “Forget it. I didn’t mean it like that ...”

  “Is that what you think this is?” he says, getting quickly to his feet and pacing the room as if he can’t be away from me quick enough. “Do you think I’m your ‘boyfriend’?”

  Oh God, what have I done? I want so desperately to put the words back where they came from, to erase the last five minutes. But I can’t. It’s too late.

  “No, no ...” I say. “Dylan, please. Listen to me. I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “We have an arrangement, Julia,” he snaps. “You fuck me, and I let you live here.”

  “I ... I ...” I stammer.

  “God damn it,” he sighs, shaking his head in disbelief. “This always happens. No matter how much you women swear you won’t get involved, you always do.”

  “What do you mean ‘always’? Oh, wait a minute, I’m not the first, am I?”

  “Of course you’re not the first,” he says coldly. “What do you think I keep this fucking apartment for?”

  The words are like a sucker-punch to my chest. I suppose I’ve known it all along, but it’s never been made quite so clear. I really am nothing better than a hooker.

  And I can’t even tell him to get out. After all, this isn’t my apartment is it? It’s his. So it looks like I’m the one who has to leave.

  “Okay,” I say. “Deal’s off. I’m moving out.”

  “Fine,” he replies coldly. And his calm manner sends me into a rage.

  “Of course,” I hiss. “Why should you care? You can get someone else in here before the bed is even cold. But me? I gave you everything. I gave you my virginity.”

  The word hangs in the air. In the silence between us.

  He looks shocked for a moment but quickly recovers.

  “How the fuck was I supposed to know that?” he says. “You never told me.”

  “You never asked,” I shoot back.

  The tears sting my eyes as I push up off the couch, quickly pulling on my discarded clothes and then grabbing my bag so that I can get out of here. Dylan remains silent. I’m too scared to look at him. So instead I turn towards the door, realizing there’s only one place left for me to go right now ...

  PART FOUR

  CHAPTER twenty-FOUR

  I stand on the crumbling front porch and knock loudly on the door, careful not to get splinters in my knuckles. There are no lights on, and for the longest while nobody answers. I’m just about to leave when the door opens.

  “Julia?” he says, his face wrinkling in confusion, five-day-old stubble peppering his cheeks.

  “Hi Dad,” I say. “Can I come in?”

  “Sure,” he says, confusion giving way to surprise now as he stands back to let me inside.

  I’ve not been back in three years. I didn’t even know if he was still here, but I was counting on the fact that he was too lazy to move, and I was right. From the looks of things, he’s been too lazy – or too broke – to pay the electricity bill either. From what I can tell, he’s been sitting alone in this dingy room, with just a bottle of Jack Daniels and a flickering candle for company.

  “Can I get you a drink, sweetie?” he mumbles, looking around him, obviously kind of embarrassed that there doesn’t even seem to be a clean glass to pour me a drink into. With a shrug, he picks up the bottle of Jack, wipes the mouth of the bottle on his faded t-shirt, then offers it to me.

  “No thanks, Dad,” I say. “I’d take a coffee though?”

  “I think I’ve got some coffee somewhere,” he says. “But, um, the electricity’s off, so you’d have to heat water in a pan on the stove?”

  “Don’t worry,” I reply, dropping my bag on the bare wooden floorboards and taking a seat on the beat-up old couch. “I’m not really thirsty, anyway.”

  It seems like nothing’s changed in all the years I’ve been gone. It breaks my heart to see him like this. And if I’m honest, it’s the main reason I haven’t been back.

  “So,” he says, rubbing at his sallow cheeks with his palms, his stubble rasping. “I didn’t expect to ever hear from you again, and now you show up at my door.”

  “I know,” I say with a sad smile. “I’m as surprised as you are. But we’ve been fighting for too long.”

  “Oh, I was never really fighting with you, Duckie,” he says.

  “Nor was I, Dad,” I reply, feeling the hot prick of tears at the corners of my eyes, threatening to ruin my makeup. “Nor was I.”

  He takes his seat in the ratty leather armchair facing me, then picks up the bottle of Jack and takes a big hit.

  “Dad?” I say after a pause. “What was Mom like, when she was my age?”

  At this, his eyes brighten and his face breaks out into a large, warm smile.

  “She was a lot like you,” he grins. “Beautiful. Feisty. Driven. Oh, she knew what she wanted, that woman. And she would do anything to get it ...”

  I miss her so much, and it makes me fill with pride to hear that I’m even the tiniest bit like her. But still, something about Dad’s answer doesn’t quite
make sense to me.

  “But,” I say, shaking my head, “I don’t understand. I mean, she worked in a factory all those years. Whatever she wanted, she certainly didn’t get it.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” he says. “She wanted you, Duckie. She wanted you so badly. And she wanted you to have all the things she never had. That’s why she worked so hard.”

  The words hit me like a cannonball. I’ve spent practically forever telling myself that I’d ruined her life. That I’d held her back from pursuing her own hopes and dreams. But in all that, I guess I’d forgotten just how much she loved me.

  “Yes, Julia,” he says sadly, before taking another slug from the bottle. “You look so much like her. I suppose that’s why I was so hard on you after she died. You see, I fucked up. I fucked up badly, I can see that now. But I never stopped loving your mother. I guess I always thought she’d come back to me in the end. So after she died, sometimes I found it too difficult to even look at you, you reminded me so much of her ...”

  I try and take in what he’s telling me. It still doesn’t make up for all the hurt of those years, all the fighting, the shouting, the arguing, the drinking – the smashed windows, plates, and bottles. But even so, it does feel good to finally understand. And I think that maybe, I really can start to forgive him.

  I was going to get the last train back to New York, but I don’t want to leave him here like this alone.

  “Daddy?” I say. “Think I could stay the night?”

  “Of course!” he laughs, his face brightening. “It sure ain’t the Hilton, but you can stay in my bed, and I’ll sleep on the couch ...”

  §

  In the morning, I wake up super early and decide to tackle the kitchen. It’s filthy, and it takes ages to clean without any hot running water. Instead I have to boil pans on the stove before giving everything a good scrub down. But by the time dad wakes up, it’s not in bad shape, and I’ve even made us both some coffee.

  “You didn’t have to do all this,” he says, looking around him and shaking his head; the counter tops gleaming for probably the first time in years.

  “Yes, I did, Dad,” I say. “Promise me you’ll start to sort this place out? You can’t carry on living like this.”

  “You’re right,” he sighs. “And if my little girl can come back to me, I guess anything’s possible.”

  There’s an awkward pause between us, and then I swallow my pride and step towards him, throwing my arms around his skinny, frail frame in the biggest hug. I feel his arms wrap around me too, squeezing me tight.

  “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask,” he says once we’ve finished hugging. “What brought you here in the first place anyway?”

  “I guess life is kind of crashing down around me right now,” I say quietly. “So I thought if I went back to the start, I might be able to figure out where it all began to go wrong.”

  “And did you get the answer you came for?” he says.

  “Yes, Dad. I think I did.”

  §

  On the train back to New York, I stare out of the window, lost in thought, going over and over all the things in my life that seem like so much chaos now. Dylan. Nat. Eldridge. But instead of getting sad and feeling sorry for myself, this time I’m determined to take them in hand, one by one, to try to figure all this out and piece my life back together.

  I’m trying to be the headstrong, feisty woman I know my mother wanted me to become.

  First of all, I need to find a new place to live. Pronto. I’m never going back to that sleazy apartment that Dylan likes to keep women in like objects, ever again. I gave him something so precious and he threw it right back in my face. I can’t believe I was stupid enough to actually fall for him. How did I ever lose my head like that? It’s so unlike me. Trust me to meet a charming bastard like that.

  And I resolve to be more careful next time. To double down on my promise never to get distracted by a man until I find The One. And this time, I’ll know to avoid a wolf in Prince Charming’s clothing.

  Next I think again about that sleazeball, Maurice, and the way he lashed out at me just because I didn’t want to sleep with him.

  It had hurt when he’d said I wasn’t talented, sure. But is it really true? Was I really good enough to get into the school, or was the only reason I got in because he pulled some strings?

  I need to know, one way or the other. I need to find out the answer, once and for all.

  So I resolve to go back to Eldridge the very moment I step off the train ...

  CHAPTER twenty-FIVE

  My heart’s pounding louder than the drums in a DMX song as I nervously head down the upper corridor at Eldridge, my heartbeat getting even louder as I tiptoe right past Maurice Ryman’s office. A few doors down, I reach the room I’m looking for: Madame Lyon’s. I scan the placard with her office hours printed on it, and luckily she should be inside.

  I knock, breathing a sigh of relief when I hear her elegant voice call, “Come in!” a moment later.

  “Julia,” she says when she sees me. “Please, take a seat.”

  I sit down, balling my hands in my lap, heart still beating as I hope to God that she believes what I’m about to tell her.

  “So, what can I do for you?” she says, her face full of concern. “You didn’t make classes all last week. I was about to email you. Is everything okay?”

  “Not really ...” I begin, taking a deep breath.

  Here goes nothing ...

  But, as I begin to speak, telling her all about Maurice’s ‘private tutorials’ and his increasingly inappropriate behavior, I’m relieved that when I finally steal a nervous glance up at her towards the end of my story, her face remains compassionate, like she totally believes what I’m saying.

  When I’m finished, she sighs and shakes her head, her eyes narrowing.

  “I’m afraid I’m not surprised about Maurice and his behavior,” she begins. “He’s already on his final warning for inappropriate relationships with students. I’m so glad you had the courage to say something before things went too far. All too often, the young people here feel like the teachers are gods, that they are in a position of power, and don’t feel able to say anything. I’m glad you stood up for yourself, Julia. You did the right thing.”

  “Thank you, Madame Lyon,” I say, full of relief. “So ... what happens now?”

  “Well,” she says, “You certainly won’t be having any more classes with him, I can assure you of that. But you can return to the rest of your studies as normal. Don’t worry, Julia. I will make sure your remaining time here is comfortable. I wouldn’t want you to feel unwelcome at this school.”

  “But I can’t get his words out of my head,” I sigh. “He called me a talentless whore. Do I really even deserve a place here?”

  “Oh Julia,” Madame Lyon says sternly. “I expected more from you! I won’t have any more of that foolish talk. You’re one of my best students. I was there when you auditioned too, remember? And I know that Maurice has a tendency to make it seem like he calls all the shots around here, but it’s simply not true. The buck does not stop with him. Even if he thought you were talentless, he’d have to get past me before he could dismiss you, and I can assure you that that would never happen. Therefore I expect you to stay in this school and work hard. Okay?”

  At this, her stern expression gives way to a smile.

  “Okay,” I reply, standing up to leave her office. “Thank you.”

  And as I walk back down the corridor, I keep my head held high and my back straight as I pass Maurice’s office, knowing that nothing he can do can harm me now.

  §

  And then something happens which catches me completely off-guard. I’m walking out of the front doors to the school, to head across the campus, when I see someone sitting on the edge of the fountain and I feel all the air knocked out of my lungs. It’s Dylan. Dressed as always in a sharp black suit. Only this time, he’s accessorized it with the biggest bunch of flowe
rs I’ve ever seen.

  “Julia,” he calls the moment he sees me, loud enough to turn the heads of everyone passing by.

  But I pretend I haven’t seen him, turning away and walking as fast as I can in the opposite direction. I can hear him running up behind me, and sure enough a moment later he’s by my side, keeping pace.

  “Julia, stop, please,” he insists. “I need you to talk to me. I’ve been going crazy without you. Please just listen to what I have to say ...”

  But instead I keep on walking.

  “I’m through doing anything for you,” I say. “The deal’s off, remember? You don’t own me anymore, Dylan.”

  “I don’t want to own you,” he replies, his voice urgent, blazing with emotion. “Please, just slow down a little and talk to me ...”

  But instead of slowing down, I break out into a run, just wanting to be as far away from that asshole as I possibly can. I kind of suspect he might be chasing after me, but I don’t turn around to look. I just run and run and run, until my breath is ragged and I have to stop, hands on knees, unsure where I even am anymore.

  I cautiously look all around me, but he’s nowhere to be seen.

  §

  A few hours later, I’m sitting in a café, using their free Wi-Fi, fruitlessly scanning Craigslist on my phone, hunting for a cheap apartment, when my search is interrupted by a message, popping up on the screen. My heart lurches. It’s from Dylan:

  I’m sorry. I mean it. Please call me.

  Without even thinking, I open contacts, find his number, then hit delete.

  It’s over, Dylan. Leave me alone ...

  I turn my attention back to Craigslist, knowing that I need to find a new place and quick. I’ve already called up my ex-landlord, but unsurprisingly my old place has long been rented out again. I’m gonna have to book into a hotel for tonight, I figure, and after checking my mobile banking app, I work out that I can afford to spend a few more weeks apartment-hunting, as long as I find somewhere super cheap soon.