The Anti-Boyfriend(25)

“It’s like I can feel your emotions,” I told her. “Not only by looking at your expressions but in your movements.”

“That’s pretty much the biggest compliment you could give me.”

“Really?”

She nodded. “One of my teachers used to say that was the difference between a good dancer and a great one. She said our purpose in a performance was not to simply move our bodies or entertain, but to express our emotions through dance. Then ideally, those feelings would also be experienced by anyone watching. So I always tried to keep that in mind.”

“It’s fucking beautiful.” My eyes met hers. “Truly.” I didn’t merely mean it. I meant her.

Her eyes glistened. “Thank you.”

For the first time in a long time, I felt like tearing up, too, and it had nothing to do with my own shit. What a tremendous loss she’d suffered—the world had suffered the day this woman stopped being able to perform. The emotions pummeling me were too much. It was time to go before I did or said something I’d regret. I didn’t want to be rude and leave before she turned off the video. But I vowed to make my exit at the first opportunity.

“I’m blown away by your talent,” I told her when the video ended. “Thank you again for showing it to me.”

“You’re welcome.”

Carys put the DVD back in the case and stared at it a moment before snapping it closed.

“I think I should probably head back,” I said.

She seemed surprised. “Oh…okay. Yeah. It’s getting late, I suppose.”

“Yeah.”

We stood and faced each other. A few tense seconds passed—tense seconds where the right thing to do felt like kissing her, even though I knew that would be very wrong.

Carys rubbed her arms. “Thank you for coming.”

“Are you kidding? Thank you for having me, for preparing that amazing food, for listening to my sob story, and most of all, for sharing that video with me. It really means a lot that you did.”

“After what you told me tonight, I definitely felt more comfortable.”

“Yeah.” I smiled, and after a few seconds of awkward silence, I said, “Well…have a good night.”

I wasn’t prepared for her to reach out and hug me. I stiffened. But once the initial shock passed, I relaxed into her embrace. Feeling my heartbeat accelerate, I moved back before it became too obvious that her touch had wreaked havoc on me.

I nodded and didn’t say anything else, heading to my apartment in a brain fog.





CHAPTER 8





Carys

DID YOU LOOK IN MY BOX?



A few days went by before I heard from Deacon again. I’d had this funny feeling he was keeping his distance because things had teetered on crossing the line during our dinner—not necessarily on a physical level, but certainly on an emotional one. Sharing that video of my Swan Lake performance was like taking the Band-Aid off a wound that hadn’t quite healed yet. But somehow, after letting it air out, I didn’t feel like I needed the Band-Aid anymore. Reliving my past, even for that brief moment, had been therapeutic. And my confidence in doing so had everything to do with Deacon first opening up to me.

The story he’d told me about his past made me feel less alone. I’d never imagined my happy-go-lucky neighbor was hiding something so painful.

I got a text from him on Monday afternoon while Sunny was napping.

Deacon: Hey… I got a package that was meant for you. Delivery guy got the apartments mixed up. I ripped it open before I realized it didn’t have my name on it. Want me to leave it outside your door?

It seemed strange that he wanted to leave it outside rather than just come over with it—further evidence that he was avoiding me. That bummed me out.

Carys: Yeah. Sure. Thanks.

I couldn’t remember what the hell I’d ordered. Lately, I’d been up late at night one-clicking all kinds of crap I didn’t need. I bought pretty much everything online, because it was easier for me, so this could have been anything from baby food to shampoo and tampons.

A few minutes passed before I opened my door to find a medium-sized box on the ground. The top had been ripped open. I brought it into the apartment and looked inside.

A package of pacifiers.

Banana chips.

Black licorice bites.

Diaper cream.

A Woman’s Guide to Self-Pleasure.

I paused.

A Woman’s Guide to Self-Pleasure.

My stomach sank.

Oh. No.

Now I knew exactly why he’d chosen not to knock on the door.

*

I spent the rest of the day stewing over what Deacon might have been thinking about me ordering that book. I didn’t know why it bothered me so much. Did it make me seem lonely or desperate? Or was it just the sheer embarrassment of needing a how-to guide on touching myself in the first place. The book had seemed like a good idea the other night at 2AM. Now? Not so much.

I wished I could just not mention it. But I knew myself. The next time I saw Deacon, my preoccupation would be written all over my face. I’d act all awkward. Eventually, I’d stammer my feelings out in a less-than-articulate attempt to explain myself.

It was better to acknowledge it calmly and get the awkwardness over with now. Grabbing my phone on the nightstand, I scrolled down to Deacon’s name and typed.