Nadia
Three weeks later, I’m in the wings at Rue’s with butterflies in my belly.
“You look incredible.” Flynn strokes his hands down my sides.
I’m shivering with nerves in a blue-black bustier and full length skirt with petticoats underneath. A masquerade-style lace mask is over my eyes, and I’m wearing elbow-length black satin gloves. Tonight will be my first performance with Black Velvet Burlesquejust a small, group part, but I’m beyond excited.
“Thank you. I’m nervous.”
Flynn has taken me to rehearsals twice a week with Black Velvet Burlesque, not just dropping me off, but sitting to watch them in their entirety, as if they were the most fascinating thing in the world. He’s also brought me to their performances every week. There was tension the first rehearsal between me and Flynn’s past lovers, but fortunately, it wore off quickly.
I’m the new fixture at the Storyteller’s rehearsals and shows, joining Oleg as part of their crew and unofficial videographer. The income from online sales of their album has tripled this month, which has everything to do with their viral Tiktok presence.
“Do you want me backstage or down in front?”
Flynn. My heart squeezes at how thoughtful he is.
He’s incredible, and I’m terrified of losing him. We’ve plowed forward, becoming an integral part of each other’s lives without ever addressing our relationship status.
I’m too afraid to talk to him about being more than his friend with benefits. Every time I think about it, I convince myself it’s not necessary. We’re already more than that. Flynn couldn’t possibly act like more of a boyfriend to me than he already does. We’re not dating other people. We don’t talk about dating other people.
The only thing we don’t have is a firm commitment, which at our age, isn’t really necessary. I mean, it’s not like I want to get married tomorrow.
So what’s the point of addressing it?
Especially because my fear is that having a conversation about where we stand will be the thing that actually pushes him away. He doesn’t like things to be intense or girls to be clingy.
“Go down in front,” I say.
“Okay, I’m going to go stake out Oleg’s spot right by the stage.” He gives me that pirate smile and a panty-melting wink.
I nod. My hands are clammy, but I’m more excited than afraid. I’m in the opening number an ensemble piece that sets the mood for the show.
As soon as Flynn disappears, Amy, one of the girls he’s hooked up with before comes over.
“Flynn seems serious about you.”
“What? Oh, no.” I shake my head in protest. “We’re…” I can’t bring myself to say just friends. Even knowing it could get back to Flynn if I say otherwise.
“Yeah. I’ve known him a long time. He’s different with you. Way different.”
A flush of heat runs through me, warming my cold fingers, spreading from chest to belly.
I knew it. I knew I was special. I mean, I wanted to believe it. Now someone else is saying it might be true.
A minute ago, I was slightly threatened by Amy, but she’s now my best friend. I pull her into a quick happy hug.
She laughs. “Are you nervous?”
I nod. “A little. But excited. So excited.”
“You’re going to be great.” Danica strides by in stilettos and a skirt that swishes like tail feathers. She’s the absolute coolest.
“Thank you so much for letting me join you.”
“We’re glad to have you,” she says.
I’ve been working on the new costumes for the company, and they’re almost done. Hopefully next week, I can bring them to rehearsal. I haven’t told heror anyone in the companyabout my panic attacks. I’m praying they’ll be a non-issue, and I wanted them to at least give me a chance.
I haven’t had one in weeks, and Flynn and I go out in public more and more often.
Of course, I still haven’t dared go anywhere without him, but I feel like I maybe could. And he’ll be right there in front tonight. Almost like he’s right beside me.
“I’m going out,” Danica says, stepping onto the stage.
The crowd is much smaller than what the Storytellers draw. People are sitting at tables talking and drinking. There’s room to breathe. Nothing to set me off.
“Welcome.” Danica uses a sex-goddess voice when she speaks into the mic.
The crowdfilled with what appears to be regularscheers.
“We’re about to get started, so let me go over the rules for anyone who’s new tonight. Keep your cell phones in your pockets or purses because no photography or recording is allowed. We do accept tips, but don’t interrupt the performance to give them to uswe’ll come out and circulate in the audience in the middle of each act. Cash is always appreciated. If you need more, there’s an ATM in the back corner. It is an interactive show, so feel free to laugh, applaud and show us your appreciation but keep it respectful. This isn’t a strip club, and you’re not going to see our tits. Everyone clear?” She turns her head to the side to give a coquettish smile and a bat of her iridescent blue fake lashes.
The crowd cheers again in agreement.
“Then, without further ado, I present, Black Velvet Burlesque.”
The music starts up, and we each come out to pose with our designated wooden chairs. I stand with my back to the audience, one foot on the seat.
The moment I take on my pose, I feel the power of it course through me. This power was what drew me to burlesque. It’s owning my sexuality. Using it to tease and taunt and show that I’m the one in control.
On the music cues, we change our poses. I straddle the back of the chair, then arch over the seat and split my legs wide. Next I stand on the seat and toss an arm into the air. Six rotations of poses, and then we start to move around the stage, swapping chairs and adding more movement. It’s a structured improvisation, but we’ve rehearsed it enough that I set my own part, so there’s no panic of not knowing what to do.
Not that I feel like panicking.
On the contrary, I’m filled with power and energy. I grow more confident with each whoop and holler from the audience, especially because I hear Flynn’s voice in the mix.
The next part of the dance involves us stealing the chair from another dancersort of a sexy musical chairs sort of thing, which gets laughs from the audience, especially when we start pulling pieces of clothing away from the other dancers in retribution.
We parade out into the audience. The sides of my skirt have been ripped away, so I’m showing flashes of my garters and black hose as I walk.
I collect one and five dollar bills from people’s fingers and give each one a smile or peck on the cheek or sometimes a trailed finger over a body part with my gloved hand.
I’m saving Flynn for last, but I don’t make it there.
I don’t make it there because the scent of cigar smoke fills my nostrils, and my brain goes fuzzy.
Metal screams in my head. My eyes roll back. I nearly drop to the floor. Or maybe I do drop to the floor.
I don’t know because I’ve gone completely blind. I can’t breathe. It’s so fucking loud.
And then Flynn is there. I can’t see himI still see nothing at allbut sense his presence all around me.
He picks me up and carries me.
And then we’re outside.
The freezing Chicago air pricks my senses like a form of smelling salts. Vaguely, I become aware of the darkness. The sound of traffic. Flynn’s muttered curse. I’m on my feet, propped against the brick wall.
“Let’s get this open.”
I realize his fingers are frantically working the laces on my corset, so I can breathe, but the idea of being stripped, of having it fall off and expose me, renews my freak-out.
“No, no, no, no.” I turn and shove him away from me.
“Okay, sweetheart. I’ve got you.” He collects me smoothly in his arms again and holds me in a tight, unmoving embrace.
There’s safety here. In the stillness. The warmth of his body heat contrasts with the freezing cold air. After a few minutes, I register the steady drum of Flynn’s heartbeat against my ear. I lift my head from where I’d pressed it against his shoulder and blink up at him.
“Gospodi. I don’t even know what happened.” I burst into tears. “One minute I was fine, and then…blyad’I don’t know.”
The back door opens, and Danica pokes her head out. “Nadia? Are you okay? What happened?”
“It’s all right. She just got a little faint,” Flynn lies for me. “I think her corset was too tight.”
I hurriedly wipe my tears and nod trying to make it look like I’m totally fine. Like I didn’t just completely lose my shit. That was by far the worst episode I’ve had.
Was it triggered by my nerves? By performing?
Danica stands there with a hand on her hip. She doesn’t believe Flynn. Of course, it doesn’t make sense. But I don’t want to tell her the truth. I don’t want to get kicked out of the company. This is the first thing that’s really caught my enthusiasmother than Flynnsince my captivity.
“I’m so sorry,” I say. “I hope I didn’t ruin the piece.”
“No, it was fine. I don’t think anyone noticed since we were doing our audience sweep.”
I wipe a fresh tear with the back of my hand. “Am I kicked out?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course not.” She stares at me for another moment, like she’s trying to figure me out. “You’re okay now?”
“Yes. Just embarrassed. Thank you.”
She nods and goes back inside.
I sag against Flynn’s sturdy body. I’m so glad I didn’t tell Kat and Adrian or anyone else that I was performing tonight. Having them see my meltdown would’ve been completely demoralizing.
“Bozhe moi. I don’t know what happened. Did I faint?” I ask. I can’t even remember. It was like I blacked out. I don’t recall what triggered it.
“No.” Flynn strokes my cheek with his thumb and leans his forehead against mine. “You just froze and started hyperventilating. You looked…” he swallows.
“What?”
He shakes his head, and I know he’s going to hide the truth from me.
“Tell me,” I say fiercely.
He glances away. “You looked scared. More than scared. You looked terrified. It scared me. So I picked you up and brought you out here.”
I blink, stepping out of my shoes and into Flynn’s for a moment.
He’s a real caretaker. Cadence’s words echo in my ears.
Gospodi, I don’t want to do this to Flynn. Make him my caretaker. My rescuer. I wanted to be strong and in charge up on that stage tonight.
“Did…did that guy touch you? Or say something?” Flynn has an uncharacteristic edge of violence to him, almost like he’s channeling Adrian’s overprotectiveness.
“What guy?” I try to remember what happened before I blacked out, but I can’t seem to recall anything.
What is happening to me?
“I don’t knowthe last guy you took money from before you freaked out.” Flynn shakes his head. “Nevermindit doesn’t matter. We don’t have to talk about it.”
I shiver in his arms, the cold catching up to my bare shoulders and thighs.
“Do you want to go back inside, or do you want to bail?” When my forehead scrunches, he says, “By bail, I mean leave?”
“Let’s leave. Please.” Fresh disappointment courses through me at the fact that I couldn’t finish the dance. I hate that I’m tucking tail and running away, but the thought of going back inside turns my stomach. For some reason, I feel certain I’ll go back into a full attack again if I do.
I’m so damn disappointed that my anxiety ruined my big night. Just when I was feeling so good.
“Do you want me to go grab your stuff?”
I don’t need a rescuer. This isn’t fair to Flynn.
“I can go in,” I say, but I don’t move. I’m not sure I actually can. There’s something huge looming, just beyond my conscious mind, waiting to attack.
Flynn sees my hesitation. “You can wait in the van. I’ll turn it on so it gets warm.” He guides me into the parking lot with an arm around my shoulder. He opens up my side of the van and helps me in, then walks around to the driver’s side and turns it on. “I’ll be right back, Peaches. Lock the doors, okay?”
It’s a strange thing to sayFlynn doesn’t usually caution me about safety. I snap the locks down as the grating of metal grinds and clangs in my ears. Tears prick my eyes, and my chest balloons with air I can’t swallow or exhale.
The sense of peril returns as I watch Flynn jog back into Rue’s.
I’m not in danger. I’m not in danger. I’m totally safe right now.
My therapist explained to me that our bodies respond to immediate threat with either fight, flight, freeze or fawn.
I happen to freeze.
She explained my body now carries the memory of my trauma, and the same response gets triggered even though I’m no longer in danger.
I rock back and forth in my seat, trying to push back the panic threatening to overtake me.
Maybe I’m not safe here. Why did Flynn tell me to lock the doors?
The memory of being grabbed from the parking lot at work flashes in my mind to the sound of chains rattling.
Oh God. Chains. The cuffs. The collar. The leash.
Flynn returns and starts up the van. “My place?” he asks.
I force myself to nod.
“Flynn,” I choke. “I smelled cigar smoke.”
“I’m not following.”
“Tonight at the show. That’s what set me off. It was the same smell as”
“Oh fuck.” Flynn seems to understand. “The smell triggered your fear response or something.”
“Exactly.” My belly shudders in on a breath. “Do you think” I can barely speak the possibility. “What if it was him?”
Flynn looks over at me, brows dipped. “I doubt it was,” he says. “I mean, was it? Would you recognize him?”
For some reason, I can’t dredge up the memory of his faceit’s hidden in the shadows of my mind. I just have the idea of a sneer. It was just the smell.
I shake my head. “I don’t know.”
But I don’t want to make this Flynn’s problem. He shouldn’t be my rescuer. Neither should Adrian. I’m strong. I got up on that stage tonight and danced. I’m reclaiming my sexuality.
“I’m sorry. I’m okay now,” I lie.
I’m not going to be crazy with Flynn. He’s the guy who makes me feel normal. Or at least semi-normal.
I’m not going to make him take on my burdens for me. It isn’t fair.
Nadia
I wake in the middle of the night in a full panic attack. I can’t breathe. The clanging of metal surrounds me. Cigar smoke burns my nostrils.
I claw my way to sitting but don’t know where I am. Not until I hear Flynn’s sleepy voice. “Nadia?”
Flynn.
I’m in his bedroom. Tears prick my eyes as my breath gradually wheezes in.
“Was it the cigar guy?”
I’m so grateful at the matter-of-fact way Flynn asks the question. Bringing it out of the shadows and into the light.
“Yeah.” I recall the pieces of the dream. Cigar man was on top of me, choking me with the choke chain dog leash.
Flynn hands me a bottle of water next to the bed, and I take a drink.
“I thought I was going to die. I wished I was dead.”
“In the dream or when it really happened?”
“I don’t know. Both, I think.”
Flynn swings his long legs off the bed and gets up.
“Where are you going?” Flynn is sweet about letting me keep a light on when we sleep, but even with it on, I don’t want him to leave me. The fear from the dream is still coursing through my body.
“I’m gonna get us some ice cream. Because ice cream makes everything better.” Flynn pads off to the kitchen, and I pull the covers up to my chin, a faint smile tugging at my lips.
He returns with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia ice cream and two spoons and climbs back into the bed.
And just like that, Flynn makes the ugliest parts of my life bearable again. Almost pleasurable even.
Because Cherry Garcia ice cream is unbelievably good, especially when it’s shared in Flynn Taylor’s bed.
Cigar guy no longer had me as firmly in his grip because now I had something to distract myself with. Ice cream and Flynn.