And he moved us all like chess pieces. So that? For optics? To close a deal? To benefit himself.
No matter how hard I try, it’s the only thing I can think of. Having me hooked up with Jasper wasn’t beneficial to him, so he made sure it never happened.
I felt really bad when Jasper didn’t come to my first performance. He sent me a message and told me he was reviewing the game tape. He sent flowers instead.
I should have been glad to finally get it. That he sent me flowers. But instead, I cried in the dressing room while wiping off copious amounts of makeup.
I dip my face back into the water to wash away the fresh tears that have fallen.
When I raise my head again and turn my face toward the cool night air, someone sits down next to me.
I don’t even need to look to know who it is. I know its smell. I know its size. I know how my body reacts when he gets close.
I know him so well. And yet I didn’t know this.
I let my head lean against the edge of the pool and allow my body to relax and sink into the water.
We do not talk. What is there to say? So much and so little at the same time. His arm brushes against me and then his pinky finger wraps around mine.
I don’t know how long we’ll be sitting like this. The snow falls. Fingers intertwined. Steam surrounds us. Light instrumental music plays over the speakers and I hear the joyful squeals of the children jumping into the cold pool on the other side of the deck.
Tears continue to flow silently from my eyes. I wish I could stop them, but I can’t. The pain in my chest is insistent, and the ‘what ifs’ or ‘could have beens’ consume me.
What if my father hadn’t bumped into him that night?
What if their elevators had crossed? One going up while the other went down.
What if I hadn’t forced myself to hide my feelings and move on with other relationships?
What could have been if she had told Jasper everything?
What would have become of us if he had done the same?
We would be together?
Would my parents support it?
Would I even care? Or would she throw it all away for a chance with Jasper?
The questions do not stop and they drown me under their weight. They say comparison is the thief of joy, and comparing how different my life could be if a small interaction hadn’t happened is definitely doing that.
It’s like imagining what you would do if you won the lottery. It’s fun to dream until you get depressed by the fact that it will never happen.
A hot tear slides down the side of my face and the water ripples beside me, followed by Jasper’s calloused fingertips brushing against my cheek. His touch takes away my hiccups.
I still don’t open my eyes. Instead, I allow myself to feel him. Jasper has dried many of my tears from a broken heart, from frustration, from imposter syndrome, from raw feet. But never like this. Never for being the one who makes me realize that I have been a puppet.
Everyone in my life has treated me like the little dancer in a jewelry box. Pretty to look at and listen to when you’re in the mood, but easy to lock down when you have something else to do.
I’m furious at myself for smiling and turning around every time someone opened that box. I’m angry at myself for not giving them the finger and refusing to spin around pointlessly. I’m not mad at anyone else.
Everything is directed at myself.
And somehow it’s harder for me to forgive. I think deep down he expected better from me. I wonder if Jasper feels that way too. Damn, that must be a heavy burden to carry.
His wide hand slides over my cheek, his thumb and forefinger gripping my chin to turn my head towards him.
“Sunny, look at me.
The authority in his voice sends a shiver down my spine despite sitting in perfectly hot water. I open my eyes and immediately lock onto his.
I feel transported back to the first day I saw him, tall, lanky and youthful. Even then he moved like an athlete. His way of walking, his gestures. Everything about him screamed strength and agility. It still does, but multiplied by ten.
Watching him is almost unbearable right now.
His irises are dark sapphires under the night sky as they trace my face. My eyes. My mouth. My throat.
Then further down.
A cold snowflake lands on the tip of my nose just as he asks, “Tell me how to make you feel better.”
My heart races in my chest, like a car going from zero to sixty. It’s your voice. They are his hands. His closeness. It’s the open question you just asked.
I could tell him to take me to our room and fuck me, to mess me up so bad that all I could think about was him and where he’s touching me, and he would do it.
I open my mouth to say it, but then I stop myself, feeling so out of it. Like I had whiplash. Like I need to gather my thoughts before I say or do something stupid.
Like completely ruining this friendship.
“I’m going to take a shower,” I say rudely, holding his gaze and watching him dip his chin in a subtle nod.
And then I advance through the pool, the water caresses my body like silk that runs over my skin. The feeling of his eyes roaming over my back and ass as I climb the steps to the pool is intoxicating.
My body is screaming at me to go back to him. But I don’t want to be that dancer in a jewelry box with him.
I don’t want him to feel like he has to save me.
I want to save myself.
I emerge from the bathroom enveloped in a puff of hot steam. My skin is pink and raw from how hot the water was and how hard I rubbed it.
I feel like I’ve scalded a whole layer of myself in there. I found a small core of strength hidden underneath and held on to it. I decided that I will not be the girl who goes with the flow of what others around her want.
I’m going to speak louder.
I’m going to get comfortable disappointing other people to avoid disappointing myself. I’m not going to apologize for doing things the way I want to do them.
I’m ready to unapologetically be me and let go of the people in my life who don’t approve of the person I am now.
Jasper raises his head and looks over my body and the small white towel that wraps my torso. He doesn’t bother to stop looking at me or hide the intense look of desire that paints his features.
And I decide to revel in that. The mean part of me hopes it hurts. I hope he feels a fraction of the nostalgia I’ve felt for him as he sat there, without telling me why he’s been so close and so far at the same time.
“The shower is all yours.” The bathroom lock doesn’t work. I lift a thumb over my shoulder and walk straight to my duffel bag next to the awful little cot I’ve told myself I’m going to sleep on.
I don’t really know what he was trying to prove. The new me would have Jasper sleep there, but one look at him and his burly body tells me that’s not an option.
I love him too much to do that to him. And he likes me too much to say no to me. God. We are so screwed.