It doesn’t deter me. “Is it impossible to love two things equally? I mean, not that I love you…I just…” I blow out a breath. I’m screwing this up. I fail at words sometimes. We’re just at a crossroads of are we pursuing this or leaving it behind?
He tilts my chin so I meet his eyes again. “I understand what you mean.”
“I just—I don’t want to believe that a love for one thing will overtake the love for another.” It’s a cynical view, isn’t it? Or maybe mine is just a hopelessly optimistic one.
“Today, if I gave you the option between the circus and a man, you would choose the circus. But later—”
“I’ll choose the circus,” I say.
He gives me that same look. I don’t want to wake up yet. “I can’t be a reason you give up on your dreams.”
“I won’t.”
The way he’s staring at me. It hits me. His rules. No boyfriends. Not even him. I feel like he’s about to crush something that hasn’t even started yet. “Nikolai—”
“But I realized something tonight.” His eyes hold so many painful, conflicting truths. Realities that I need to meet. “I realized that it’s too late. I distract you—you distract me. And since I don’t want to distance myself from you, there’s only one option.”
His gaze flits to my lips, and he kisses me tenderly, my body winding tight.
I inhale strongly as he presses even further up against me. Clutching me. He’s saying that he wants me. I can see it. I can feel it. My eyes burn at the unspoken proclamation.
In a whisper, he says, “And I’ll still train you.”
The next kiss is so soulful that I feel the promise within it: to never stand in the way of my dreams. I breathe heavily as he draws back again. His chest rises and falls deeply, waiting for me to speak, giving me a choice to accept or deny this new turn.
Nikolai may assume a lot of things, but when it comes to my own life—he steps back and lets me pick left or right.
“You’re complicated?” I ask, eyeing the red glow necklace.
He stiffens. “My past relationship is. I haven’t been looking for anything recently, and I didn’t even look for you.” He pauses. “This was unintentional.”
It became something more without noticing. Without realizing. “Am I a mistake—”
“No, myshka. You’re just the unexpected, beautiful thing in my life.”
My heart is full tonight. I can hardly breathe as it swells. I’ve never felt this way. “As long as she’s not still in the picture…” That scenario is too devastating to jump into.
“She’s not,” he forces like he’s promising me. “You can trust me.”
I nod. It’s not as blind as the first time we met. I trust him a lot more now—because he’s been here for me. And I believe that he wouldn’t hurt me. Not intentionally, at least.
“Okay,” I breathe, placing my hand on his, the one that warms my cheek.
He kisses me, powerfully, sensually, and his other hand finds my zipper by my shoulder blades. He slowly unzips my tight black dress, stopping at the small of my back. His lips drift to my neck, sucking on the most sensitive spots. His body thrums against mine.
“Nik…” I shudder and remember something—something more important now than it was before. “I’m moving out tonight.”
His hands fall underneath my ass, supporting me around his waist. And he looks at me with a frown. “You decided this now.” He states it.
“No…” I shake my head. “No, I meant to tell you tonight…I signed a lease for a studio apartment. And maybe it’s…better that we don’t live together, I mean. It’ll make things slower.” I hesitate to add the rest. I want slow. I’m not used to fast. But he already knows I’ve only had sex twice. That’s the exact number of times. It’s not even just two different people.
Before he responds, the storeroom door swings open. Camila startles back the minute she sees us: my legs around his waist, my dress partially unzipped. His hands on me.
I cover my face with my palm, my fingers splayed so I can most definitely still see her reaction morph from surprised to something happier.
“Oh my God! I’m sorry.” She’s smiling. “Continue on.” She even flashes me a wider, excited grin. When she shuts the door, I actually go to zip up my own dress.
Nikolai sets me on my feet. “Come here.” He tugs me closer and his fingers brush my bare skin as he zips me up. Just as slow as he unzipped me. His eyes dance around my features. “I’ll help you move in to your place tonight.”
“Actually, I think I should do that on my own.” I worry he’ll see the shoddy apartment and convince me to stay with him.
He hesitates, his gaze darkening. I think he must read my intentions. “It’s in a bad area.”
“No,” I refute. “It’s a good area.” Sort of. It’s not the worst area, so I’m not lying exactly.
“If it was, you’d let me see it.” He combs some of the flyaway hairs out of my face. “Okay.” It takes me aback but he adds, “I trust you. And I can understand wanting your own space.”
“Thank you,” I whisper. “Are…you also okay with slow?”
His lips rise like it’s funny.
“It’s not—”
“It’s cute,” he says again, this time laughing. “Slow is cute, and I’d go slow for you.” He kisses my temple. “Ready?” He nods to the door.
I never thought there would be more paths to choose. I came here thinking I’d already picked my course. The dark, mysterious one—filled with potholes and faraway dreams.
I’ve found that life is a series of crossroads, dead-ends and U-turns. There is no real destination. There is no goal to end all goals. As long as we’re living, we’ll always keep driving.
I’m more satisfied with this than I would’ve been before Vegas.
So as I head out the door, into The Red Death, I know I’ve switched lanes. I’m headed in the same direction, but my route is slightly different.
The landscape has changed.
Act Twenty-One
My studio apartment has a single bedroom-kitchen-living area and a confined bathroom. One where I can sit on the toilet, use the sink or reach in the shower at the same time. The kitchen is also miniscule with portable counters, a hotplate, a microwave and a mini-fridge. Actually, miniscule is probably a forgiving word to describe the place.
But I don’t care much.
I lie on my mattress, an old one that Camila helped me pick out at a thrift store. Gross, yes, but I put new and clean sheets on top of it. No springboards. It rests on the scratched hardwood floors as is. I stare up at the ceiling tiles, yellowed and maybe moldy.
My lips tug up.
I can’t help it.
I’m here.
In Vegas.
I’ve made enough to have my own apartment.
Independence has never felt so satisfying. I’m grateful for every second of it. And I don’t ever want to forget this feeling, right now. I did something—I accomplished something. I won’t let anyone’s realism take that from me.
This is the first strong foothold of my new life. The beginning of my dream and career.
I wipe the wetness beneath my eyes. “Well done, Thora James,” I whisper.