He cups my face, his thumb drying my tears. “Thora,” he says my name like it comes from a place deep, deep within him. “Whatever you need, I’m going to give you.”
“A place to stay?” I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand.
He kisses my lips, hot pressure beneath the touch, a silent yes.
“A shirt,” I whisper.
Another kiss, this time, his body melding against mine, more urgent. I stand on the tips of my toes, to reach him.
Tears keep streaming, wetting his hands that hold my jaw. “Tissues?”
He smiles into the next kiss. A breath away, he says, “Yes, myshka.”
I never thought that love could be this difficult. Once you have it—that should be it. No more hardships. No more confusion. But clarity hasn’t struck me yet.
There’s just more guilt. And my only hope is by January, we’ll be free of it.
Act Forty-One
I learned that Nikolai’s incessant phone calls were from cousins, who were chastising him for leaving Amour for a girl. I can most definitely empathize with those voices. I’ve heard them all before.
Some of the other calls were from his siblings, asking how I was.
I’m alright.
Well, more focused, in a way. I acquired a part-time job in the lobby’s gift store, but since it doesn’t help me train, I’ve spent all of my free time at the gym with and without Nikolai. Where I should be. I want to pool my energy into these auditions. Minimize some of my distractions. After watching Amour live, I’ve recognized how much work I still need.
I return from the gym now, riding up the elevator. My phone vibrates in my palm.
Send me pics of you beside any souvenir statutes, like the mini ones :) – Shay
I opened the lines of communication with him a few days ago. An olive branch. We’ve been cordial ever since, sliding back into our normal groove. I didn’t want to end an eight-year friendship, not if his intentions were good. It seemed wrong and petty.
I text back: No way.
He’s quick to respond.
I’m just trying to imagine you at work, the tourist becoming the…what’s your job description? – Shay
Cashier :P
Lame – Shay
I roll my eyes but smile. My phone buzzes again, but it’s not from Shay.
Where are you? – Nikolai
I check my watch. It’s two in the morning, so he has reason to be concerned. Just heading back from the gym. I press send, having to wait for tipsy couples to enter the elevator on floor 15.
Another text. From another person.
Just transferred the money to your account. If you need anything else, honey, please call. There’s always a room for you here. – Mom
My throat closes. I had a two-hour phone conversation with my parents that turned into a Skype session where we were all crying. My dad said, “I’m proud of you, Thora.” He was happy I quit Phantom and took the thousand dollar penalty. And he helped me pay it off. Every penny. Because “I love you,” he said.
I love them more than they probably realize too.
I didn’t think they’d help me without stipulation, not after I chose to stay in Vegas. But I don’t think family is something I can shake off easily. Neither of us wants to severe our relationship, even if my father believed he could, out of principle.
After the couples unload, the elevator finally reaches the floor where all the Aerial Ethereal performers live. It’s a Tuesday night, quiet. Along the hotel’s carpeted hallway, room service trays and dirtied plates sit outside of a few doors. Others have curled magazines that they haven’t brought inside yet.
It’s weird—rooming here and not being in the circus. But aspiring to be. Maybe it’s why I enter the suite late every night.
One of the doors cracks open, a few down from Nikolai’s. I slow my pace, recognizing the voices before I see their bodies.
“Did someone piss in your Cheerios as a kid?” Timo asks, a smile in his light tone. “Come on, old man, stretch your mind that far.”
John backs into the hallway while Timo leans his shoulder on the door frame. “You’re only slightly amusing, you know. Actually, that’s giving you too much credit. You’re like two-percent amusing,” John says, surly as usual. “And half of what you say, I just start tuning out.”
“You forgot your hearing aid again?”
John looks as unamused as he claims to be. I pause mid-step, more than curious about the development of their relationship. And then John says, “You are by far the most annoying human in this hallway.” Then he tilts Timo’s chin and kisses him.
Timo reciprocates, his lips rising in a smile. Their bodies pull closer together, attracted more than their words let on.
John breaks away first and then kisses Timo’s forehead. “See you tomorrow.”
“If you need directions back here,” Timo says, “there’s this thing called Google maps on this thing called the internet.”
John flips him off.
Timo winks and then shuts the door.
The moment John spins around, he sees me and pauses like I caught him in a walk of shame. He is epically private about his sex life and diverts the topic when Camila and I bring it up. So I’m not surprised when he groans like I ruined his master stealth plan.
I immediately start laughing.
John shakes his head at me. “You—are just the bane of my existence.”
I bite my gums to try to control myself. “You consider everyone the bane of your existence.”
“Because everyone is horrible,” he refutes. “I have many banes.” He walks closer, and I can’t hold this one fact inside anymore.
“Hey, John, remember when you told me you fuck a Kotova and you go directly to hell?” My eyes dart from him and Timo’s closed door, the suggestion hopefully clear.
“I’m currently in hell.” He glowers. “I realize that. Thanks for reminding me, Thora.” I swear the corner of his lips curve upward as he passes me, unable to suppress the burgeoning happiness.
“You love it in hell, John?” I laugh into a bigger smile.
He spins around, walking backwards to the elevators, and he says, “All my friends are here. So it beats everywhere else.”
Friends. He admitted to having multiple friends. My cheeks hurt.
He turns around, back facing me, and waves. “Night, Thora. Keep making stupid decisions.”
“Night, John.” And he disappears around the corner.
* * *
I scrub the resin off my hands in Nik’s bathroom sink. About to take a shower.
He enters, leaning a hip against the counter. “I missed you coming in.”
“I didn’t want to wake you.” He was asleep on the couch, ESPN on mute in the background. When the channel isn’t on reality television, Nikolai plays sports on cable, mostly football and MMA. My tastes—The Vampire Diaries, Bitten, Witches of East End and True Blood (RIP)—are outliers here. Still, I seem to fit in just fine.
Instead of talking, he stands behind me, his hands lowering to my waist. My heart double-skips, not immune to his advances, even living together now, even after we’ve run around the bases. He pulls my back into his chest, away from the sink.
My body heats. “I have…to…” My thoughts pop the moment he lowers his head to my neck, kissing me right there. A certain place throbs for more. Shower. You need to shower, Thora. “I smell.” Why did I just say that?