Amour Amour (38 page)

“I quit.”

He’s boiling. “Are you shitting me? You
just
started.” He shakes his head repeatedly. “Okay, you have two options.” He raises two fingers in my face. “You go and finish your act, or you pay for the time
you’ve
wasted the club.”

I can’t finish. I know I can’t. I’ll puke all over myself, for one. For another, I can’t live with the memory of them watching me like that. I already want to scrub the partial one from my brain.

“I’ll pay,” I say.

“One grand.”

I feel more color drain from my cheeks. “I…I don’t have that kind of money.”

“Then get your ass back in that room.”

I made a costly mistake—one that was supposed to do the inverse of what’s happening now. I can’t even worry about paying for rent. That’s gone. It’s not even on the table anymore. Maybe I can max out credit cards and search for a solution later.

“I’ll pay you.”

He rolls his eyes like
make up your fucking mind.
I’ve made it. I made it the moment I walked out of the private room. I’m certain that I’m never walking back in.

In the next five minutes, I find a thin blue jacket, zipper broken. If I choose to pull it closed over my chest, the hem rises higher than my ass. I pick my losses and expose my bottom, in favor of not flashing everyone. Then, with Roger’s assistance, I swipe credit cards and pay off a debt.

I’m out of Phantom for good.

Tonight of all nights.

Not long after, I teeter in my high heels along the uneven cobblestone, inside The Masquerade’s lobby. Blood drips down my forehead, and I am one-hundred percent mooning people on the slots. I’m pale. Close to crying. And just really, really wanting to erase myself.

For just one moment.

Please.

“Thora!”

My heart lurches, and I rotate towards the voice.

Nikolai is running down the east wing, past a 24-hour café and gift shop, silver and purple paint streaked over his eyes. But it can’t mask his raw concern.

I sway to a stop, queasy and despondent, too many feelings entering me at once.
Don’t cry.
His distraught presence tries to puncture the dam I’ve built. I skim him quickly: shirtless, red slacks, hair slicked back—he’s in his costume. I check the giant 1920s inspired clock that hangs in the center lobby. Amour is still playing, isn’t it?

“Thora…” He reaches me, his phone in a fist. His other hand holds my face, scrutinizing the line of blood. His eyes flit rapidly over my features, studying my state of being.

“What happened?” I ask him.

He flies over my question. “A guy hit you with something,” he states, brushing my hair back and examining the cut. His phone rings incessantly, adding to my confusion. He lets out an irritated growl at his cell, ignoring the call.

I hone in on that phone. “Did Amour end?” I think I know the answer. And it scares me.

“Thora—” His phone rings again. He curses under his breath, presses another button, and slips it in his pocket. He holds my face once more. “What the fuck happened?” The distress in his eyes nearly sweeps me backwards.

I open my mouth to gush forth the night’s events, but those words aren’t the ones that come. “Why are you here? I mean,
how
are you here?”

He breathes heavily, like I’m chasing him up a mountain with these questions. He’s making me just as out of breath with uncertainty. He glances over my shoulder, and before I have time to capsize his previous assumptions, he storms towards Phantom, where I just left. Where I am
never
returning.

I sprint around him, almost face-planting with these stupid heels. But I manage to place my palms on his chest, in a runner’s stance. “Stop.” I try to push him backwards with all my might.

“We’ve already played this game before.” He peels my hands off.

That’s right. We did this in The Red Death. And I lost. But I foolishly never stop trying.

My failures are finally starting to catch up to me.

“What are you planning on doing?” I question with a frown.

“Do you even know what you look like right now?” His voice is gritty with anger. “You’re pale. You’re bleeding, and I have no idea—”

“I hurt myself,” I tell him. “I smacked into the hoop. Okay?” I try to push him back again, but he’s not budging. And he’s still glaring at the direction of Phantom, as though my pain and all the answers lie there.

His phone rings again. “Goddammit,” he curses and puts the cell to his ear. He shouts Russian, and my insides start to twist again.

He left Amour for you.

I shove him in the chest, pissed, tears welling. “Go back…right now, go back.” He still has time. He can make the last act, right?

Except for the firm hand on my shoulder, Nikolai ignores me, focusing on his phone conversation. He can’t be here right now. I grip his wrist and try to yank him towards The Masquerade’s globe auditorium, marching ahead.

His foreign words accelerate, and then he shouts at me, “Thora!” Just my name, his arm hooking around my waist and drawing me back into him, so quickly. He spins me and opens my jacket, skimming the length of my body, noticing my wardrobe for the first time.

He must have seen my exposed bottom, when I tried to tug him in the other direction. I swat his hands off and point towards the auditorium. He shakes his head like
no.
But he only speaks Russian, to the phone line, trying to multitask between me and someone else. He touches his bare chest, as if ready to give me his nonexistent shirt.

His costume just reminds me where he should be.

“Go back,” I say, my eyes stinging with tears. “You shouldn’t…” I choke on my own words, guilt pummeling me. And I inhale. “You can’t be here.”

He gives me a harsh look like
how can you think I wouldn’t?

“You go back,” I tell him strongly. “And I’m going to leave you now. Okay?”

He speaks rapidly in the phone as I begin to walk away, towards the revolving glass doors. “Thora!” He catches up to me, slipping his cell into his pocket. He draws me to his chest again, shielding my half-naked body from the old women at slots, the casino carpet semi-full of gamblers.

“Let me go, Nik,” I say in a shaky tone.

His gray eyes puncture me. “There’s no chance of that. So stop pushing me away right now.”

I try to layer on a glare of my own, and I point at the east wing again. “You can still finish—”

“I can’t.” It’s a knife in my gut. “Amour ended.”

I relax a bit with this new hope. “So you left after it finished?”

He shakes his head once.

And my heart nosedives. “No,” I wince. “Nik, you can’t—”

“I did,” he forces. “I chose you tonight, and you have to fucking accept that so I can take care of you.” If our situations were reversed, he would’ve never let me pick him. He would’ve made me stay at the show. This isn’t right.

“The circus is your love,” I whisper. “You told me that, remember? You can’t choose me over your passion.”

He stares at me with this stern expression, like we’re back at the gym. And then he lifts me in his arms, his hands underneath my bottom, covering my ass from onlookers. My legs instinctively wrap around his waist, even though I want to be on the ground.

I want him to reverse time and not chase after me. I never wanted my dreams to negatively impact him, and I’m beginning to realize they have. Right now, they’re tearing through his life, and I don’t need him to be assailed by the paths I take.

“Put me down,” I say.

He ignores me, carrying me to the elevators. His phone starts ringing again, but he talks over the default tone. “Luka texted me during the show.”

I curl my hands into shaky fists. I feel
horrible.
“You should’ve stayed until it ended. I was fine.”

He jaw locks, and he glares down at me. “You’re bleeding, barely clothed and shaking. That’s not fine, Thora.” He punches the light on the elevator, thankfully no one else waiting for one. It’s not long before doors slide open.

Once inside, Nikolai sets me on my feet and he swipes his keycard, pressing the number of his floor.

As we begin to rise, I rest my body against the mirrored wall. “There’s nothing you could’ve done. I had to try, to see if I could do this,” I choke out the last words.

His nose flares as he restrains more emotion. And then he stares down at me like I’ve impaled him repeatedly tonight, but doesn’t he understand…

“I took you away from your job,” I nearly cry. On top of more awful outcomes tonight. “I feel
so
badly…”

“What do you want me to say?” His voice is so low. “Do you want me to apologize for caring about you?”

I shake my head. “No.” I blink, and tears roll down.

He steps forward, to comfort me, but I raise a hand to stop him. “Myshka—”

“This only works if we don’t choose each other first.” He knows I’m talking about our relationship.

He tilts his head at me, with that no-nonsense look.

“I may leave soon,” I remind him. “Are you going to run after me then?” His whole world is in Vegas. His life, his family, his career. I’m just a small blip that will fly in and out.

His eyes redden. “Do you want me to feel guilty for loving you?”

It’s one of the most painful things—each word, each syllable. “I just—I want you to always choose the circus over me.”

He shakes his head repeatedly, and I can’t tell if he’s rejecting this notion or if he’s just hoping it’ll never come to fruition. He will push me towards Somnio if I land the role, and I have a horrible feeling that he’ll want to leave everything behind to join me.

“I’ll stay here,” I say. “I’ll choose you if you choose me.”

“No,” he forces. And then his face hardens, understanding my initial proclamation. This only works if we don’t pick each other.

“You once told me that there are things you can’t leave behind. You meant your family.” I point at the floor. “You meant Katya, and Luka, and Timo and all the people you
love
.”

“You’re a part of my family, whether you realize it or not.”

It rocks me back. And he steps closer now. His eyes dance over my features. He uses the hem of my jacket to wipe my cut that still bleeds.

“We don’t have to decide anything tonight,” he says.

I nod. “I’m broke.” I just come right out and say it. He doesn’t look surprised, so I elaborate, “I owed Phantom a grand for bailing on the gig tonight. I was stupid, right?”

His face hardens. “You couldn’t have known…” He shakes his head. “We don’t have foresight. You take risks, some pay off, others don’t. But we all have to take them.”

The weight on my chest starts to lift some. “Can you…let me know when the hard choices end? I mean, there has to be a point for both of us, right…where there are only easy choices left to make?” My voice cracks. “Right?”

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.