Dancer (3 page)

How I hated
him
.

"Hi Caleb." Reluctantly coming over to join him, I squinted in the beaming midday sunlight.

And anguish—at seeing my ex again—tore a hole in my heart. Shitty memories stormed back. Memories I'd tried to keep buried.

"How've you been, Sammy? I missed you," said the horrid ex-boyfriend with grey eyes and brown hair. The horrid ex-boyfriend who loved to punish me verbally and use words as a deadly weapon.

"I've been okay."
And no I haven't missed you, Caleb.

"I got a job with an ad agency," he said as if I'd care. "Finally get to use my college education." He winked.

"That's great. I'm happy for you." I forced a grin.

"Hey, I gotta go—but I'd like to see you again sometime. Okay?"

"Uh, yeah. Sure. I'll see you later." I started to leave. Without warning, Caleb pulled me into his arms and held me fast.

I stiffened in his unwanted embrace while my arms dangled near his sides.

What did he
really
want from me? A friends and benefits deal?

I'd never do it.

"I mean it. I want to see you again so I might call you later," Caleb whispered. He withdrew and strode down the walkway as if he hadn't a care in the world.

I continued to worry about his true agenda.

Late the next evening, Allison and I lounged on the picnic table in my parents' fenced-in backyard. On the seat below, she was sprawled on her stomach while I lay on the top surface and watched the clustered stars.

We shared a joint since Mom and Dad had gone to bed. I savored the feeling of being high, considering my nerves had been totally fucked.

Seeing Caleb yesterday didn't help. Although this soothing joint sure did.

Nice to be able to forget, be in a silly mood and laugh at the dumbest things.

I'd told Allison about Caleb. All talk of doctor visits and STDs were subsequently forgotten, replaced by horrible-ex-boyfriend-drama-wank.

"Did Caleb call?" Allison's tone was slow, calm, her voice difficult to hear.

"Yeah. We're supposed to see each other tomorrow night." By then I'd know his agenda, whether it be a no-strings-attached quickie or second-chance relationship.

I didn't want a second-chance relationship, though it wouldn't hurt to see him one time. More than anything I pitied him.

I hoisted myself to a sitting position, crossed my legs. She passed the marijuana cigarette to me and I took a hit.

Smoky rings floated in the night air.

Allison joined me on top of the picnic table. She cuddled me from behind.

It remained eerily quiet as we huddled together. Then Allison's voice shattered the silence.

"Don't let Caleb hurt you."

3

M
y date with Caleb ended.

I hated to admit it, but I'd enjoyed our fun date that consisted of dinner at a nice restaurant and visiting a historical museum.

In other words, we never engaged in a 'quickie'.

Caleb, twenty-three, had a taste for fine urban culture, one of his qualities that impressed me when we first met.

That was before I learned of his
bad
qualities.

At nearly ten o' clock at night, we lurked in front of my parents' two-story brick home. Caleb's sleek, black sports car was parked at the curb.

Caleb's tall, narrow frame was hidden in shadows while I peered up, unable to read his expression. He gently cradled my face between his palms.

Struck by a sensation of drifting, falling, I couldn't stop that hideous descent. Couldn't stop myself from falling, once again, for a man who mistreated me in the past.

Fool me once. Fool me twice. Blah, blah, blah.
Fuck me; fuck my weakness and my stupidity.

At least he made me forget—about The Dancer.

Caleb's lips crushed mine in a heart-stopping kiss. I trembled when his hand inched up my shirt. I wanted to slap his wandering hand, his caressing fingers. Couldn't find the strength.

Someday I would. Someday...

Our steamy kiss drew to a conclusion and his stony, intense eyes pierced like daggers. Pierced like his long-ago cruel words. 

"Still love you, Sammy."

His cold expression didn't match his tender words. Four simple words that sent me into a tailspin of crazy.

And I wished he'd stop calling me that goddamn name.

Flustered, I broke from his arms and bolted to the front door, slamming it behind me.

I heard the humming of an engine, screeching tires as Caleb's car pealed from the curb.

Pressing my backside flat against the door, I tried to catch my breath, tried to make sense of these last four hours spent with Caleb. Trying to understand
why
I found myself drawn to him or why I enjoyed his company—despite his propensity for abusive behavior.

Caleb Brown. A puzzle whose motivations I couldn't possibly figure out.

'Still love you, Sammy.'
His alluring words echoed through my troubled brain—and wouldn't shut the fuck up.

Must. Resist. The temptation. To believe. 

However, my intense loneliness wouldn't allow it. I believed what I
wanted
to believe and this meant buying empty promises and lies.

* * * *

A
s the days wore on, the more confused I became.

No. I hadn't smoked weed in a whole week. My confusion and mind fog originated from a different source; that much I knew.

Caleb called every few days, although we hadn't set up another date.

Didn't matter. There were other things on my mind.

Mind fog was one thing. What really pissed me off? My clothes no longer fit and I was reduced to wearing dreaded
elastic
.

Lovely.

Why had I gained weight? I wasn't eating more than usual. Frustrated as hell, I felt like taking my clothes and hurling them out the bedroom window.

Not wanting to face the most obvious explanation, I buried certain clues inside the darkest pit of my mentality.

I couldn't pretend for long. Time had a way of catching up and I was no exception to this awful rule.

Therefore, four or five weeks after my disastrous one-night stand, I bought a pregnancy test at the local Wal-Mart.

At this precise second, on the floor with my back to the wall, I stared at the pink stick on the bathroom sink. This tiny stick would seal my fate.

From my viewpoint I couldn't see results. I prayed and prayed this test wouldn't show the second line.

And these seconds trickled by at an agonizing pace. My heart—on the other hand—pumped a swift rhythm.

God please don't let it be positive. I'm gonna go insane before this shit's over.

Time to look.

I clambered to my feet and steeled myself. Pink substances flowed through the final test window.

I had my answer.

Legs weakening, I sank to a seated position, absently drew my knees to my chin and hugged them.

I knew it. I knew it. A baby in eight months. A baby I'm not ready for. A baby I don't want, fathered by a guy who didn't want me. Or his wife, apparently.

This—this was all The Dancer's fault. I wanted to kill him even though I'd played my own careless role in this drama.

What the hell was I supposed to do? I'd never been so terrified, never in my life until this moment. Much as I hated the thought, there was only one way out. A cruel end to a cruel beginning when it
should've
been something beautiful throughout.

Only in a perfect world.

After tossing the test in a waste basket, I hurried to my bedroom where I snatched the mobile phone off the nightstand.

"Allison, I'm pregnant." I dropped the bomb as soon as she answered.

"Seriously? No way. You're kidding...
aren't
you?"

"I wish." My voice quavered. Tears stung.

"Uh, I'm not sure what to say." Short pause. "Are you all right, Sam? What are you gonna do?"

"I'm getting an abortion. I don't know what else to do." I sighed. "And no, I'm definitely not okay."

"Is there anything I can do? Help you out with money? Key the fucker's car?"

I couldn't believe it. I actually found myself debating Allison's proposal. She was always a little more wild and adventurous than I.

It was still a bad idea.

"No, this isn't your problem to deal with. It's mine," I told her.

"At least let me pay something towards the abortion. You're my best friend and I want to help any way I can. I'm worried about you."

Allison's sweetness warmed my heart and caused fresh tears to well. How could I be so lucky to have someone like her in my life? What would I do without her?

"Okay, Allison. I'll pay you back whenever I can. Sorry but—I gotta go." No longer able to speak due to the lump wedged in my throat, I clicked off the phone.

I fell face-down on the pillow, bawling until my head thumped with a splitting, vicious headache.

What would my parents think of me if
they
knew? I hadn't mentioned my discretion in the park, and I didn't plan to.

My mother had a strict religious upbringing. She wasn't zealous but she'd be ashamed if she knew what I'd done.

Dad was just as judgmental if not worse. Not because he'd been raised that way.

But because he was an asshole.

How would I tell them? How would I get out of this hole I'd dug myself into?

* * * *

T
he following Thursday evening I worked a regular shift at Sizzle.

Waves of nausea struck while I headed to the main dining area. I halted halfway between the kitchen doors and the main room, balancing the food tray. Dishes, silverware clattered in my trembling hands and I feared dropping the tray.

I recognized The Dancer. A face I'd never forget. He sat across—from what I assumed—was his wife.

That
was the sight which sickened me. It shouldn't. But it did.

Russet-brown hair shimmered and framed her pretty face. Scarlet lips curved to a smile whenever she caught his gaze.

Shockingly, she appeared to be somewhat older. Perhaps an age difference of ten years? Yet she was a beautiful, glamorous woman. Glittering diamond rings adorned her fingers.

My feet rooted to the floor, couldn't budge an inch. Couldn't stop staring at his eyes, emerald-green and cold as ice. Colder than even
Caleb's
icy stare.

Emotionless. Soulless. Unnerving.

"Why are you standing there? There's dishes to be served. Stop wasting time," snapped Joe the restaurant manager. Legs apart, arms crossed, he stood in the center of the bustling kitchen.

I exhaled, braced myself for what I had to do—serve a meal to The Dancer's table. It was either that or get fired, when I needed the money now more than ever.

Christ almighty. Here we go.

Within a large crimson area, scattered tables were draped in maroon and seated diners enjoyed pricey meals amidst the occasional flash and tinkling of silver.

The Dancer got closer, flicked his smoldering gaze my way.

He didn't recognize me. I could tell.

Furious once I reached his table, I thrust the dish-filled tray in his face, stopping inches from his nose.

How I wanted to
break
that perfect nose and
slam
my fist into his perfect mouth.

"Ma'am?" he questioned, the tray between us. Took me every ounce of resistance not to use one of these plates as a weapon. Maybe stick a fork in...

Okay. Time to get hold of yourself, Sam.

Pursing his eyebrows, he flashed a puzzled look that asked:
Do I know you, lady?

Heat crept up my neck. Feeling his wife's judgmental glare, I realized I wasn't breathing.

One by one I slammed the sirloin dinners on the table, plunking them down so hard the table shook. Infuriatingly nonchalant, he mumbled a barely coherent 'thanks'.

He turned to chat with his lovely, lovely wife.

And I—I had to get the hell out of here.

Fast-forward to the restroom.

In a narrow bathroom stall, I crouched as nasty bile rose to my throat. Disgusting sour puke splashed in the toilet.

I dropped the tray.

Oh god. Just hurry up and be done with it.
I puked twice more.

Since the vomiting spell left me breathless, I waited before returning and peered in the wide restroom mirror where a sickly reflection stared back. With a complexion so white, my normally pink lips were blood-red. Blue discoloration traced my eyes.

My black hair, pulled severely into a bun, appeared greasy and in need of a serious wash. Lately I hadn't been taking care of myself.

Forcing my legs to carry me to the next (final it seemed) destination, I continued through a roomful of murmuring strangers and past a table where a certain sonofabitch sat.

His wife cast a longing gaze at him, her elbows on the table, hands folded under her chin. She lowered a hand, he clutched it and their fingers entwined.

The Dancer arose, slanted over the table and sealed her lips with a romantic kiss.

Her bubbly laughter drifted like music. He obviously made her happy.