I shouldn’t have kissed him. I shouldn’t have done a lot of things. I shouldn’t have stayed the night either because I knew how badly I would want him. I knew that I get impulsive when I’m around him. I couldn’t even sleep last night because I was so turned on. I got up when he was asleep and locked myself in his bathroom to deal with it.
It was worse when I slipped back into bed, trying to keep as much distance between us and his hand slipped around my stomach, pulling my ass right into him. Luckily, we made it through the night and in the morning, I focused on the real task at hand and left him the painkillers. I only have two weeks before the showcase and I can’t mess that up now.
After a long day practicing and trying to get Miles out of my head, I’m sat with the girls in the living room while they ask me more and more ridiculous questions. I’ve been dodging them for the most part as I lie down with ice packs on my sore knees.
“So, what was it like?” Kennedy asks with a huge smile.
“What was what like?” I sit up further on the couch, so I can see them both properly. Kennedy is sitting in the beanbag and Scarlett is on the floor, lying on her back.
“The kiss. You can’t just be like ‘yeah me and Miles made out for real’ and ignore it,” Kennedy explains.
“That’s exactly what I’m trying to do. If I think about it too much, I’ll do it again and this whole thing will be over. I can’t do that. Not so close to the show and so close to the hockey season,” I say, turning over my ice packs before resting my head back on the head rest.
“Fine, don’t tell us. But, judging by the look on your face, it was better than the kisses you write about in Stolen Kingdom,” Kennedy mentions, looking at me innocently. I don’t have the energy to argue with that. It’s true. It was probably the best kiss of my life. Scarlett frowns at her and turns back to me.
“Have you spoken to him since you ran off this morning?” Scarlett asks and my stomach drops.
“I didn’t run off. I just didn’t want to be there when he woke up. It would have been too hard,” I admit. “It was the best thing to do.”
“Was it or was it just easier?” Scarlett asks. If my knees didn’t hurt so bad, I would have smothered her with my pillow, but I know she’s right. She always is.
I don’t let my mind wander to what would have happened if I stayed for any longer than I did. We’re both so strangely attached to each other. Like there’s something, intangible, which is constantly tying us together. Even when we know we shouldn’t. When we can’t. Not for real, anyway.
Rule number three.
I’m about to say something but my phone chimes and vibrates next to me. I reach into the pocket of my shorts and retrieve it. I smile wide when I see a message from Gigi.
Gigi: Why haven’t you posted any pictures with your boyfriend? Did you guys break up?
Me: We didn’t break up G. It’s been twenty-four hours since I posted.
Me: Any updates on TLT?
Gigi: If you keep up with my posts, then you would know. But, no, there are no updates yet.
I saw the pictures at the hockey game, how was that?
Me: It was actually fun. I think you would have enjoyed it.
Gigi: I’m sure I would have. There is nothing I love more than crowded spaces.
Me: Ha-ha. So…
Me: That means that you’re not coming to my show?
Gigi: No, Emmy, I can’t. I’m trying to get better with crowds, I promise.
Me: I know you are, G. Love you more than Marcus loves Carmen.
Gigi: I don’t think that’s possible. You wrote their love to be extremely powerful. Also, you couldn’t love me the same way because they’re in a romantic relationship.
Me: Would it kill you to say that you love me too?
Gigi: It wouldn’t kill me; I just don’t want to say it.
I laugh at Gigi’s last message and throw it next to me. The second it hits the cushion it starts to ring again. When I reach for it, I see the unknown caller ID, my pulse instinctively quickening. I swipe the answer button and bring the phone to my ear.
“Hello?”
“Wren? It’s Austin. Are you alone?”
My chest tightens at the sound of her voice. It’s been so long that I almost forgot what she sounds like. We’ve had a few calls over the last few years but nothing anything to remember. She’s always busy so it’s always a quick ‘Hi, how are you?’ on her way into the studio. I’ve always wanted a better relationship with my sister. She does her thing and I do mine. It’s that simple.
Goosebumps immediately spread over my skin as my heart races.
“Is it your lover boy calling for phone sex?” Kennedy coos.
“No. It’s Austin,” I say, the words sounding foreign coming out of my mouth.
They both turn to me in horror as I pick up my ice packs and limp into my bedroom, closing the door. My hands shake as I sit down on the edge of the bed. “I’m alone. What’s wrong? No one has heard from you in months. Are you okay?”
“My life is over. My career is over. I won’t be able to dance anymore,” Austin says quickly.
“What? Are you hurt? What happened?”
“Worse,” she replies.
“Austin, what could be worse than that?” A huge part of me doesn’t even want to know the answer. Austin is a lot less dramatic than my mom. She’s always been the rational one but with the complete terror in her voice, I don’t think I want to know.
“I’m pregnant.”
The line goes strangely silent. Austin has never wanted kids. It’s not that she doesn’t like them. How can you hate a baby? But Austin’s life plans were very simple. Ballet. Get married. Ballet. Even as kids when asked what she wanted to do it was always ‘ballet’ with certainty and ‘marriage’ with a question mark.
She has done everything in her power to make sure that one plan stays consistent and that it actually follows through. In a way, I have a very similar to plan. Although, if I ever got pregnant it would be more of a miracle not to skate than a drawback.
She’s been dating Zion for as long as I can remember, and they’ve made it work between her schedule and his job as a book editor. I knew they were serious when he moved away with her to Russia a few years ago but this was clearly not in their five-year plan.
“How far along are you?” I ask when I get my voice back.
“Too far. Maybe four months?” I don’t say anything. What am I supposed to say to this? “Emmy, I can’t do this right now. This was supposed to be my last month here and then I was meant to move to France in the new year with just Zion – not him and a baby.”
“Wait, you got into the company?”
“Why are you so surprised? I worked hard and I got in,” she says bluntly. Right. I forgot how uptight she was. “They won’t want me anymore if they find out that I can’t dance for at least a year.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to figure that out. I was calling for a favour mostly,” Austin says cautiously.
“Sure. What is it?” I ask, half of me afraid for the answer.
“Can you tell mom for me? I won’t be able to stomach the disappointment. I’ve told dad already, but you know what he’s like. He was just happy that there’s a possibility he could get a grandson,” she laughs quietly.
“Austin, I don’t know if I can do that,” I stutter. “I don’t want all that pressure on me right now. I’ve got a show coming up.”
“Great. That’s perfect,” she says, and I wait, not knowing where she’s going with this. “Just tell her right after the show, when you’ve done your best performance and she’ll be so proud she probably won’t even care.”
I wait a minute, not saying anything. My future in figure skating at NU is riding on the back of this showcase. Not only do I need people to turn up, but my mom needs to enjoy it. She needs to see that I’ve put my blood, sweat and tears into my practicing. And now, she needs to be prouder than ever so Austin’s pregnancy can fly right over her head. If not, this could end badly for the both of us.
“Thank you, Wren. I owe you for this one,” she says quickly without my reply before ending the call. I sit on my bed for what feels like hours, dumbfounded and my body suddenly feeling heavy.
When the anxieties creep up into me, I rush into my bathroom, and I throw up. When I’m scared and anxious this happens. A lot more than I’d like to admit. When the retching doesn’t stop, both of the girls run into my bathroom. Kennedy holds my hair back while Scarlett rubs my back, not saying much. After I feel like it’s all out of me, I go to my sink and brush my teeth, the both of them still in my bathroom, looking concerned.
“I’m, uh, I’m going to the rink,” I say, when I turn around to them, my voice suddenly not sounding like my own.
Scarlett inches towards me.
“Wren, it’s past nine o’clock. I don’t think the one on campus is open,” she says.
I brush past her and go into my bedroom. They follow behind me.
“And not to mention you’ve been there all day. Take a break,” Kennedy suggests as I pack my duffel bag with my leotard and essentials.
“I’ll find one that’s open,” I bite out and I walk out of my room into the kitchen. They follow behind me again as I grab a couple bottles of water and I shove them into my bag, avoiding their eyes.
“Wren,” Scarlett says, carefully, shifting from one foot to the other. “I don’t think this is a good idea. You need to take a breather. You just threw your stomach up. You were like this before regionals.”
“Yeah and look where that fucking got me. I didn’t take it seriously enough. I put being with Augustus over skating and I didn’t practice enough. I could have prevented that. If I fuck this one up, I’m over. I’m done,” I shout.
They both take a step back, neither one of them knowing what to say. Kennedy’s eyes soften as she looks at me. Scarlett looks irritated and a little disappointed. She’s had to put up with side of me for the longest time. She’s seen me after losing a comp as a kid, she’s seen me after winning and still needing to do better. Constantly trying to do my absolute best. To be flawless.
“Look,” I sigh, my voice quieter. “I’m sorry for shouting but I’m in a really difficult situation right now and I need to clear my head.”
“Then talk to us. That’s what we’re here for,” Kennedy whispers, her voice weighty with emotion. ‘You don’t run away when things get hard. We don’t do that.’
I want to grab them both into a hug. I want to tell them everything. I want to tell them how it feels like I’m constantly being held down by a giant, cutting off my blood circulation. How I’m constantly hearing the words You’re not good enough over and over.
“I can’t. I’m sorry. I can’t,” I stammer as I slip out of the door.
