The Fated Dance: Bound to the Shadow Dancer

by Leeann Whitaker

  “So, what’s this about?” I ask, interrupting his examination of the damp walls.

  “I really shouldn’t be here,” he sighs. “But I have some concerns I need to discuss with you.”

  “About Grayson?” I hoist my brow.

  “Yes.”

  Okay, now I’m all ears. He has come here to warn me and I have to listen. I’m supposed to be dancing for him again in an hours’ time.

  “Please, sit down,” I say, perching on the armrest.

  He unfastens the middle button of his jacket and sits. “I’ve known Grayson since he was in diapers,” he says. “He trusts me above all, but now he’s given me no choice but to go behind his back.”

  I exhale the unease. Is he about to tell me Grayson is dangerous and I should stay away? That he is some insane person, who has become obsessed with girls like me? Or that I’m a slut, and it is wrong and immoral for me to continue to work for him?

  “Mr. Crane has been through a lot over the last eighteen months, and I fear that he is trying to keep things to himself, so he can deal with the problem alone.” His tone is so somber.

  “What’s wrong with him?”

  “Ms. Conner, Grayson has been in remission for some time now.”

  I inhale a sharp breath as my heart drops a beat. “From?”

  “He has been suffering from Acute Myeloid Leukemia… and I think his condition has returned.”

  Oh god, I don’t believe this. I cover my face with my hands as an empty feeling swells inside my stomach.

  “Mr. Crane is refusing to go into detail on his condition, and I’m worried he might do something stupid.”

  “Well, what can I do?” I try to stop the lump in my throat making tears.

  “The boy seems to have grown very fond of you,” his eyes widen. “In fact, I’ve never known him to be so untroubled and laid-back with his work,” he explains. “I need you to get him to open up. Ms. Conner, time could be short for Mr. Crane, and I won’t stand by while he gives up.”

  After every shit hand I’ve been dealt over the years, I thought for once things could be finally levelling out, getting back onto the tracks of life. But it seems I’m some kind of magnet for death. I can’t do this, and I won’t be a part of it. Even though Grayson has been kind and generous, I won’t watch death again. Especially now I’m recognizing I have feelings for him.

  “I’m sorry… but I can’t.”

  He moves to the edge of the seat, “Save him?”

  “I… I can’t lie to him. He obviously doesn’t want me to know about this.”

  “I’m not asking you to lie,” he grumbles. “Just be yourself and talk to him. Grayson has this big chip on his shoulder, and he always bottles things up.” He blinks slowly at me. “But inside he battling this alone, and he needs to know he doesn’t have to.”

  I’ve never been made to feel so guilty in my life. “You don’t understand…”

  “Ms. Conner, I’m no fool,” he says, stern. “When Grayson picked you out of that bar, and spent a small fortune to play out his fantasy, I did a background check on you,” he states as my jaw drops open. “I know about your parents. This house on the verge of being repossessed. And your wayward sister,” he stands up. “I can make all you problems disappear. You agree to help me, and your troubles will be taken care of.” I laugh out in disbelief.

  “You also want to purchase my services.” I can’t help but feel sorry for Grayson. Those he trusts, going behind his back like this.

  “I care about that boy like he is my own flesh and blood,” he argues. “You may think my means to help him devious. But if you were in my shoes, would you not do everything possible to help?” he appeals. “Why do you think he came to you? He’s trying to forget, and if he does that, it could result in his death.”

  My eyes sting with a layer of sadness. Grayson is suffering and using me to get through it. Maybe Henry is right, I can do something to help. Thing is, I’ll be putting myself in a situation where I may end up caring too much. I’m so screwed-up right now.

  “Okay, I’ll carry on what I’ve been doing.” I force out a breath. “If he decides to tell me anything, I’ll let you know. But I’m not going to purposely go out of my way and interfere in his life,” I assert. “And you can keep your money.”

  “Thank you, and I will see you right,” he walks to the door. “If you can help him, you deserve to be rewarded.”

  “I don’t want your money,” I say, annoyed.

  “You figure a way out to get him to see reason, you’ll have no choice, Ms. Conner.” He makes his way down the stairs of the porch, toward his gray Ford Focus.

  I close the door and lean my back against the frame. How the hell do I do this? Go there tonight and look at him in the eye?

  The Song with Meaning

  It might be too soon, but for tonight I’ve chosen the song that attracted me to her in the first place. Last night the whole sultry performance was extremely provoking. So, I need to revert my way of thinking back to that initial encounter, not these sexual urges I’ve been fatigued with. I’m looking for that moment again. That one piece of perfection.

  The doorbell rings. She’s late tonight. I won’t make a big song and dance about it like I would with one of my employees. She’s here now, and that’s what counts.

  I brush down my white shirt and leap up the three steps. I’m in good spirts tonight. I feel energetic, happy, and I’m looking forward to her company again.

  I open the door with a smile. After all, for her to be relaxed, I must be the same myself.

  “Jen.”

  “Hi,” she gazes strangely, then looks down to the floor as she makes her way inside. I guess I’m just going to have to try harder.

  “Did you enjoy breakfast?”

  “Yeah… thanks.”

  She turns to face the photo of a Starry Night. The picture seems to distract her every time she comes here. I’d like her attention to be on me with that same kind of affection in her eyes. Possibly moving it might work. I could tell her it accidently fell off the wall and smashed. A little mean, but tactful.

  “Jen, would you like a drink?”

  “Err… no thanks.”

  She lingers in a state of absence. Her expression is blank and unwilling to accept my consideration toward her. It’s so difficult to break her perceptions of me. My own damn fault I suppose.

  “Is everything okay?” I enquire as she stands clamping her hands together, contemplating in an undecided manner.

  “I’ll go…” she points to her room and turns away while removing her jacket.

  The sight of her silky hair does that magical thing to me again. I let out a pent-up breath, and make my way over to the couch to wait. No pacing tonight, and no tearing out my hair over this. I’m going to remain calm and unaroused, no matter how tempting she is.

  The music drifts into my ears from the other side of that wall, and annoyingly my excitement rises to the highest level. Impatiently, I tap my foot, waiting for her head to emerge. Unlike yesterday, her warm-up tonight is taking double the time. I would get up to go and check on her, but the urge to tell her I want her, to take her, is so strong.

  Finally the click of the door handle draws my view. She hovers in the doorway, her body all tense and unenthusiastic. I notice a slight redness in her eyes as she gestures her head, then disappears inside.

  I brace my teeth down firmly as I make my way through. I’m battling with the idea of asking her if she’s okay to do this tonight. To have her say no, would be dissatisfying. So I remain quiet, gather up the thigh fabric of my gray trousers, and take up my position in the chair.

  The first song echoes through the room. I anticipate her start, but she waits in stillness, glaring at her reflection. Gradually and with a great reluctance, she begins. She spins to face me and performs a forward roll on her hands. It was gymnastically well executed. But the movement and fluidity she had yesterday has gone; been replaced by rigid untimely actions. Her efforts are we
ak, half-hearted, and her face shows nothing but dislike.

  I keep my fingers tightly coiled around the chair arm. She’s upset and I should stop this, but the sight of her long shapely legs beneath those skintight leggings, and the perfect curvaceous form of her body, is making me hard. It’s a pleasing kind of torture.

  The first song is over and now the classical piano of: Adagio for Strings, sounds. I watch with a stir of eagerness inside my chest. She remains as fixed as stone. I frown and let of a small interruptive cough. She sighs, dropping her head to her chest as her arms reach high, each finger curling passionately. She brings one foot up to her knee and rises up on her toes. With her arms circled out before her body she pirouettes, and suddenly loses her balance. Her ankle bows out and she collapses to the floor with a thud.

  I spring up to my feet as she begins to sob in a heap on the floor. I have got to be the most selfish arrogant asshole, to have walked the face of the earth. I could see she wasn’t up to this tonight, but still I made her carry on because of my desires.

  “Jen, let me help you.” I bend and place my hand around her bicep as she snivels.

  “I’m fine,” she huffs, trying to get up to her feet but failing miserably.

  “Clearly not.”

  I slip one arm beneath her bent knees and the other around her waist, to lift her up to my chest. Her bloodshot eyes lock onto mine as I carry her into the lounge. Her gaze is inducing a great need in me. The deep green hue in her irises is reminiscent of a pair of fine cut emeralds, hypnotizing.

  With care I place her down onto the couch, and hurry into the kitchen to get one of my icepacks from the freezer. Bonus of this menacing illness. The icepacks provided for me by Jenkins to ease muscle pain, now available for the gorgeous dancer I privately view.

  “Here Jen.” I carefully take her leg and elevate it up onto a cushion, placing the icepack on the inside of her ankle. She flinches at the coldness of it. “Sorry.”

  She moves the pack into a position she feels more comfortable with, and shuffles up into the corner.

  “It’s fine… just a small sprain,” she says, quiet.

  “Drink?” I ask.

  She exhales extensively. It’s a breath that says she really doesn’t want to be here.

  I hang my head in guilt. “I’ll get my car keys and take you home.”

  “Okay,” she utters fast. “I’ll have a drink.”

  I press my lips into a meagre smile, and quickly go to get a bottle out of the fridge before she changes her mind.

  I place her glass on the table and pour. There is something upsetting her, and her refusal to look at me for longer than a second is creating a knotty atmosphere.

  “I should have called it off tonight,” I say, making sure I keep a void between us, sitting on the edge of the couch.

  “It’s me… I’ve just had one of those days.” She tries to hide a tear falling. “And that song you picked.”

  I frown. “You don’t like it?”

  She pulls her knees into her chest. “It means something to me… memories.”

  The same song has importance for both of us. Her memory of it, apparently a distressing one. I couldn’t have guessed even if I wanted to, the effect it would have on her.

  “There’s a reason I chose that piece.” My inside are recoiling at what she will think when I tell her the truth. “And if I’d have known the upset it would cause you, I wouldn’t have even suggested it.” I shrug my shoulders. “Do you mind me asking you why?” She gazes under her brow, brushing her lips across her knees, unsure. “Sorry, me and my curiosity,” I groan. “You don’t need to tell me a thing, Jen.”

  “It’s okay.” She shuts her eyes then reopens slowly. “That was the last song I danced to at the hotel you’re renovating… in front of my dad. He died a few years ago.”

  I want to comfort her, but I won’t. That song plagued me with illusions of an unfathomable need to meet her. Yet for her, it offers nothing but a painful tribute. I’m an idiot.

  “It was a wonderful performance, Jen. And you should be proud your father had the privilege of watching you,” I finally admit.

  I now know I cannot continue on with this ridiculous notion, that having her dance for me is a good thing. Lines have been crossed, and things are becoming complicated. I peer to my side, hoping she won’t now think I’m some weird stalker. Her eyes glint with confusion.

  “I was there,” I add.

  “Really?”

  “Yes, eighteen years old… on a fieldtrip with Gold Guilds all boys school.”

  She giggles. “Oh my god… I remember you all sat on the balcony in your uniforms. I can’t believe you remember me from that.”

  “It’s been hard to forget,” I grin, uncomfortable.

  “Did you actually come to Venus to find me?” she asks with a frown.

  Oh shit. Well, here goes nothing. I breathe out, ready to confess. “What would you think of me if I said yes?”

  “Well, I don’t know.” She brushes her lips across her knees again. “Why?”

  “I have come to a point in my life, where throwing caution to the wind is something I do daily.”

  She closes her eyes and gulps aloud. I’m unsure if her reaction is one of unease or bewilderment. But I’ve done it now. I should have stayed away from her. Now all I want to do is have her. Have her here on this couch. In my bed. Hell, the damn garden will do. I grind my teeth real hard. I won’t tell her the truth about myself. After tonight I’m going back to the city, and that ass-wipe Riley can take over.

  Out of the blue, her soft fingers sweep under my chin. I swallow and nervously turn. I’ve not been touched this way in a long time and I begin to heat up. She moves onto her knees at my side as I clamp my jaw tight. I won’t kiss her. I can’t.

  She inclines, breathing her sweet warm breath on me, and immediately I weaken. Her gentle lips caress mine and my eyes simultaneously close. I adore every single second of her taste. But that godforsaken void inside me is holding me back. I place my hands on her face and pull away as she gapes right into me.

  “I know,” she murmurs.

  I draw away more with narrow eyes. “Jen?”

  “Henry came to see me.”

  Oh god. What the hell. I shut my eyes, shaking my head in anger. This is so completely screwed-up now. He had no right to go behind me back dammit.

  Her hand slithers under my hairline. I still want her. I want to forget what she’s just told me and take her to my bed. But I don’t need a goddamn pity fuck.

  “He’s only worried about you, Grayson.”

  I slowly pull her hand away from my neck and glare. “So why are you here then, hmm? To snoop for information; convince me to go back into that isolation ward again,” I sneer. “Or do you feel sorry for me… Jen?”

  She blinks a tear out of her eye. I exhale and wipe it away with my thumb. I never intended this to happen; to want someone so much when I’m on the brink of the end.

  “Grayson, I’m here because of you,” she sniffs.

  That’s it. I can’t hold back. I grab the curve of her neck hard and lay my lips on hers. This is hell and rapture rolled into one. I now need to cross that line, to have physical contact with every inch of her naked body and be satisfied.

  She lifts her knee and straddles my lap as I rage passion on her mouth, her neck, her face. The rub of her hips on my stimulated groin feels so damn good. Her hands cup my cheeks as I move my fingers beneath her vest. Instantly, the velvet warmth of her soft skin and the arch of her spine, arouse me with fire. I hold her forearms and pull away with a gasp. She rests her head on mine and the fraught air from her mouth rushes across my lips.

  “This is what you want,” I heave in air.

  “Yes.”

  I lift her up into my arms with purpose and carry her toward my room. I will take every inch of her. If I don’t, I may as well be dead inside. She’s bringing me back. She’s making me feel more alive than ever before.

  Shared Painr />
  I’m all cozy and curled up beside him, watching the moonbeams highlight his striking features as we lay in crisp white sheets. His arm is strewed over the top of his head, and his hand lays on his strong chest. I’ve never been touched like it. He was passionate, gentle, and my god, amazing. I knew exactly what he needed, and he knew how to please me. How can I have done the wrong thing when it felt so right? What Henry told me, should have had me staying as far away from this man as possible, to avoid future pain. But there is this thing about him that I can’t be away from. It’s not pity or lust, it’s the connection we share in bleakness. Being like this with each other erases all that obscurity.

  “Do you want me to take you home?” he asks, coolly.

  “Do you want me to go?”

  He shifts his head to look down at me. “We’ve both just completely quashed our agreement, you do know that.”

  “Yes and?”

  “It’s fine Jen… you don’t have to stay. I think it would be best if we said goodbye.” He lifts his bare body upright, turns, and places his feet onto the floor.

  Annoyed, I slam my head down on the pillow. “Grayson,” I shrill, grabbing his arm. “You really don’t know how to treat the ladies do you?”

  He’s not amused. He just looks so distant. He needs to talk about what he’s going through. He needs help, because the guy I’m looking at right now, is not the guy who has just made love to me.

  “How long do you have?” I bravely ask.

  “Jen, I really don’t need therapy,” he peers over his shoulder.

  “And I’m not offering therapy,” I insist with a glare. “After what’s just happened between us, I think we are both capable of an adult discussion without sulking aren’t we?”

  Air jets out from his nostrils as he grins. “You’re very unusual, Jen Conner.”

  “So they say.” I pat the sheets for him to join me, “Now speak to me.”

  He lies back down at my side. “And I can’t play it down?”