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.”<
br />
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.
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?
I feel him smile into my neck. “You smell fine to me.”
That’s what every girl loves to hear. Fine. Not like vanilla or roses or a fuckable scent. Fine is you’ll do for now. I rotate and put my hands on his chest. “I…would rather smell like soap.”
He stares down at me, his gaze raking my frame. “I’d rather fu
ck you.” And then he lifts me up, splitting my legs apart and setting me on the counter. I can’t combat him, not when his lips meet mine and his tongue skillfully slips into my mouth. It’s an eager, aggressive kiss that steals breath and puts me in his possession.
Yeah—that shower is not happening.
His movements are more rushed than usual, no slow build up. He practically tears off my shirt, my bra, shorts, panties, and he pulls off his shirt, steps out of his pants, all in between a make-out session that numbs my lips. I moan the minute his fingers graze the spot between my legs.
He covers my mouth with his palm—since we don’t live in this suite alone. I’ve found it hard to restrain noises. My mind wants to shut it down, but my body loves the climax too much, always on its own agenda.
He kneads my breast, and then pushes into me without hesitation. I shut my eyes tightly, the fullness great, but the pain…not that much. It’s less than it used to be, so I know in time, it’ll all go away. It’ll feel better.
He kisses me again, trying to distract me, trying to wrap me in more pleasure. I clutch his arms while he thrusts into me, harder than usual. I open my eyes, and he’s absorbing my body with that intensity, in the way we fit together. His cock sliding right inside—I buck up, a cry stuck in my throat.
I reach out and accidentally splash the running water from the faucet that I never turned off. Still needing support, I cling back to him, now sufficiently wetting both of us. I don’t care much. The pain is starting to dissipate as my climax nears.
I meet his penetrating grays, and it sends me over.
“Nik...I…” My toes curl, my body clenching around him.
He says something in Russian, as if I can translate. I swear he does this to torment me. He kisses my cheek and then presses me to his chest, lifting me from the counter. While his hardness still fills me, he carries me to his bedroom, setting my back…on the desk.
He pounds against me, not finished yet. A layer of sweat coats my skin and his. He keeps his hand over my mouth and uses the other hand to lift one of my legs higher.
Amour Amour Page 30
