Scarred Page 3

  After a few tries, I found a tank top with a tiny mustard stain at the hem. I put it on over the black sports bra I'd found under the armchair in the corner and continued on for something to wear on my bottom half. I was still sporting skinny jeans that were definitely not rehearsal worthy.

  Wiggling my way under the bed, I hoped to score a pair of black spandex shorts. My efforts were quickly derailed.

  “Why do I seem to always get this view of you?” Sean purred from somewhere in my room. It startled me enough to make me whack my head on the bed frame.

  “Ouch!” I yelled, trying to rub the growing bump in the confined space.

  “Don't get me wrong,” he started, his voice moving closer, “I enjoy the view immensely, but seriously, Ruby...if I had a dollar for every time I caught you like this, I could buy another car.”

  “You could buy another car regardless,” I argued, ass still hanging out from under the bed. “Maybe you should stop barging in on people when you're not invited and you wouldn't have this problem at all.”

  “Maybe you should try cleaning your room so you wouldn't have this problem.”

  He had a point.

  “Fine,” I yelled from under the bed, grabbing what I thought were shorts. “You win. I'll clean.” I shimmied back out on my belly and came to stand in front of him. I held up the black fabric that—amazingly enough—turned out to be what I was looking for. Sean eyed the tiny strip of fabric with a dash of amusement.

  “Are those for a six-year-old?”

  “They stretch!” I said, slapping him playfully in the chest with the object in question. “Jerk.”

  He tried to contain his laughter, but failed miserably, which sent me out of the room, eyes rolling, to the bathroom so I could change. I emerged seconds later wearing only the tiny shorts and tank top. All playfulness drained from his face.

  “I take it back. They fit you perfectly,” he said, moving towards me down the hall. I evaded him with a stiff arm/ducking maneuver and ran back to my room to throw on some sweat pants. Quickly.

  “Gotta go, Sean. I'm already late.”

  “I could make you later,” he said, letting his comment hang, suggestive but not specific.

  “I don't have time for your games right now. I can't keep being late,” I said, grabbing the small black duffel off the bed. “Did you get some more of the boys to watch Peyta and Ronnie?”

  “Yes,” he replied, looking suddenly all business. “Four of them are there now. Two more are going over later.”

  “Thanks,” I said, brushing past him. “Do you think it will help?”

  “It won't hurt. Beyond that, who can say for sure?”

  He followed me down to the street, smiling as I made a dramatic point about locking the door.

  “It keeps the riff raff out,” I remarked, giving him the evil eye. My production was all for show―I knew he had a key.

  “I'm sure it does,” he replied, his smile widening. “You'll be home later?”

  “Of course.”

  “Will I see you? There are some things about the Rev that we need to discuss...about what the cops found.”

  “Yeah, sure. If you need me. Should I come right over after class?”

  “Yes, do that. I'll make food.”

  “Deal,” I said, walking to the car. “But I'm only there for the food. You know that, right?” I smiled back at Sean and watched him try his best to keep a straight face. He almost pulled it off.

  “Obviously.”

  “Okay then. See you later.”

  “Till later,” he replied, crossing the street before quickly disappearing into the alley.

  * * *

  I drove a sports car for a good reason—I was always five minutes behind schedule. With the interstate gods watching over me, I was able to avoid both traffic and speed traps, and get myself to class just in the nick of time. A well-lit parking spot awaited me directly in front of the old warehouse-turned-commercial building, which was beneficial because the studio wasn't in the best part of town. For the director of the company to afford the amount of square footage she needed, she had to sacrifice location to get it. I'd only once had a problem in the neighborhood, but it had almost ended in bloodshed, so I tried my best from that point on to play it as safe as possible.

  Locking the car up, I hotfooted it inside the building and up the stairs. I was the only one in the lobby when I arrived; everyone else was already in the studio. I sighed and stripped off my street clothes, equally annoyed with my tardiness as I assumed everyone else would be. With my leg caught in my sweatpants, I hopped on one foot, trying to disengage it as I made my way into the vast, mirrored room.

  After apologizing profusely, I found my usual spot on the far side of the room to stretch and warm up before anything official started up. Music blared through the speakers—something with a driving bass line that shook the floor ever so slightly. I looked around the room at the other members of the company, trying not to notice the glaringly apparent absence of one: Matty.

  I hadn't seen or heard from him for months—not since the run-in with the Rev in the back alley by my house. Matty had seen what I really was, and, even though Scarlet had been released in a successful effort to save him, he couldn't handle it. I certainly couldn't blame him; I didn't exactly take it well myself when I had found out. He'd told me to stay away and never speak to him again, which was an easy rule to follow given that I didn't know where he'd gone and he wouldn't answer my texts. Eventually, I resorted to going to his parents' home to try and find out how he was doing. His mom, Carmen, had said she hadn't seen much of him either, but when she did, he didn't seem to be himself. She was worried about him. She was right to worry. I was afraid he was having a mental breakdown, silently suffering because of me.

  The guilt was hard to bear.

  “Everybody ready to go?” shouted the director, Pam, over top of the music. “I have a new piece I want to teach you. We'll hold auditions next week to cast the male and female spots.”

  My heart sunk immediately; I knew I wouldn't be getting a shot at it. We had nearly as many men as women in the company, but I was as tall as, if not taller than, most of the others including the men. They weren't used to lifting and throwing me; that had always been Matty's job. At well over six feet tall, and built to fill it out, he'd never had a problem.

  I moved to the back of the group, letting the others have a better vantage point than me. I didn't really need it anyway. My disappointment only grew when the music cued up; I loved the driving beat and eerie feel. The choreography moved quickly, with awkward and choppy jerks transitioned together with slow and controlled motions. It was intricate, but I picked it up without issue. We all worked up a sweat in a matter of minutes, and I was forced to get a towel out of my bag to dry off. While I crouched in the corner, rifling through the duffel for one, a mild commotion started on the far side of the room. The voices I heard over the music were welcoming someone.

  I stood slowly, turning to see who it was.

  “Hey, blue eyes. Long time no see,” Matty called out from the mob encircling him. They were hugging him, telling him how glad they were to see him and how happy they were to have him back. There was mention of an audition in L.A., but I couldn't make out exactly what was said.

  “Hi,” I replied, emotionless. I was far too stunned to emote anything other than that.

  He broke away from the group as Pam was calling for another run-through of the material we'd just covered. His smile was what it had always been, warm and friendly, as though he had no recollection of what had spooked him in the alley that night. No recollection of what I was.

  “You don't look happy to see me,” he said, feigning a pout. “Can't I get a hug?”

  “Are you...are you sure?” I asked, cautiously closing the distance between us. He spread his arms wide in response, and I dove into them, burying my face in his chest.

  “It's good to see you too, Ruby. It's been a while.”

  “Matty...I...I
don't know what to say.”

  “Then shut up and hug me,” he said, his chest bouncing with a giggle.

  “I can do that,” I whispered, holding on.

  “Are you two planning to join the rest of us, or do you need a private room for a few minutes?” Pam yelled, cuing the music for another run. I pulled away from Matty, my face red with embarrassment.

  “We're good for now, thanks, Pam,” he shouted back, dropping his bag to the floor. “What are we working on?”

  “A new piece for the Boston Dance Association's showcase,” she said, waving us into our places. “It's called 'Howl'.”

  He eyed me deviously before the corner of his mouth curled slightly.

  “I like the sound of it already.”

  4

  My hopes that he'd had a head trauma of some sort, causing amnesia, were dashed in an instant. It was a long shot at best, but I was hoping that maybe, somehow, he had forgotten all about what had happened that night—what he'd seen. Since it was apparent that wasn't the case, my immediate reaction was one of confusion. What had occurred in the past two or so months that made him forgive me? Or want to be near me? I needed to know the answers, but I was so overcome with joy by his return and the feel of us dancing together that I stopped caring. For just that one night, I wanted to pretend that everything was normal.

  That I was normal.

  An hour and a half into the class, we had learned a large portion of the piece. It was time to break into partners and practice an intricate and somewhat dangerous lift section that Pam had devised. If executed properly, it was simply stunning. If not, it was an ER trip at best, and a hospital sleepover at worst. We watched it several times, noting the hand and leg positions and watching how our body weight and momentum could be counterbalanced.

  “You ready to try this thing or what?” he asked me with a grin, wiping the sweat off his face and arms with the hem of his shirt. His stomach looked amazing. He'd always had a toned physique, but it was even tighter and more cut than before. Whatever he'd been up to in L.A. had made him fitter than I'd ever seen him.

  “Sure...just don't drop me. It's a long way down when your partner is so damn tall.”

  “Good thing I'm strong too then, isn't it?” he laughed, scooping me around the waist in preparation for the lift. With only a four beat countdown, he started the movement, picking me straight up over his head into a one-armed balance while I split the air with my legs, circling them back down around his waist before letting my arms go and falling backwards towards the floor. It got far more complicated after that, but we had no problems, executing it seamlessly every time. His hands were like glue when they needed to be, sticking to all the right parts at all the right times.

  “I'm getting dizzy,” I told him after the fourth or fifth run-through. “I'm going to get some water.”

  He followed me to the cooler in the lobby, leaning on it as I filled my bottle. He stared at me as I gulped down twenty-four ounces before refilling it again.

  “What?” I said, feigning annoyance. “I sweat a lot. I need to replenish the fluids.”

  “I'm well aware of how sweaty you are—I'm wearing half of it,” he retorted with a smirk. “I'm going to have to wring my shirt out after class.”

  “Whatever,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Hey, can we run that one more time? I want to see if I can eke out a little more extension of my back leg on the way up.”

  “Sure,” he said, walking back into the studio. “Let's do it.”

  It was uncanny how easily we had fallen back into our old routine, but I wasn't naïve. A heavy and uncomfortable conversation was headed my way. For Matty's safety as well as my own, I needed to know exactly what he remembered. That reality nagged at me as we returned to the studio.

  We arranged ourselves so we could start at the eight count of choreography leading up to the lift. I put more strength into the mount that time, almost hurling my body toward him to get the height that I needed to achieve the extension I wanted. I pressed off his shoulders in preparation, lifting my body over his head with his aid, but, in my mentally distracted state, I overshot it.

  My momentum was too hard to control, and I fell out of the handstand position over his back. I scrambled to grab onto him, clawing at his shirt in an attempt to not fall on my head. Seeing that a crash was inevitable, I tucked into myself into a ball, hoping the landing wouldn’t break anything. Matty turned to help slow my fall, but the position he was in didn't lend itself to the task. I crashed on my back, pulling him down on top of me, tearing his shirt in the process.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, hovering above me.

  “Yeah, I think I'm fine,” I replied, trying to sit up. I felt woozy and the room spun as I changed positions. To stop the sensation, I rolled back down to the floor.

  “Did you hit your head?”

  “I must have,” I said, closing my eyes.

  “Ruby, are you all right?” Pam asked, hurrying over with a bag of ice.

  “I'll be fine. Just give me a minute. It's not a big deal, Pam. No reason to fuss,” I protested while she tried to hold the ice against my head. “Just drag me out of the way so you can keep working.”

  “I think we'll call it a night,” she said, motioning for everyone to clear out. “We'll pick up where we left off next time.”

  “Do you want me to lock up for you, Pam?” Matty asked, sitting beside me. “I think she should rest for a bit before driving home, don't you?”

  “That's probably a good idea. Do you still have your key?”

  “I do, indeed.”

  “Okay, then. Ruby, you be careful, please.”

  “Always,” I replied with a chuckle that I instantly regretted. Increasing head pressure was a bad idea.

  I lay there on the floor until everyone cleared out. Being stared at while I tried to sort out my equilibrium wasn’t something I enjoyed. Once the coast was clear, I slowly sat up with Matty spotting me the whole way just in case I had another episode of vertigo. When everything in my visual field stayed stationary, I let out a sigh of relief. No concussion for me that night.

  “I thought you'd be a little more rugged,” he said mockingly. “You know...given your...condition and all.”

  A shot of cold ran down my spine. I really didn't want to have that conversation with him. Not then. Not ever. Unfortunately, that idea worked only in theory―in reality, it did not. Matty and I were going to discuss a few things that night. His safety depended on it.

  “It's complicated,” I said, looking forlorn. “Matty, I—”

  “Not tonight, Ruby. I don't want to get into that tonight. I came here because I wanted to see you. Not having you in my life wasn't an option I was willing to live with. We'll work out the details later, but, for now, can we drop the whole thing?”

  “I'm sorry, Matty. I'm sorry—”

  “No sorry either. Tonight, we let it be.”

  I held out my hand to him and he took it without hesitation. “I missed you,” I whispered. “Being here hasn't been the same since you left. I stopped by your parents' house to see how you were. They said they hadn't seen you much. Your mom was acting strange.”

  “I'm headed there now. Do you want to come? I'm sure they'd love to see you,” he asked innocently enough, but there was something in his eye―a tiny spark I hadn't seen there before. He really wanted me to go.

  “I can't,” I replied. “I have to be somewhere shortly. Rain check?”

  Again, something passed over him before he responded. A darkness that time, a ferocity. It looked wrong on him.

  “Sure thing. Hot date?” he asked casually.

  “More like a meeting,” I said, hoping to downplay the whole thing. I knew he never liked Sean or Cooper, so I didn't want him to know where I was headed.

  “So skip it. Doesn't look like you want to go anyway.”

  “As much as I'd love to, it's important. It's about Peyta. I really have to go.”

  “Oh,” he said, knowing exactly how impo
rtant Peyta was to me. “In that case, you probably should go. I'll walk you out if you're feeling up to it.”

  “Thanks,” I said as he helped me off the floor. Apparently, I'd played the right card by throwing Peyta's name out. “We should plan to get together soon though. We need to talk.”

  He looked at me with eyes that promised everything but conversation as he held onto my hands a little longer than necessary after helping me up.

  “Everything okay?” I asked him, unsure of what was going on.

  He shook his head a bit then smiled. “Yeah, I'm fine. It's just good to see you, that's all. I guess I'm more excited than I thought I'd be,” he said with a laugh.

  “It's good to see you too,” I told him, giving his hands a squeeze before pulling mine away.

  I packed up my things and shut off the lights in the studio. Matty met me in the lobby where he waited by the door, his bag slung across his chest.

  “Ready to go?” he asked, turning to open the door.

  I gasped at what I saw.

  “Matty! Your back,” I cried, running over to see the damage. His shirt was bloodied where I'd torn it off. I lifted the jagged hem to see four distinct scratches along his lower right side. They were red and raw, but not actively bleeding.

  “What is it?” he asked, trying to look under his arm to see what had me so excited.

  “I must have scratched you when I fell. I'm so sorry. We should clean you up before you go home.”

  He went to the full-length mirror not far from the door and turned to see the marks in question. He poked and pulled at them for a minute until he was satisfied with its condition.

  “It's fine. Don't worry about it. Doesn't hurt at all.”

  “You sure? Scratches can be nasty and they get infected easily,” I argued.

  “I'll let my mom fix me up. It'll make her happy...she'll feel useful.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Please, Carmen lives for an injury. She likes to play doctor; it gives her a chance to boss people around,” he insisted. “Let's go. Don't want you to be late.”