16. Giselle
Chapter 16
Giselle
“ H ey, Giselle,” Freddie, the juice maker, purrs in greeting on Thursday morning as I squint at the new acai bowl sprawled across the special offer chalkboard.
I glance at him and fake a small smile at him.
“Can I have the acai bowl, please, but can I substitute the banana for an extra scoop of desiccated coconut?”
Freddie punches my order into the screen in front of him. “Sure thing, Gee. Anything else?”
“No, that’s it. Thank you.”
Tapping my card to the payment reader, I watch Freddie grab an empty takeaway bowl from the stack beside the blender and a spoon.
“How was your weekend?” he asks, trying to make conversation, but having to raise his voice to be heard over the sound of the blender mulching my fruit up into a thick liquid.
Flashes of my weekend run through my mind before I can put a stop to them. Mainly, flashes of Hudson.
I think I’ve done pretty well to push those memories away, locking them tight into a mental box and shoving the box away, never to be reopened, but at Freddie’s loaded question, the lump in my throat is back again.
Because the truth is, I haven’t heard from Hudson in five fucking days. Almost a full week.
I haven’t seen hide nor hair of him at the gym either. A mean feat, seeing as it’s not that big of a space. Well, maybe it would be if I left the safe confines of my studios and ventured out into the main area of the gym…
But still, my point stands; I couldn’t stop running into him before and now I haven’t crossed paths with him at all.
Suspicious much?
Although, it has made it slightly easier to pretend he doesn’t fucking exist.
I should have known once I told him I needed to tell him something important, he would run for the hills. They always do.
“It was okay,” I settle on, digging my freshly painted nails into the fleshy part of my palm. “I just stayed at home. Nothing too interesting to report.”
“No Friday or Saturday night dates?”
I shake my head mutely.
“Come on, Gee.” He uses my nickname again, making my skin crawl, while he plants his hands on the counter and leans forward so our faces are closer together. “A beautiful young woman like you should be out on the town every weekend, kissing the endless line of guys waiting to snatch you up… I’m free next Saturday if you want to—”
“Don’t fucking finish that sentence.”
I turn instinctually at the sound of the familiar gravelly voice coming from behind me and then wish I hadn’t.
Hudson’s face is screwed up into a pissed off expression I know only too well, his arms folded tightly across his chest, which only highlights the bulge of his biceps.
Turning back to face Freddie, I stare straight ahead at the now blended fruit soup dripping into my acai bowl, unwilling to give Hudson the satisfaction of meeting my eyes. Rather, I sense him take a step closer to me. So close in fact, that the heat of his body radiates against my back.
“I was only joking,” Freddie backpedals on seeing Hudson. “Gee and I joke—”
“Don’t call her that.”
“He can call me whatever he wants,” I hiss between my teeth. I don’t mean it. Of course I don’t mean it. I don’t want Freddie to call me anything except my god given name, but I’m just as pissed off at Hudson right now and if it cuts him… then so be it.
Now both of us can be hurt and angry.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot the way Hudson’s jaw ticks in annoyance.
“Do you have time to make a chocolate and peanut butter protein shake or are you too busy flirting to do the job you’re employed for?”
“We weren’t flirting!” I say, at the same time Freddie bites back with more gumption than I thought he had in him. “I didn’t realise you were my new boss, Millen… or do you just get off on telling people what to do?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know, Freddie boy,” Hudson retorts with a snide smirk and a quick sideways glance at me.
With an expression resembling something of a snarl, Freddie stomps over to the barrel-like containers of protein powders lining the back wall, unscrews the plastic lid and scoops out three large spoonsful into a reusable cup.
“You can be a right dick when you want to be,” I hear myself say, watching Freddie angrily rip the keep fresh tab from a carton of cold milk. “Do you know that?”
Hudson stays quiet for a beat; so quiet I’m not even sure he’s heard me, until he whispers, “I know, Giselle. Believe me I know.”
We stand there, together, but silent, while Freddie finishes up our orders.
“One acai bowl and one chocolate and peanut butter protein shake.” Freddie scowls, pushing them towards us.
I point down at the sloppily cut discs of banana decorating the top of my purple smoothie. “Um, Freddie, I asked for no banana—”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Giselle!”
“Hey!” Hudson raises his voice, his eyes narrowed like slits. “Don’t fucking talk to her like that! It’s not her fault you’re useless at your job—”
Profanities spew from Freddie’s mouth as he drags my takeaway bowl back across the counter and unceremoniously discards the banana with a flick of a spoon. He shoves it back towards me with so much force I only just manage to catch the thing before it tips over the edge and lands with a splatter onto the tiled floor.
I turn to see Hudson, red in the face and breathing heavily, take a step closer to Freddie, protein shake clutched tightly between his fingertips.
God. I swear in a second Freddie is going to be wearing the damned shake.
Wrapping my hand around Hudson’s bicep, I attempt to drag him away.
It doesn’t do much good; one, because my hand doesn’t even reach around the entire circumference of Hudson’s muscle and two, because he’s got at least 100 pounds on me, plus 8 inches of height.
“Stop it! Both of you,” I grit out between clenched teeth. “If Michael catches you out here scrapping like a pair of wild cats, he’s going to fire you both on the fucking spot.”
With a final snarl spilling from Hudson’s lips, he unsticks his large feet from the floor, allowing me to pull him away.
“That fucking prick,” he spits. I keep my face looking forward, desperately trying to ignore the heat radiating from his skin, seeping into my palm, as we walk away.
I need to let go of him.
Stopping abruptly beside a row of lockers, I pull my hand back from Hudson’s bicep like I’ve been scalded.
I can’t bear to look him in the face, so I look over his shoulder instead, the locker combination codes burning into my vision.
“Look, I appreciate you defending me,” I start, “but unless you want to get fired that isn’t the right way to go about it. Plus…”
“Plus, what?”
I shake my head, eyes burning with sudden burst of tears threatening to overspill. It hurts. It hurts so fucking much to be this close to him. A thousand and one things I want to say to Hudson, to ask him, to throw at him until he bleeds, hang in the air above us. But I can’t make my lips move beyond a few words.
“Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”
Hudson takes a step closer to me, our chests just barely brushing up against each other. “Can we talk, Gee? Please?”
I step back. “No.”
“Giselle—”
I leave him hanging, unable to take another second of him being so close to me. Hightailing it back to my dance studio, I lock the door behind me so I can eat my mushed up acai bowl, sans my extra scoop of desiccated coconut shreds, in peace and quiet, without anybody questioning the silent flow of tears cascading down my face.
T he sultry beat of the pop track radiates through my bones as I lie flat on my back, peering up at the popcorn textured ceiling, my heart rate skyrocketing.
God. I needed this; an outlet to let out my feelings and emotions and get back down to earth. To get back to feeling like myself.
Dance has always been my main source as a means to expressing myself, especially when journaling, meditating or even talking about the way I feel out loud, is too difficult.
It’s the one thing that has never failed me.
It’s the one thing I always come back to no matter what.
Flipping over to my stomach, I wait a second for the music track to loop back around to the beginning again before I move into the straddle splits, my head tipping back.
I barely register the feel of my long hair tickling the length of my spine because I’m moving again in time with the heavy beat, dragging my legs closed and sliding across the lament floor, my stomach and cheek both resting on the cool surface, bending one leg at the hip until I can grind into the floor in a lewd interpretation of sex.
My eyes fall shut as I urge my body to move fluidly, like catching a wave.
Popping up onto my hips, I raise my arse in the air, feeling the soft flesh there bounce.
This.
This is what I’ve been craving. What I’ve been needing.
To take back my own sexuality, my own desire. For myself and nobody else.
Moving onto all fours, I lean back on my knees, skimming my hands up the upper portion of my body, along my curves while I repeat a series of affirmations in my head.
I am wanted.
I am adored.
I am loved.
I am worthy.
My body is worthy. Always.
It feels like time stands still while I dance to the music track, contorting my body to grind and jiggle, to show off my body because I can. Because I want to. Because it’s mine and I can do whatever the fuck I please with it.
I’m panting by the time the song finishes, looping back around for the umpteenth time. I could have switched it out, but I want this dance to be perfect before I start teaching it to my next class.
Snapping my legs shut from my final dance position, I crack open my eyes, half lidded with adrenaline and ecstasy coursing through my bloodstream. My skin feels hot, stretched tight over my bones as if somebody is watching me…
I glance up to find a face looking back at me through the small window.
But it’s not a crowd. It’s a single person.
Hudson.
With a familiar fire in my gut, I stand, balancing on the thin heel of my ruby red stilettos as I cross the floor in three long strides and rip open the door.
“Why are you always fucking watching me?”
“Because I can’t help myself,” Hudson replies without missing a beat.
I resist the urge to stamp my foot like a toddler. Barely. “Well… stop it!”
He tilts his head to one side, lips parting to say something else, but I beat him too it.
“What do you want, Hudson?” It hurts, it fucking burns, to look at him, to recall what we did together on that Sunday morning… and the events that occurred after.
“To talk to you.”
Unceremoniously, he pushes past me, locking the door to ensure we’re alone in the small space.
“Excuse me!” I protest. “I have clients due in—”
“They’re not due for another hour, at least.” Hudson shrugs upon seeing my confused expression. “I checked your schedule on the online database.”
“That’s a total invasion of my privacy… but fine,” I fume, feeling the apple of my cheeks grow hot and flushed.
Hudson’s close proximity, which is dominating my space, makes it feel as if the temperature inside my studio has skyrocketed.
Strutting away from him, I head to the back of the room, putting as much space between us as possible. Turning away from Hudson so he can’t see my face, I busy my hands by pretending to straighten up my already tidy boxes of spare plasters and gel toe pads.
“You’ve got ten minutes to say whatever you want to so badly get off your chest,” I say over my shoulder, blinking away the sheen of tears pricking my waterline.
I hate this. Maybe I shouldn’t even hear him out, maybe I should just—
“I’m sorry.”
I pause, my breath catching somewhere in the back of my throat.
“Sorry for what?” I say carefully.
“For—Will you please look at me.”
The pleading tone in Hudson’s voice catches me off guard, causing a painful pang to ripple through my heart.
“Giselle. Please.”
Squeezing my eyes shut tight, I inhale shakily, mustering up the courage to turn around and face him.
He’s so fucking beautiful it physically hurts.
Dressed in his usual gym attire – a tight fitting black t-shirt and a pair of running shorts – Hudson looks like he does most days. At first glance, I don’t think I’d have noticed anything was off about him, but I’ve been studying that face of his for the past two months, ever since we met. The dark circles under his eyes are new, as are the tight lines around his mouth, and the way his hair is standing up all over the place as if he’s been running his hands through it anxiously.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call you.” Straight to the point as always.
I push away the urge to look away and instead hold Hudson’s gaze, knowing he can probably see the hurt in my eyes. The very same hurt he caused.
Not that I think he’s fairing too well either; the usual playful sparkle in his eyes is missing, as is the trademark smirk he wears so well.
“Why didn’t you, then?” The very question that has been plaguing me for days now, spills from my lips much easier than I imagined it would.
“I got scared.”
“Scared of what?”
“Scared of how much I like you. Scared of what that means. Scared of—”
“And you couldn’t just tell me that?” I explode, feeling like a bottle of pop that’s been shaken until the contents of my insides are fizzing out angrily. He’s scared? “You couldn’t just show up and let me know how you truly felt, even though that’s all you’ve been pushing me to admit.” I lie my palms against my heart in anguish. “What happens if I feel the same way? What happens if I’m just as scared about how much I like you . Or at least how much I thought I liked you, before you ran away after I’d let you in, after I gave you part of me. You knew I had something important to tell you and instead of showing up, supporting me, you made a selfish move and left me hanging. For days. Days, Hudson.”
“I know,” he whispers. The look on his face is gutting, wrenching my empathetic heart apart, but this isn’t about him. He’s the one who hurt me. He’s the one who left me. He’s the one who fucked this thing up between us before it had really even started.
“You hurt me, Hudson. This”—I gesture between us—“this fucking hurts.”
“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “I’m so fucking sorry, Giselle. I was stupid and—”
“Don’t say you’re stupid,” I retort, hating that he thinks that way about himself. Just because I’m not his biggest fan right now, doesn’t mean I want him to say mean things about himself. “And I don’t want you to say sorry for being scared, that’s not the problem. The problem is the not communicating with me about the way you feel. The problem is you just walked away without telling me, leaving me hanging, feeling abandoned, unsure where we stood…”
Hudson’s palms rub up and down his cheeks, processing my words.
“I-I—Please tell me how I can make this up to you, Gee. I can’t sleep, I can barely eat, I can’t stop thinking about you. It’s fucking eating me up inside, which is laughable, because I’m the one who caused the pain you’re feeling.” He laughs non-humourlessly. “I’m sorry for walking away, for leaving you hanging, making you feel abandoned—I’m sorry for all of it. Please, please just tell me how I can fix this—”
“I don’t know if you can.”
If it’s at all possible, Hudson’s face falls even further, his eyes screwing shut, lips forming a thin line.
I peer down at the floor, unable to take another second of looking at Hudson’s face, biting down on my own bottom lip and tasting the copper tang of blood.
He takes a step towards me, feet shuffling along the floor, until he can grip my hip with his left hand and uses his right to tilt my chin upwards; making me look into his eyes. I want to shrug off his touch, but I don’t possess the willpower. If this is the last time he’s going to touch me… I may as well bask in his heat, in the feel of his fingers on my sensitive flesh one final time. “Please. Please don’t say that.”
“I needed you to show up for me, Hudson…” I sigh.
Sliding his fingers from along my jawline, he tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear. “I know you did, Gee. I’m sorry I didn’t show up for you, I’m sorry for all of it. Can we please start again… without me being an idiot this time.”
The old, people pleaser version of me would have said yes in a heartbeat.
But I’m not that person anymore.
“H-how do I know you won’t be scared and run off again when the going gets tough? That these aren’t just pretty words you’re saying to get me back into your bed.”
The creases bracketing Hudson’s mouth deepen. “Is that really what you think of me?”
I shrug, feeling slightly guilty. It’s not about hurting him as much as he hurt me anymore, it’s about voicing my feelings. No matter how jumbled up and abrasive they are.
Hudson’s throat bobs, once, twice. “I-I’m not this heartless playboy you think I am, Giselle. Those faceless women… they never made me happy. They were simply a means to an end. I’m not going to lie and say I’ve been a saint over the past couple of years, that part is true, but… I’ve seen the way love can tear people apart. I’ve lived through it first hand; the way it can cut you so deep in the worst ways possible and it’s—it’s always sounded terrifying, so I unconsciously made a decision years ago to close myself off. If I never get emotionally involved, then I can never get hurt.”
“Hudson—”
“But then I met you.”
I swear my heart stops.
“When I’m with you, Giselle… I get this weird feeling in my gut. You make me laugh like nobody’s business, you make me smile until my cheeks hurt and I ache to be around you. My fear of opening up and being vulnerable isn’t worth losing you and the way you make me feel.”
“Is that what scares you the most?”
He nods. “Yeah. I got too into my head on Sunday morning, I started panicking and I-I ended up hurting you in the process.”
Bringing the flat of my palm to the centre of Hudson’s chest, I cover his heart, feeling it thrum beneath our flesh, sinew and bone.
“Thank you for telling me,” I whisper.
“Gee—”
“But”— I interrupt whatever he’s going to stay next —“I still can’t ignore the hurt, the abandonment I’ve felt the past couple of days. And yes, that’s partly because of my own issues, I know that, but… I needed to tell you something really important, Hudson.”
“Tell me now,” he urges. “I’m listening. I’m not going to run away this time.”
Using the pad of my thumb to twist my celibacy ring around my finger, I take a deep breath and make my decision.
Regardless of if Hudson runs away or not, I need to tell him. For my own sake.
“I’ve been celibate for four years.”