Charlie
The studio is alive with the usual chaos when I walk in—bass-heavy music thumping from the speakers, the metallic creak of poles under weight, laughter and groans mixing together.
It’s a mixed-level class this morning, so the room is full.
Maya is already halfway up her pole in the corner, legs out in a perfect split, showing off for anyone who’ll watch.
Heather’s on the floor stretching, cursing under her breath because her shoulder is still fucked from last week.
A couple of new guys are in the back—one of them already sweating just from warming up—and a few familiar faces are chatting while they chalk their hands.
After changing, I drop my bag near my usual pole and start stretching, legs sliding into a wide straddle as the warm-up track kicks in.
Lucy appears beside me like a glittery hurricane, dropping into a split next to me with way more grace than should be legal.
“Girl, you dodged my texts and calls all day yesterday. I thought you’d been murdered.”
I snort. “Alive and well, as you can see, Mom.”
“Bestie, not mom. And as your bestie, I deserve communication or at least an answering text back if you’re too busy for me.
Which should be never, by the way.” She leans forward over her leg, stretching deeper, then shoots me a pointed look.
“So? Since you are very much not dead, spill. You’re sorta glowing.
Please tell me that doesn’t mean what I think it means… ”
“It doesn’t,” I reply with a laugh and switch sides, feeling the pleasant burn in my hamstrings. The music shifts into something slower and sultrier, perfect for warm-up climbs. “But I had a good day.”
“Stop being coy. You are never coy.” She glowers at me, but can’t hold back the smile.
I hook my leg around the pole and pull myself up into a slow climb, thighs gripping the cool metal.
Across the room, Maya is already attempting a handspring dismount, cursing when she doesn’t quite stick the landing.
One of the new guys in the back is red-faced and clearly regretting every life choice that led him here.
Heather’s doing slow pole sits on the other side, muttering about her shoulder the whole time.
I drop into a straddle on the pole and lean back, letting my head hang as I spin once.
Lucy is on her feet now, eye level, her hands on her hips as she watches me.
“Okay, fine,” I say. “Yesterday, some crazy religious people wanted to pray over me on the street, and I had a full-blown panic attack.”
She gasps, the smile slipping off her face. “Oh my God, are you okay?”
“Yeah. Hunter, uh, just happened to be there, and he talked me through it. He was sorta my hero.”
She blinks, her mouth falling open. “Just happened to be there?”
I bite the inside of my cheek as I invert into a basic upside-down straddle. There is no reason she needs to know he’s basically my stalker. “Yeah, he has a friend in the area.”
“Mmmhhmm,” she hums, clearly not believing me but letting it slide as she moves to her pole and pulls herself up. “And then what happened?”
“You’re a nosy bitch, has anyone ever told you that before?” I joke, dropping back down and rolling my shoulders.
“Daily,” she says cheerfully, spinning once before settling into a straddle across from me. “Now, stop stalling and tell me the rest. Because that little flush on your cheeks is telling me there’s definitely more.”
I laugh and climb again, thighs burning in the best way. The instructor calls out the next combo, and the room fills with the sound of poles creaking and bodies moving.
“We went to the zoo after,” I admit, a little breathless. “He bought me food, we hung out with the snow leopards… and then he walked me home. And he kissed me. Like, really kissed me. On my doorstep.”
Lucy lets out a dramatic squeal and nearly loses her grip. “He kissed you?! And then what? Did you—?”
“I invited him up,” I say, cutting her off before she can get too excited. “And he said no.”
She freezes mid-spin. “He said no?”
“Yeah. Said he didn’t want to be something I’d regret in the morning. That he’s still figuring out his own shit and didn’t want to make mine worse.”
Lucy slides down her pole and comes to stand right in front of mine, eyes wide with something between shock and approval.
“Okay… that’s actually really decent,” she says, sounding surprised by her own words. “Most guys would’ve been upstairs so fast they’d leave skid marks. Especially after kissing you.”
I drop into a pole sit, legs extended, trying to ignore the way my stomach flips every time I remember his mouth on mine.
“I know,” I murmur. “That’s what’s messing with my head. He’s…intense. Like really intense, and I don’t do intense, Luce. That type stars in every single bad decision I’ve ever made. Including the one that landed me in Conversion Therapy.”
Lucy’s face softens. She leans against her pole, watching me as I hook one leg higher and lean back into a slow, controlled spin. The studio lights blur overhead, the bass vibrating through the metal and into my bones.
“I get it,” she says quietly. “But…hear me out…what if this time it’s different? He really could’ve taken advantage last night. He didn’t. And that tells me that maybe he’s not terrible.”
I huff a breathless laugh and slide down the pole. “Not terrible? That is such a glowing endorsement.”
Lucy climbs back up her pole and drops into a straddle, eyes serious now.
“Look, I’m not saying go full throttle. But don’t write him off just because he makes you feel something big.
You deserve to feel wanted without your head turning it into a nightmare.
” She spins once, slow and graceful. “And if he does turn out to be another disaster… I’ll help you hide the body. Bestie privileges.”
I laugh despite myself, the sound echoing with the creak of poles and the instructor calling out the next combo.
Across the room, Maya nails a dramatic drop and whoops triumphantly.
Heather’s still grumbling about her shoulder while she attempts a simple spin.
The new guys in the back look like they wish they could jump out the window to escape. They probably won’t be back.
I hook my leg high again and lean back, letting the spin pull everything loose for a moment. The movement feels good—grounding—but my mind keeps circling back to Hunter’s face last night. The way his jaw tightened when he stepped back. The hunger in his eyes even as he chose to walk away.
“I’m scared, Luce,” I admit when I’m right-side up again, voice low enough that only she can hear. “I haven’t felt this pulled toward someone in years. And the last time I did… I ended up on my knees in that prayer room begging God to make me straight.”
Lucy slides down and comes to stand right in front of me, sweat glistening on her collarbones. She reaches out and squeezes my arm.
“I know,” she says gently. “But you’re not that kid anymore. You’re stronger now. And maybe—just maybe—this guy is worth the risk. Or at least worth a few more kisses before you decide.”
“Maybe,” I say.
“No maybe about it.”
I hook my leg high and lean back into a slow, controlled spin. The studio lights blur overhead, the bass thrumming through the pole and into my bones. But my mind slips somewhere else entirely.
I was fifteen.
His name was Elias.
We were best friends first—the kind who stayed up all night talking about everything and nothing, who shared headphones and secrets and stolen glances when no one was looking.
He had messy brown hair that always fell into his eyes and the gentlest smile I’d ever seen.
We started with nervous kisses behind the youth group building after Wednesday night service.
Soft. Tentative. Terrified. Then it grew into something more—experimental touches under blankets during sleepovers, hands shaking as we learned each other’s bodies in the dark, whispering promises we were too young to understand.
It felt like flying.
It was intense.
For three beautiful, secret months, Elias was my entire world. We said “I love you” like it was sacred. We planned futures we knew we’d never get. We were so careful.
Until we weren’t.
Someone saw us kissing behind the church one night. A deacon’s daughter. She told her father. He told mine.
My dad—Pastor Dale—didn’t yell. He didn’t scream. He just looked at me with this cold, disappointed disgust I still feel in my bones.
“You’re sick,” he said that night, voice flat. “But God can fix you.”
Two days later I was on a plane to Texas. A “special program” for troubled youth. Conversion Therapy. They called it spiritual restoration. I called it hell.
Elias never even got to say goodbye. His parents pulled him out of school and moved him to another state within the week. I never saw him again.
The last message he sent me before my phone was taken away was:
I'm sorry. I love you. Please don't forget me.
I never forgot.
But I learned something that summer in Texas, kneeling on rough carpet while grown men violated my body:
Love like that gets you sent away.
Love like that gets you broken.
I drop out of the spin harder than I mean to, landing with a soft thud on the mat. Lucy is right there, steadying me with a hand on my arm.
“You okay?” she asks, brow furrowed. “You went somewhere dark just now.”
I force a smile, wiping sweat from my forehead. “Just remembering why intense scares me. The last time I let myself feel something big… it ended with me on a plane to Texas while my dad told everyone I was ‘sick.’”
Lucy’s face softens with understanding. She pulls me into a quick, sweaty hug.
“That was then,” she whispers against my ear. “You’re not that scared kid anymore.”
I hug her back, breathing in the familiar smell of chalk and coconut body spray.
“I know,” I murmur.
But as we climb back up our poles for the next combo, I can’t shake the memory—or the fear that I’m about to make the same mistake all over again. Not that anyone can send me away this time. The feeling is close enough to the same that every flight or fight sensor in my body is going off.
We move into the next sequence—fireman spins, pole sits, a few messy attempts at more advanced tricks.
My body knows what to do, but my head is somewhere else.
Somewhere between the memory of Hunter’s mouth claiming mine on my doorstep and the old terror of what happens when someone sees too much of me.
Still… when I close my eyes and spin, I can still taste him. Still feel the way his hand cradled the back of my neck like I was something precious. Still hear the wrecked sound he made when I grabbed his shirt and pulled him closer.
I want him.
I want him so badly it scares me.
And that’s exactly why I should run.
Lucy swings around her pole and lands in front of me again, sweat glistening on her skin. She studies my face for a second, then gives me a small, knowing smile.
“You’re gonna see him again, aren’t you?”
I let out a shaky laugh and hook my leg higher, leaning back into another slow spin.
“Yeah,” I admit, voice barely loud enough to hear over the music. “I think I am.”