Chapter 26
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SIX
IMANI
For the first time in a long time, I feel like this ice time is just for me. When I step out onto the glassy surface for the free skate—the big show—I’m full of resolve instead of anxiety.
Sure, the morning started poorly. When I came to the arena, the first thing I did before I got into costume and makeup was to weigh myself.
This routine is emblazoned into my brain, but it’s been painful for these two weeks.
My body feels stronger with the calories Blake is feeding me; that is evident, but I’ve been watching the scale climb.
It doesn’t matter that it’s only by a slight margin; when those numbers increase, the following behavior is that I cut my food intake.
I live by the rule that you see your input as output two days later—and the reflection of those blinking numerals are taunting me every single day.
This morning, after I weighed myself, I broke down and cried, walking into the shower so I could clutch my shoulders to my chest and curl up in the fetal position.
But now I’m here, in my happy place, my handsome Dominant waiting at the gate in their all black suit and tie, hair slicked back into an artfully low bun.
This skate may not be what I would have chosen for myself, but it’s for me.
This isn’t for the audience, for Mummy, or even for Blake—this is step one of giving to myself.
I’m skating for me, and it’s been a fuck of a long time since I did that.
The catalyst might have been Blake—they gave me the soft and loving support system I needed—but I am the arbiter of my fate, and I’ve done this all on my own.
So I skate like I’m gifting myself something precious—the first act of love I’ve shown to myself in a very long time.
And when I make my final pose under those stark lights, my face is covered in tears. Laughing, I skate my way over to Blake, picking up a bouquet and waving to the crowd as I go.
Blake beams at me, holding open both the gate and their arms. “Why are you laughing, Cupcake?”
“Oh, just thinking of how my tears are going to be torture for you,” I explain as I tuck myself into their embrace, whispering my words. “I just bet you want to lick them off of my face and then fuck me in the middle of the arena.”
Their laugh reverberates through my chest. “You’re not wrong, but why are you crying?”
“Listen, no one ever said loving yourself was easy,” I respond, finally pulling away so that I can slip on my guards. Then I take their hand and tow them over to the kiss and cry.
Blake startles in surprise, but quickly pulls themself together, grabbing the accursed Gatorade they’re always trying to feed me, and then squeezes my hand, allowing me to lead.
Damn, being in charge feels good, even if I’m just posturing.
I sit down on the bench, pulling them down next to me.
“You look fucking hot. If it wouldn’t cause an international incident, I’d be down for public sex,” I reveal, blinking up at Blake through my lashes coquettishly and fingering their tie.
Blake looks down at me with wide and surprised eyes. “Hey, Cupcake, not that I’m not super into this right now, but we are 100% on camera right now. Even not micced up, everyone around the world is watching you undress me with your eyes.”
“Shut up. I’m trying to get at something,” I grind out, but the harshness that I had when I first met Blake Floquet and thought they were a man who wandered into the wrong room has melted into something playful and fun.
Blake raises an eyebrow. “Is this regarding the ‘loving yourself’ you mentioned regarding your performance?”
“Mhm. I’ve decided to get treatment.” My hand drops from their tie, and I look away.
“And even if I lose everything in the process, I think… I’ve already lost myself.
So, if I can’t compete anymore, or if we were just two weeks, or if I get gross and fat, I don’t know.
” I start crying again. “I don’t know. I just…
did you know people die from this disorder?
” I turn back to look at them, my eyes filled with tears.
“That’s a lot. We will start with the last part.
Yes, Imani, I do know that. Why do you think I was insistent upon discussing it?
I read the pamphlet that the doctor gave you,” Blake explains.
“But what’s this about losing everything?
I think that’s anxiety talking. You’re not going to lose anything unless you want to lose it. ”
Fresh tears stream down my face. “What if I gain so much weight in treatment that I can’t jump anymore? And what happens when my body looks different? Will I like myself? Will you?”
“Jesus, Imani. I love you, and it’s not because of the way you look in a skirt.
I’m not going to pretend that I don’t love your body, but that’s such a low-ranking reason for why I love you.
You could gain hundreds of pounds, and I would still chase that ass around, okay?
But realistically, if you decide you still want to be an athlete, you will be.
Gaining weight isn’t going to be debilitating; you’re going to put on muscle.
What if you become an even better skater? How about that?”
I change tack. “I might do really intensive treatment. Are you going to wait for me?”
“I’d wait forever for you,” Blake assures me, dipping their face down to get eye level with me.
“Good. I… want to be with you,” I begin, hedging.
Blake grins. “Oh, yeah?”
I nod. “I love you.”
“So… you’re saying I won a gold medal, too?” They smirk.
“What?” I ask in confusion.
Blake grabs my chin and turns my head to the screen where my numbers are displayed. “You just won a gold medal in women’s singles figure skating. But I just won a gold medal in love.”
My jaw drops as their words crash over me like a wave. I was so focused on our important conversation that I forgot for a second where we were, but the reality rushes into me now. More cameras swarm around me, and then a reporter is next to me, pushing a microphone into my face.
I have enough presence of mind to notice Blake attempting to slip away, so I fling a hand onto their thigh and dig my fingers in. “Stay close,” I demand. I trust them to stay as I turn back to the reporter.
“Imani Gray, how does it feel to win your first gold medal?” The woman asks, and I finally realize it’s Margot, the one I call the diet asshole reporter.
I sit tall, not bothering to wipe away my tears.
Let them see me for who I am. “It feels incredible. It is simultaneously everything like I imagined and completely incomprehensible.” I laugh, feeling lightness take over.
I have nothing to fear from this interview; I’m the world’s newest gold medalist. “Highly recommend to all the viewers.”
Margot blinks at me in surprise, then narrows her eyes. “There are so many things we want to know, Imani, and one of them is if it’s true that you fired your coach right before the singles event?”
Leaning into the microphone, I stare directly into her eyes. “That is true, Margot. Thanks for bringing it up.” At this, I’ve elicited more surprise. “It became apparent that Coach Lowell was not looking out for my best interests, and I decided that it was prudent that I let him go.”
“Coach Lowell has been reported as saying that you’re difficult to work with; that you’re an angry young woman with no direction and a misguided sense of where to place your passion,” Margot digs in.
I smile, but it’s not cutting; it’s as serene as the lilt of my voice when I open my mouth.
“Dismissing a Black woman as angry, how novel. Coach Lowell was a bad actor, and when I finally came to my senses, I discovered that he was impeding my success instead of championing it.” Margot tries to butt in, but I’m not finished.
“Here’s the thing. People can’t say shit about my skating, so they fall back on stereotypes.
You can say I’m too loud, or my voice is too squeaky; you can try to hide behind racism and misogyny.
” I turn to the camera and look out into the eyes of everyone who tries to wear me down and dull my shine.
“I’m done pretending I’m not who I am. I’m the only Black figure skating Olympian.
I’ve made history—it’s time I start acting like it.
From now on, my costumes and songs are going to be truer to my history, to who I am, not who people wish I were. ”
Margot visibly tries to regroup, finally settling on the beautiful individual next to me. She points to Blake, “Is this who we have to thank for these illuminating changes?”
Blake laughs. “No. Imani did this all on her own. You think anyone can make this woman be anything or anyone she doesn’t decide to be on her own? Nah, I’m just here to watch.”
I turn to Blake, beaming with love at their supportive answer that leaves me clearly in the limelight. I couldn’t have asked for a more perfect partner.
But Margot isn’t done. “Don’t you mean to fall in love with? There are pretty pervasive rumors that you’re obsessed with the untouchable figure skater.”
I decide to answer this one. “Well, Margot, let’s put those rumors to bed. Blake isn’t just obsessed with me; the feeling, actually, is very mutual.”
When I grab Blake’s tie and pull them in for a kiss, I hear a delighted gasp of laughter before our lips meet, and their hands come up to frame my face.
The kiss is everything I said to them before, and more: I love you, I want you, be mine, stand by me, dominate me, let me worship you, please worship me.
I beg with my lips, teeth, and tongue for forever.
Blake pulls their face away, still cradling mine with their hands, and I see tears in their eyes. “Yes, Cupcake. Forever.”
“Are you ever going to stop reading my mind?” I grumble.
“Sure, we can arrange that—on the day you stop secretly liking it,” Blake croons, running their thumbs over my cheeks.
I push them away, crossing my arms. “I do not, that’s ridiculous,” I pout.
Blake leans in to kiss my forehead. “You like it. Just as much as I like it when you’re a brat.”
I neither confirm nor deny, but pivot. “I’m sorry you didn’t win your game,” I say, referring to the USA versus Canada gold medal match.
Blake grins and nuzzles into my neck, pulling me into their body by my hips. “Didn’t I?”
Silent for a beat, I melt into them, uncrossing my arms and running my hands over those suited biceps. With that logic, I guess I won two. “I want to keep playing,” I finally respond.
A big laugh comes muffled into my neck, and then, “Cupcake, haven’t you learned by now? You can have anything you want.”