Chapter 13 #2
So I did. I told him about my fear of never dancing professionally.
About my guilt over lying to Aaron. About my terror that I was turning Derek into my new identity, the way ballet used to be.
About how I was jealous of Daisy and Jeremy's seemingly easy relationship, even though I knew she was struggling.
About how I felt like I was failing at everything.
..school, friendship, and figuring out my future.
And Derek listened. He didn't try to fix everything or offer empty platitudes. He just listened, occasionally asking questions or offering his own fears in return.
He told me about his session with Dr. Morrison, about admitting he was falling for me and being terrified of what that meant. About his own fear that he was using me as a crutch for his recovery. About the guilt he felt for lying to Aaron, his teammate and friend.
“We're quite the pair,” I said eventually, somewhere around 3:30 AM. “Both scared, both guilty, both having no idea what we're doing.”
“Yeah, but at least we're honest about it,” Derek pointed out. “That counts for something, right?”
“I think so.” I yawned, finally feeling the pull of exhaustion. “Thank you for this. For listening. For not making me feel crazy.”
“You're not crazy. You're processing. There's a difference.”
“Dr. Derek Morrison over here.”
He laughed. “God, I hope not. One therapist in my life is enough.”
“Mine too,” I agreed, even though the idea of therapy had been slowly becoming more appealing. Maybe Daisy was onto something with that.
“Rosie?”
“Mmm?”
“I know we're keeping this quiet right now, but... eventually we're going to have to tell people. Aaron especially.”
My stomach clenched. “I know.”
“I don't want you to think I'm ashamed of you or hiding you. I'm not. I just want us to have time to figure this out first, without everyone's opinions and expectations.”
“I want that too,” I admitted. “But you're right. Eventually...”
“Eventually,” he echoed. “But not tonight. Tonight, you need to sleep.”
“I'm not tired anymore.” It was a lie. I could barely keep my eyes open.
“Liar. I can hear the yawn in your voice.”
“Fine. Maybe I'm a little tired.” I snuggled deeper into my pillow, phone pressed against my ear. “Will you stay on the line? Until I fall asleep?”
“I'm not going anywhere,” he promised. “Want me to tell you a story?”
“A story?”
“Yeah. A boring one, to help you sleep.”
I smiled. “Okay.”
“Once upon a time,” Derek began, his voice dropping to that soothing rumble that made my whole body relax, “there was a terrified soccer player who thought his life was over...”
“This better not be about you,” I mumbled, already feeling myself drift.
“Shh, no interrupting. This is a very serious story.”
“Mmkay.”
“There was a soccer player who thought his life was over. He spent months feeling sorry for himself, convinced he'd never play again, never be happy again. And then one day, this girl showed up with the world's most perfect cupcakes...”
“They weren't perfect,” I protested sleepily. “The frosting was too thick.”
“...the world's most perfect cupcakes,” Derek continued, talking over me, “and she smiled at him like he wasn't broken. Like he was still just... him. And slowly, one day at a time, one pain au chocolat at a time, one terrible playlist at a time...”
“My playlists are amazing,” I murmured.
“...she helped him remember who he was. Not who he'd been, not who he might become, but who he was right then, in that moment. And he started to realize that maybe being broken wasn't the worst thing. Maybe it just meant there was room for something new to grow.”
My breathing was slowing, my thoughts finally quieting.
“And the girl,” Derek continued softly, “she was dealing with her own broken pieces. But somehow, when they were together, the broken parts fit. Like a puzzle that only made sense when they were side by side.”
“That's... a terrible... metaphor,” I breathed out.
“Shh, you're ruining my story.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “The girl and the soccer player, they didn't have all the answers. They didn't know if they were doing it right. But they showed up for each other, every single day, in small ways and big ways. And that was enough.”
“Is it?” I asked, barely conscious. “Enough?”
“Yeah, Rosie. It's enough. We're enough.”
“'Kay,” I whispered. “Love... the story.”
“Get some sleep, beautiful. I'll be here when you wake up.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
I didn't hear what he said next, if he said anything at all. I was already drifting, his voice a warm blanket wrapped around me, pulling me under into the most peaceful sleep I'd had in weeks.
The next morning, I woke up to my phone still clutched in my hand, battery at 2%, and a text from Derek timestamped 4:17 AM.
Derek
You snore. It's adorable. Sweet dreams, Thorn.
And below that, at 7:23 AM.
Derek
Morning. I know you're probably still sleeping, but I wanted you to wake up to this: You're not too much. You're not too little. You're exactly right. See you at Pilates later?
I smiled at my phone, my heart doing that stupid fluttery thing it always did when it came to him. Maybe Derek was right. Maybe we were enough, exactly as we were...mess and all.
I typed back quickly, before I could overthink it.
I do NOT snore.
But yes to Pilates. Also, thank you. For last night. For everything.
The blue heart felt significant. We'd been texting for weeks, but emojis always felt loaded with meaning. A blue heart wasn't red, wasn't an “I love you”, but it was something. An acknowledgment that this thing between us was more than friendship.
Three dots appeared immediately.
Derek
You absolutely snore. I have a recording to prove it.
You DO NOT.
Derek
I do. But I'll never share it because I'm a gentleman. Also, because you'd murder me.
Correct on both counts.
Derek
See you later. And Thorn? Last night meant a lot to me, too.
I clutched my phone to my chest, that stupid smile still plastered across my face. Across the room, Daisy's bed remained empty, her overnight bag gone from its usual spot by her desk.
The smile faded slightly. I needed to fix things with her. Derek was right, she was probably projecting her anxiety about Jeremy onto me. But that didn't mean her words hadn't landed, hadn't pointed out real flaws in how I approached friendships.
I pulled up our text thread, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. What did you even say after a fight like that? Sorry, I suck at texting. Sorry, I’m self-absorbed. Sorry, I’m not the friend you deserve.
In the end, I went simple.
Hey. I know you're probably still at Jeremy's, but can we talk when you get back? I'm sorry about yesterday. You made some good points, and I want to do better.
I hit send before I could second-guess it, then immediately opened my conversation with Nova.
Thanks for letting me crash girls' night yesterday. I had fun painting mugs (even though mine looks like a 5-year-old did it). Want to grab coffee this week?
And then a message to Ivy.
Are you free for a study session sometime? I'm drowning in Calc and could use the company (and maybe some help )
There. Three texts. Three friends. It wasn't much, but it was a start.
My phone buzzed almost immediately with a text from Nova.
Nova
OMG who are you and what have you done with Rosalie?
Yes to coffee! Friday after my Drama class? Rise and Caffeinate at 3?
Perfect. See you then.
Nova
Also, your mug was adorable. Very abstract. Very, “I’m a dancer, not a painter.” I loved it.
I laughed despite myself. That was pure Nova, brutally honest but somehow still kind.
Ivy's response came next, making my phone buzz in my hand.
Ivy
YES PLEASE. I have a Calc exam next week, and I'm also dying. Library Monday at 6? We can order pizza and suffer together.
You're a lifesaver. See you then
Two hangouts scheduled. Two friends reached out to. Two steps toward being less of an “uninterested guy.”
Daisy hadn't responded yet, but I tried not to read into it. She was probably busy with Jeremy, or sleeping, or just needed space. I could give her that.
I rolled out of bed, my hip giving its usual morning protest. The dull ache was familiar now, a constant reminder of everything I'd lost and everything I was still trying to hold onto.
I did my morning stretches, going through the routine I'd developed over the past year, hip circles, gentle leg lifts, figure-four stretches.
My body had become a daily negotiation. What could I push today? What needed rest? How much dance could I squeeze in before my hip started screaming?
I thought about what Derek had said last night, about me turning him into my new identity, the way ballet used to be. Was I doing that? Was I just substituting one obsession for another?
But it felt different with Derek. Ballet had consumed every waking moment, every thought, every decision. It had been everything. Derek... Derek fit into my life. He didn't replace the other parts of me; he complemented them.
At least, that's what I told myself as I pulled on my pink workout set and headed to the studio.
The morning light filtered through the studio windows as I connected my phone to the speakers. Our shared playlist “You, Unofficially” started with a hauntingly beautiful acoustic cover of “Gravity” by Sara Bareilles.
Something always brings me back to you. It never takes too long.
I closed my eyes and let my body move, not thinking, just feeling. My arms extended in a port de bras that my body remembered, even if my brain sometimes forgot. My legs lifted in développés that didn't go as high as they used to, but still felt like flying.
This was meditation. This was therapy. This was home.
I worked through combinations, testing my limits. A turn sequence that made my hip twinge but not scream. A jump combination that I modified to protect the joint. A floor sequence that allowed me to stretch and strengthen without risking re-injury.