20. Act Twenty
ACT TWENTY
B y the end of the week, my body has gone through a brutal beating. The tiniest muscles ache, even the ones in my pinky finger. I can’t support my weight with only my hand yet, not while extending my legs outward in a horizontal, straight line. So we haven’t moved onto aerial silk. I just keep envisioning my final goal: a contract with Aerial Ethereal. Any contract, honestly. I’d even take Magus which is still in the early planning stages.
I try not to focus on the five-month deadline where Elena will grace the globe auditorium in Amour, and my parents will believe that I’m supposed to be there. I’m still trying to formulate another lie to keep them in Cincinnati before that happens.
Tonight, I practice the art of relaxation.
The Red Death is at maximum capacity, a long line spindling outside the door. Like every Saturday night. A perk to knowing Camila: I just slipped right on by again. Currently pop remixes blare through speakers and create a unity of grinding bodies.
I rotate my blue glow choker, the connector resting against the back of my neck. Admittedly, I hesitated on whether to take an “it’s complicated” necklace—but it’s not really that complicated, I guess. Nikolai is training me. That’s it.
I grab a shot of tequila from Camila while she mans the bar, green glow ring atop her curls. She has more colorful makeup on, pink sparkles beneath her eyes and cheeks, gold glitter on her neck and collarbones.
“I can’t believe you haven’t fucked him yet!” She shouts to me over the music. Then she leans closer, forearms on the bar. First thing she asked was my relationship status.
I can’t be the only girl who’d choose this path. “We’re just friends,” I assure her.
Camila looks disappointed, like she was ready to pass me extra celebratory shots.
“Why the hell are you pouting?” John asks his cousin. He sits on the stool next to me, fisting a beer. “And please don’t tell me you’re living vicariously through Thora’s sex life. That’s just sad. Especially since you have a boyfriend—no, not a boyfriend actually. More like a fuck face, piece of shit.” He raises his beer to her in cheers.
My eyes grow big. I met Craig at Camila’s apartment during my couch-surfing days. He seemed normal. Nice, even. He brought Camila a bouquet of roses, just because.
Though I can’t deny their intense verbal sparring matches that shook the walls at night. Maybe John knows about those.
Camila stands straighter. “It’s called empathy ,” she says, sidestepping the boyfriend insult. “Something that was removed from you at birth.”
“I can empathize with people. But I choose not to because I’m the only sane person in this godforsaken country. Seriously, why should I feel bad that Thora didn’t get laid? She probably saved herself from an STD and a broken heart.” Dear God—I didn’t even think about STDs. I cringe.
“ John ,” Camila snaps.
He lets out a breath and rolls his eyes. “I’m just making conversation.”
“Nikolai doesn’t seem like he sleeps around a lot,” I mention. Though I’m not certain about this. Katya never talks about his previous relationships. He’s a full-on mystery there, and I feel like it’s stepping out of bounds if I even ask.
“See,” Camila says, pointing a finger at John.
“Whatever,” he mumbles. “I need another drink.” He slides his cousin the empty beer bottle, and she retrieves him a new one.
“Thora James!”
I whip my head and notice Timo approaching, his face bathed in green, red and blue from three stacked necklaces. He’s added silver glitter on his bare chest and cheeks to his usual attire: no shirt, leather jacket, and dangling cross earring. He looks like part of the club folk.
John curses under his breath the minute Timo nears. He can’t keep his mouth shut though. “The under-twenty-one club is down the street,” he tells him. “It has a big giraffe and R-Us at the end.” He gives Timo a dry look before taking a swig of beer.
Timo only smiles more. “The over-ninety club is also down the street. It’s where all these headstones are, old man. Can’t miss it.” Then he rotates to me, and he lets out a long whistle, scrutinizing me from head to toe. “Thora James, turning it on tonight.”
I’m actually dressed up this time—not in sneakers or my Phantom costume. Camila lent me a tight black dress that zips in the back and lifts up my boobs. I keep tugging the hem since it rides up as I sit on the barstool, appearing shorter.
“Better than the sweats?!” I have to shout over the loud bass.
“Most definitely!” he yells back. “My brother is going to love it!”
My stomach clenches. “That’s…” not what I planned. My voice drowns in the music. Okay, don’t fool yourself, Thora. If I can’t be honest with myself, then I am fucked.
I knew Nikolai would be here tonight, as he is every Saturday.
And yeah, I wanted to look my best. I wanted to draw a reaction from him—the kind that electrocutes my nerves and tingles my skin.
Tingles.
I’m talking about tingles in association with a guy . I internally groan. Shay would call me ridiculous. But I don’t even want to take the wish back. I’m only human.
John slices through what would’ve been an awkward moment from my open-mouthed, stupefied-self. He zeroes in on Timo again. “This area…” He motions around us. “…is for people who can legally order at the bar.” He shoos him away with the swat of his hand.
Timo’s blinding, magnetic smile never fades. “In another life, you were a fat old police officer addicted to donuts.”
Camila spits out her water from behind me, and the spray dampens my neck. “I’m sorry!” she says between fits of laughter. “That’s just…”
My laugh begins at the sight of hers, and she shakes her head, her stomach heaving with humor. She has to hold herself upright.
“I can’t…” She flashes her palm like she has to step away, heading to another couple who wave her down.
I reach over the bar for a little square napkin and pat my neck, my hair in an edgy French braid. (Camila did it for me.)
“Your cousin likes me.” Timo cocks his head at John.
“She likes everyone. This comes from a place of love when I say that she has the worst sense of judgment. For everything, really. Including people.”
“Hey,” I say. “She likes me.”
“And you’re sharing a bedroom with a Kotova,” he rebuts. “That kind of puts your quality at the bottom of the barrel.”
“I’m sleeping on the couch ,” I emphasize.
“Wait,” Timo cuts in with a confused look. “You don’t sleep in Nik’s bed?”
What is with everyone and this? I’m not abnormal. “I…” I trail off as his frown deepens.
“Do you not like him or something?” He scratches the back of his head, more downtrodden than usual. He didn’t phrase the question as: does Nikolai not like you or something? As if it was all my choice to sleep on the couch.
“I mean, he’s just training me.” Those are Nikolai’s words too. He’s said them to me before.
Timo looks just as perplexed as I feel. “I thought he liked you.”
I rock back, my heart convulsing. It’s like someone fisted my internal organs. “What gave you that idea?” I think I want it to be true.
I shouldn’t.
He’s just training you, Thora. Stay concentrated.
Goals. I have goals.
John stares at the ceiling like this conversation is killing him.
“You’re living with him,” Timo says. “Duh, Thora James.”
I don’t feel like I’m so oblivious. I just think we’re all more confused than they’d have us believe.
John suddenly stands and nears Timo, only an inch taller than him. “What is this?” Clutching his beer, he gestures to the three glow necklaces.
“I’m single, complicated and taken,” Timo replies with a burgeoning smile.
John looks to me. “He’s a liar.” Then to Timo. “Seriously, you’re a liar.”
“Or I’m just a mystery, old man.”
John swiftly snaps off the red and green glow necklaces, leaving Timo with only blue. “Look at that, I solved your pathetic mystery.”
Timo licks his bottom lip and laughs. “You want me to be single, John?” This took a turn. I stare between them, my eyes pinging back and forth with intrigue.
John puts the beer to his lips. “I’m out of your league, Timo.”
“If you say so.”
“TAT! TAT! TAT!” The room yells over the pumping music, and my heart double skips. John groans at the commotion, but his feet carry him closer to the spectacle.
Timo clasps my hand, tugging me along. I’ve somehow slid deeper into the Kotova circle. He slings his arm around my shoulder and follows John Ruiz. “He’s a walking contradiction,” Timo says, amused. His eyes lower to John’s ass, squeezed in a pair of dark-colored jeans.
I just ogled John’s butt. I scrunch my face. That was not on my to-do list tonight.
I don’t have to ask Timo to clarify his statement. John is cynical, pessimistic, claiming to be drama-free, but he seeks it out and thrives on watching it. He’s also popular enough that three people scoot over, awarding us the closest view.
Timo wedges between John and me, his other arm swooping around John’s shoulders. I’m shocked when John doesn’t push him off.
My gaze casually drifts to the open circle, where the crowds have parted for Nikolai. And the minute I see another girl in it, my whole face tightens. Nikolai leads the twenty-something brunette to the lone chair, his hand on the small of her back.
His hand on the small of her back.
This shouldn’t marbleize me, but I’m cold and unmoving.
“Fifty bucks she picks a tattoo,” Timo says.
“Don’t you do enough betting on the fucking floor?” John snaps.
“I’ll take that as a no .” Timo nods to me. “Thora?”
I can’t answer. My muscles coil, taut and inflexible. Nikolai sits on the chair first, his intense gaze never deterring from the girl’s. Her blue glow necklace contrasts her red mini-dress, one with sparkly stiletto heels. He says directions to her, not audible from where I stand.
Then she lies over his lap, hiking up the bottom of her dress to reveal her ass.
My stomach compresses without my permission—my heart on a strange, foreign descent. A burly man with a thick neck passes Nikolai a tattoo gun.
“I would’ve won,” Timo announces, disappointment lacing his voice. Though he squeezes my shoulder like cheer up, Thora James. It’s okay.
I must look as horrible as I feel.
“Everyone wins eventually,” John says, his tone less hostile than usual. “It doesn’t mean you can’t lose.”
Nikolai places his hand on the girl’s ass, concentrating on the needle as it digs into her flesh. He tells her something, his lips rising in a charismatic smile that lights his gray eyes. And she laughs. I want to look away. I don’t want to watch this—because it hurts.
It shouldn’t hurt this much.
And yet, I can’t. Move. I can’t lift my foot or spin around. I torture myself by staying here.
The red glow of his necklace swathes his face, his features as devilish and masculine as that first night we met. Only I’m not the subject of his intensity. You know this happens every Saturday, Thora. I know. It’s nothing, really. It all means nothing—in every direction.
A couple brutal minutes pass and he’s finished, inking a well-drawn heart on her left butt cheek. Carefully, he places a bandage on the tattoo and tugs her dress down, covering her thong. She wobbles as she stands, and he rights her with a protective hand to her waist.
“Thora,” I hear Timo say in concern.
I open my mouth, but no words come.
In a millisecond, the girl goes from clutching his biceps. To leaning in.
Her lips are on his.
And he grips the back of her head, reciprocating the single kiss. My breath is padlocked in my lungs. Even after they disconnect. Nikolai kisses her cheek and gestures to a group of girls who cheer and shout things like get it, Rachel! They must be her friends.
The girl returns to them with the smuggest, happiest grin. She kissed the God of Russia and can now recount the tale. He’s already scanning the room with a charming smile, searching for his next volunteer. Hands shoot all around me.
Timo squeezes my shoulder again and then he shouts something in Russian. His voice overpowers the music and causes Nikolai to rotate towards us.
His eyes stop dead on me.
And that smile fades in an instant.
I can’t pick apart my feelings. Or his. But if I could assume anything at all—it’d be on the precipice of pain and distress. I’m rethinking my choice in glowstick. This is utterly complicated.
“Let’s go dance,” John tells me, reaching for my arm past Timo.
“Yeah, I could dance,” Timo nods.
“Not you—ugh, whatever, come on, Thora.” John guides me through the masses and closer to the mosh pit dance floor, people jumping or grinding, depending on their level of intoxication.
I’m surprised my feet moved at all.
John tips a waitress an extra twenty to steal the drinks off her tray, and he passes me the shot and keeps the other two for himself.
“You seriously aren’t going to share?” Timo asks with the tilt of his head. He rests his forearm on John’s shoulder.
“I’m seriously not sharing,” John replies, and to further his point, he throws back the first shot and then the second.
Timo isn’t discouraged in the least. He dances with better rhythm than most everyone here. The three of us group off in a cluster, blocking out the surrounding people. I’m less overwhelmed, and the shot will help too. Normally I’d take an economic sip, but I mimic John and toss mine back.
It burns my throat, and I cough into my fist.
“Easy, Thora James!” Timo shouts over the music. When I look at him, his eyes beam like he’s having the time of his life. In the prime of his youth. And it lightens my weighted body, immeasurably.
It’s ordinary when you’re simply happy.
It’s remarkable when you can make others feel what you do.
“Don’t stare into his eyes!” John shouts to me. “Little parts of you will die inside!”
He almost lifts my spirits.
A smile stretches Timo’s beautiful features. “So you’re admitting to feeling something from me, John?!”
John glares. “ Death . I feel death!”
Timo whistles, but I can’t hear the sound from the pop song. “That’s a strong feeling.”
John looks like he wants to drown his irritations in an eighty-foot pool, though he’s still here. So there’s that. He snatches more shots off a tray, and this time, the server lets him take them. He knows her, I guess. And he passes me two shots and keeps one for himself.
I down both, the burn not as terrible. I actually like it. Then I sway to the music, and I notice older guys near a high-top table eyeing our three-person group. Only their attention is plastered to Timo—with lustful, I want to fuck you looks.
I realize that Timo has been scoping out the club, and he grazes that area a bit, knowing how many men are watching him. A weird pressure sits on my chest, and it takes me a second to discern the sentiment. Protective—I feel strangely protective over him.
He’s eighteen , I remember. But he carries himself like the world is a playground for his appetite. Vegas is his home. He’s not a fish-out-of-water like I was—still am sometimes. He’s okay.
John follows my gaze to the other guys. He rolls his eyes and quite literally blocks them out with his back.
Hands touch my waist, and I jump and slide to the left to see Nikolai. I freeze cold. He stares down, his gaze deepening into mine, carrying a storm past comprehension. I don’t know what to make of it.
“Hi.” His husky voice solidifies my bones. Just one word. That’s all I get.
“…hey,” I manage with a nod. The liquor starts to churn my insides like molten lava, no longer warm and comforting.
Nikolai keeps his hand on my hip, filling the almost non-existent gap between me and Timo. I hone in on his hand, on each finger that slips further around me. I can’t—I step out of his grasp, and his arm falls. I stare at the red strobe lights on the ceiling as though God will impart me with some much-needed wisdom.
“Don’t you have an ass to tattoo?!” John yells, his surly tone sounding a hint more malicious.
It shouldn’t matter, Thora.
I know. I know.
I’m trying to make it not matter. How do I do that? My mind and my body are not on the same wavelength, clearly, and I’m having a difficult time reuniting them.
He grabbed a girl’s ass and sucked on her face.
Stop. Stop.
“I’m done for the night!” Nikolai shouts over the bass. “Are you two…” His voice dies in the music. I look up and see his grays darting between John and me. The look he wears—it matches the one I had earlier, when I saw him lip-locked with that girl.
His facial muscles tightening, his shoulders strict.
John seems highly unamused. “She’s not my type! While her ambitions are slightly endearing, they’re mostly delusional! But that’s not even the problem.” I did catch that compliment in there. I mean, this could be worse. Right?
“What’s the problem?” Nikolai asks, opening the floodgates.
“She has a vagina!” The music switched songs right when he screamed that. It came out so much louder than it should have.
I shut my eyes with a wince. Yeah, he just mentioned my vagina. To Nikolai. To make a point that he’s gay, and it’s just—a lot to take in. I just really, really hope I’m the only one picturing my vagina right now. Please let this be true.
I tentatively open my eyes by the silence. Timo is smiling like he’s already known this fact about John. And I can feel Nikolai’s hot gaze penetrating me.
Don’t engage —John basically said as much the first time I met Nikolai. Maybe I should’ve listened to him back then. I can still try now.
At least when we’re not at the gym.
Right?
I’m confused. I’m confusing myself.
“I’m going to get something to drink.” Timo speaks first. He begins walking towards the high-top table of men.
John curses under his breath before shouting, “The bar is the other way!” He shakes his head a few times.
Timo glances over his shoulder and grins, descending further into the throngs of dancers.
John sighs heavily and stares between me and Nikolai. Stay here. Do not leave me . I hope I’m expressing all of these things in my eyes. I wouldn’t be surprised if I just scowl harder though.
“Well this is unfortunate,” John says, and his gaze falls to me. “I just want you to know that I’m leaving for the alcohol and to avoid being a third wheel to whatever this is.”
It’s starting to set in: I’m going to have to confront my feelings. Head on soon.
John pats my shoulder and weaves between the bodies, picking up his pace to reach Timo.
Now I’m alone with Nikolai. Well…not alone alone. Technically there are bodies around us, some even pressing close to invade Nik’s space. I even spot girls gawking at him from the packed bar, whispering like they’re concocting plans to approach the God of Russia.
Good , I think.
My heart plummets.
Body and brain, still not aligned.
Nikolai leans down, his unshaven jaw rough against my cheek, and I smell the tequila from his breath, reminding me of his bet. Tattoo or piercing.
“Can I talk to you?” he asks lowly, his deep voice melting my defenses.
“Don’t you have to watch your brother?” I instantly regret adding more stress on him. Because whatever this is (as John called it) already weighs down his shoulders.
“It won’t take long.” His words send a shudder of alarm through me. He’s going to stop training me.
I nod and start mentally preparing ways out of this: I won’t see you outside of the gym , for starters. Or hang out at your suite anymore , also goes with number one.
Or pretend that I have feelings for you .
My eyes are burning. Stop burning.
Nikolai glances at the VIP area of the club, but it’s packed with bodies, allowing for no privacy. He spins to the other direction, near the bathroom. And he guides me with his hand on my hip, dropping to the small of my back.
I wish he wouldn’t touch me at all. It’d make this clearer. Easier.
I side-step out of his grasp again, and when I catch a glimpse of him, his face is contorted like my action impaled him through the chest. We don’t say anything. But it’s hardly quiet.
The music never masks this vast, unyielding tension that tugs my senses. The line to the bathroom snakes along the wall, but he walks past it, aiming for a new door. One that says: employees only .
He turns the handle and slips inside, me right after. When he shuts out the cacophony behind him, I realize that we’re in a very cramped storeroom with extra bundles of napkins, stir-sticks, and racks of cleaning supplies.
With barely any space to move, my legs hit his, my head reaching the height of his shoulders. I’m tiny. In a tiny room. With a six-foot-five Russian man. And an even bigger elephant. His emotions, my emotions. There are many, many emotions here.
I tug at the hem of my dress that exposes my bare flesh. “What do you want to say?” I ask softly, avoiding his gaze. I fixate on the saltshakers that line the shelf in a neat row.
“Your eyes are black.”
My blood simmers, and I gape. “You brought me in here to tell me that my eyes are—”
His lips suddenly meet mine with force and urgency, his hands wrapping around my small frame like he’s wanted to hold me all night. My heart explodes. I explode, his tongue parting my lips in the fieriest kiss, one that grips my core. One that knocks my back into the shelves.
I struggle for breath—high on his touch, the way he lifts me around his waist, breaking open my legs. He deepens an already sweltering kiss, his hot hand protective on my neck, his thumb caringly brushing my skin while the rest of him—masculine, powerful—rushes through me.
I brace myself by clutching his arms; my body has won out to my mind. I’ve been overtaken, overpowered, overpleasured.
My lips sting as he slows down an already strong kiss, his chest rock hard against me. I feel unwound, flyaway strands of hair sticking up—like he electrocuted me.
He kind of did.
My spine digs into the metal shelf, and Nikolai kisses my cheek, my forehead, as though I’m precious enough for more than just the thrill. He gives me the unhurried, measured moments, the kisses that seem to ache more.
A noise trembles my throat, a breathless cry.
He lets out a deeper sound against my neck. And his red glow necklace stares back at me, a blinding reminder of all that I don’t understand.
What are we doing? What is this? My mind has revived and come to haunt me.
“I…don’t understand,” I whisper.
He only draws back to cup my face. His lips are a stinging distance away. I can still feel the force of them, the heat of them, on me. His mouth curves upward some, as though he finds my confusion funny.
“It’s not funny,” I whisper.
“You’re cute,” he tells me. “I thought my actions said enough.”
He likes me. “There is…something between us then?” I wonder. I haven’t been fantasizing about the tension. It hasn’t been one-sided. It’s just been ignored.
He stares so deeply into me. “There is definitely something, my demon.” His lips rise more.
I can hear my heart beating. The bass from the club vibrates the shelf behind me, adding to my elevated senses. “What now?” I ask. I shift my hands from his biceps to his shoulders, skimming the red glow necklace. It’s where most of my uncertainty lies.
He kisses me again, slowly, his fingers along my neck. It’s languid and relaxed, like we’ve done this all our lives together. When he parts, he whispers, “I’ve been hesitating because I don’t want to step in the way of your dreams.”
I try not to fear that. I understand my goals. But—I don’t like looking at the bad things before they happen. It’s not worth it. “You won’t.”
He gives me a look like wake up, myshka. “I don’t want my attraction for you to ruin all that you’ve sacrificed,” he rephrases.
It doesn’t deter me. “Is it impossible to love two things equally? I mean, not that I love you…I just…” I blow out a breath. I’m screwing this up. I fail at words sometimes. We’re just at a crossroads of are we pursuing this or leaving it behind?
He tilts my chin so I meet his eyes again. “I understand what you mean.”
“I just—I don’t want to believe that a love for one thing will overtake the love for another.” It’s a cynical view, isn’t it? Or maybe mine is just a hopelessly optimistic one.
“Today, if I gave you the option between the circus and a man, you would choose the circus. But later—”
“I’ll choose the circus,” I say.
He gives me that same look. I don’t want to wake up yet. “I can’t be a reason you give up on your dreams.”
“I won’t. ”
The way he’s staring at me. It hits me. His rules. No boyfriends. Not even him. I feel like he’s about to crush something that hasn’t even started yet. “Nikolai—”
“But I realized something tonight.” His eyes hold so many painful, conflicting truths. Realities that I need to meet. “I realized that it’s too late. I distract you—you distract me. And since I don’t want to distance myself from you, there’s only one option.”
His gaze flits to my lips, and he kisses me tenderly, my body winding tight.
I inhale strongly as he presses even further up against me. Clutching me. He’s saying that he wants me. I can see it. I can feel it. My eyes burn at the unspoken proclamation.
In a whisper, he says, “And I’ll still train you.”
The next kiss is so soulful that I feel the promise within it: to never stand in the way of my dreams. I breathe heavily as he draws back again. His chest rises and falls deeply, waiting for me to speak, giving me a choice to accept or deny this new turn.
Nikolai may assume a lot of things, but when it comes to my own life—he steps back and lets me pick left or right.
“You’re complicated?” I ask, eyeing the red glow necklace.
He stiffens. “My past relationship is. I haven’t been looking for anything recently, and I didn’t even look for you.” He pauses. “This was unintentional.”
It became something more without noticing. Without realizing. “Am I a mistake—”
“No, myshka. You’re just the unexpected, beautiful thing in my life.”
My heart is full tonight. I can hardly breathe as it swells. I’ve never felt this way. “As long as she’s not still in the picture…” That scenario is too devastating to jump into.
“She’s not,” he forces like he’s promising me. “You can trust me.”
I nod. It’s not as blind as the first time we met. I trust him a lot more now—because he’s been here for me. And I believe that he wouldn’t hurt me. Not intentionally, at least.
“Okay,” I breathe, placing my hand on his, the one that warms my cheek.
He kisses me, powerfully, sensually, and his other hand finds my zipper by my shoulder blades. He slowly unzips my tight black dress, stopping at the small of my back. His lips drift to my neck, sucking on the most sensitive spots. His body thrums against mine.
“Nik…” I shudder and remember something—something more important now than it was before. “I’m moving out tonight.”
His hands fall underneath my ass, supporting me around his waist. And he looks at me with a frown. “You decided this now.” He states it.
“No…” I shake my head. “No, I meant to tell you tonight…I signed a lease for a studio apartment. And maybe it’s…better that we don’t live together, I mean. It’ll make things slower.” I hesitate to add the rest. I want slow. I’m not used to fast. But he already knows I’ve only had sex twice. That’s the exact number of times. It’s not even just two different people.
Before he responds, the storeroom door swings open. Camila startles back the minute she sees us: my legs around his waist, my dress partially unzipped. His hands on me.
I cover my face with my palm, my fingers splayed so I can most definitely still see her reaction morph from surprised to something happier.
“Oh my God! I’m sorry.” She’s smiling. “Continue on.” She even flashes me a wider, excited grin. When she shuts the door, I actually go to zip up my own dress.
Nikolai sets me on my feet. “Come here.” He tugs me closer and his fingers brush my bare skin as he zips me up. Just as slow as he unzipped me. His eyes dance around my features. “I’ll help you move in to your place tonight.”
“Actually, I think I should do that on my own.” I worry he’ll see the shoddy apartment and convince me to stay with him.
He hesitates, his gaze darkening. I think he must read my intentions. “It’s in a bad area.”
“No,” I refute. “It’s a good area.” Sort of. It’s not the worst area, so I’m not lying exactly.
“If it was, you’d let me see it.” He combs some of the flyaway hairs out of my face. “Okay.” It takes me aback but he adds, “I trust you. And I can understand wanting your own space.”
“Thank you,” I whisper. “Are…you also okay with slow?”
His lips rise like it’s funny.
“It’s not—”
“It’s cute,” he says again, this time laughing. “Slow is cute, and I’d go slow for you.” He kisses my temple. “Ready?” He nods to the door.
I never thought there would be more paths to choose. I came here thinking I’d already picked my course. The dark, mysterious one—filled with potholes and faraway dreams.
I’ve found that life is a series of crossroads, dead-ends and U-turns. There is no real destination. There is no goal to end all goals. As long as we’re living, we’ll always keep driving.
I’m more satisfied with this than I would’ve been before Vegas.
So as I head out the door, into The Red Death, I know I’ve switched lanes. I’m headed in the same direction, but my route is slightly different.
The landscape has changed.