“You told him?” Glen exclaimed, looking at Haylee, who kept hiding her face on my shoulder. “I didn’t think you would.”
I cleared my throat. “Not exactly.”
“Ugh, oh?” Glen crossed her arms in front of her, giving me a pointed look.
“Look, it doesn’t matter how I found out. I’m just glad I was there.”
“I think it matters,” Glen threw back. “Doesn’t it, Hallie?”
“He told me already,” she mumbled into my shirt. “Besides, he saved me.”
I kissed the top of her head. “You forgive me?”
She didn’t reply right away, and I thought she never would. “You did save me,” she repeated after a while.
“You’re my Little Red-Cheeked Dancing Girl. I will always save you.”
Escape the world
ICALLED IN SICK ON?Thursday, both to the dance studio and Turtle Bay. I definitely looked it. I felt more dejected than ill, but I suppose depression was an ailment of its own.
Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, I prodded at the black eye still clearly visible. As if it would fade away during the night and make me forget my latest horror. Definitely still there and throbbing painfully. My poking made it sting even more.
Getting hit by candles was terrible. Thursdays were awful. Luke leaving in three days was outright rubbish. Ughh...
It wasn’t only seeing Jay and the freakshow that made me feel so utterly miserable. I’d not handled it well, true. But Luke hadn’t either. Hell, he’d gone berserker on the men to protect what? My honour? Nobody had ever stood up for me like that except for Glen.
I wanted to hate him for finding out about Jay, but it was impossible. I wanted to hate him for leaving, but I couldn’t muster that either. Now I just wanted to be wrapped up in him and forget everything else. Three more days until that wasn’t possible anymore.
I drew a heart on the misted-over mirror after my shower and wrote his name in it. Then stared at it for an eternity before I managed to snap out of it and wiped it away with a huff. My reflection hadn’t gotten any cheerier since my previous peek at it, only cleaner perhaps.
Luke talked to his family across the ocean every week. Every single week, like clockwork. We would exchange phone numbers and do the same. We could text daily and have a video call on Sundays before they started cooking. It was not quite like an embrace or a kiss, but if we were both serious about it, we could make it work.
We could make it work, couldn’t we? Yes, we could.
The distance between us would be measured by miles, not the level of intimacy. In the end, intimacy would win. God, he knew my best kept secret and didn’t care. He’d seen through to the bottom of my heart—every broken piece—and still wanted me. I would not let him walk away without a fight.
