Exhaling a heavy breath, I stand, moving for my bag. “I need to go,” I manage to barely choke out, my throat suddenly feeling like there’s something stuck in it. I try to swallow it away, but it’s too hard, so I begin to move faster, beginning to silently panic inside. I reach for my hoodie and am intercepted by the massive man, as there’s no escaping him. He wraps his arms around me, lifting me completely up, so if I try to run, I’ll catch nothing but air. He’s so freaking huge; I swear my feet wiggle a decent two feet off the floor.
“Where you goin’, short stuff?” Powerhouse asks, his face far too close to mine. It’s hard to concentrate on anything but his irresistible presence. I swear he smells divine too; he’s got some sort of cologne on today that has my panties growing wet over him and having him touch me like this. As if he’s the boss of me and has a right to my body. I want to get fiery over it, but in reality, I adore every minute of his hands on me. Something must be wrong with me to get off on him being able to easily stop me from walking out the door on him.
“Home. I can’t talk about this with you.” I can barely speak at all at the moment, still feeling choked up with emotion over my injury.
“Why not? Babe, if you haven’t realized it yet, we’re a thing, and I need to know this stuff about you. Who hurt you? Let me fuck them up for you.”
My heart melts with his words. He’s not digging to be nosy and rub salt in an old wound in the process. No, he’s asking because he wants to protect me and to get vengeance in my name.
I love him for it.
For his sweetness, his caring nature, and his loyalty. I was no one to him, just another dancer on that stage to watch as I took my clothes off, yet he’s never once treated me as if I were anything other than precious. It’s too soon for me to spew words of forever and falling hopelessly in love, but if he keeps on this path, I won’t be able to stop myself from falling face-first for him. I’m already down the path of never returning as it is, now he wants to be my hero to my past as well? How can I be angry with him when he’s so sincere?
Tears crest, and now I’m choked up for an entirely different reason. I know if Powerhouse were in my life when everything happened, he would’ve plowed heaven and earth to make sure I was okay. To punish those who hurt me. I manage a quiet reply, “It’s nothing.”
“Bullshit, my sweet paprika. Anything with you involved is not nothing, and it’ll never be nothing. You’re something to me, and don’t ever forget it. Now tell me what happened so I can crush whoever fucked with my woman.”
Is it weird having him say crazy stuff makes me want to marry him? I’ve never wanted to be married, only dedicate my life to art, but Powerhouse has me questioning everything. Hehas my spine straightening, my inner self ready to be stronger, to be better. For him.
I inhale deeply, then exhale. Can I do this? For me? And him? For our future together?
Can I tell him what’s happened to me to make me so guarded and still a little broken inside? I almost wish he did go digging on his own and formed his own conclusions, so I could get by without having to open up about it. Sure, it may be cowardly, but it’s also a means of protecting myself from reliving the pain and having to voice the words aloud. How can I say this without breaking down, and, at the same time, keeping Powerhouse from going to prison? I have no doubt in my mind if I tell him what I believe truly happened—that I was purposefully dropped to injure me and get me out of the production—he will go on a retribution spree in my honor.
“My accident, umm…Well, you see, my injury.” I stop speaking, swallowing down my nerves, before I try again. “I-I was dropped.”
He carefully sets me down, holding my hands in his big paws, brows furrowed as he listens. I swear he’s the biggest teddy bear I’ve ever met. He softly offers, “I’m so sorry, Raven. It never should’ve happened. I will never let you fall from my arms, I swear to you.”
I give a jerky nod. “You see, the way I was dropped, at the edge of the stage on the side of my head…” I choke a sob down, attempting to remain strong, yet tears fill my eyes regardless. “It was at a spot where I hit the stage harder than I should’ve, then tumbled again to hit the edge, then landed on the stained concrete several feet below. I wasn’t just dropped, I-I was thrown,” I admit the last part on a painful gasp, feeling as if a knife is being thrust through my heart at the same time.
He’s patient, waiting quietly as I manage to speak my truth, praying I won’t be judged wrongly, as if I’m the problem and itwas my fault I was injured so badly. It’s always a fear of mine when I have to talk about it, as if my story isn’t deep enough, the evidence damning to the point of being believed. “The impact was much harder for me than if I’d stumbled and lost my footing. It damaged so much,” I end with tears trailing over my cheeks, dripping from my jaw. I’ll forever be a little broken, if not on the outside, then inside. Can he ever love me now that he knows I’m not as whole as he thought I was?
Powerhouse immediately pulls me to his chest, encompassing me in his powerful arms, making me feel safe enough to continue. I sob, making myself say the words that haunt me, filling my nightmares, “I had a concussion, a broken jaw, bones inside my ear broke, my wrist broke, along with other injuries. Those were the worst.” I still have phantom pains; they’re a constant reminder of the life-changing trauma.
He pulls away enough so I can see his mouth, “And it caused your hearing loss?”
I nod again. “There was blood everywhere. I guess everyone stood there freaking out for a while, watching as I bled from my head before someone finally called an ambulance.” I can’t remember much from the point of falling, only being incredibly scared and in pain, then it was nothing but losing control. After spending years of my life perfecting every move I make, of being graceful, yet always in complete control, to lose it…Was terrifying.
“Those motherfuckers. The hospital couldn’t repair the damage, or was it too much?”
“The hospital fixed my jaw and my wrist. However, my wrist isn’t as strong as it was before, no matter how much I Google physical therapy moves for it and work on strengthening. I had sprains everywhere, which are easily reinjured now when stressed too much. I didn’t have insurance, and my abuela couldn’t afford to help. The money raised locally wasn’t enoughto cover my ear surgeries I would need to regain my hearing. The hospital basically fixed the most pressing issues and wrapped everything up in a bandage to be dealt with at a later time to avoid the expenses. I work through physical therapy moves daily that I found online for free to help anything I can; the yoga has been a game changer. However, there’s no physical therapy move I can do for my hearing issue.”
His frown deepens as he stares at me with confusion, “Wait, so they could’ve fixed your hearing with surgery when it happened?”
I shrug, playing it off, but it’s something I think about all the time, no matter how hard I attempt not to. “It’s a possibility. I didn’t lose all of my hearing, it’s hard to explain. I can hear different sounds, but they’re indistinct. I can’t tell who’s talking or if it’s a television, and the sounds aren’t like regular words. It’s all foggy, if that makes sense. The best way to describe it is if I’m underwater. I know there’s sound, but I can’t tell what sound.”
“And it’s the same in both ears?”
“I hit both sides, the first in the initial fall, the other when my head bounced off the ground. The doctor tried to tell me it could heal over time, but so far it hasn’t. It’s something I’ve learned to live with and that I’ll most likely have for the rest of my life.” My tears have begun to dry up. I was dreading this conversation with him, but in the end, it’s actually a bit cathartic to get it all out. It’s been a very long time since I’ve spoken about my injuries so much openly.
“And ballet? Why don’t you dance there again? You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever seen before, you move like the wind.”
God, if only he saw me before, he’d easily notice the difference. I was considered a future prodigy, the dancing world at my fingertips. Now, I’m slower, clumsier,scared. I don’t ever admit the last part, though.
“Well, aside from them basically telling me I would never be good enough again to even consider a position with the company, my hearing loss affects my balance. My broken wrist, my sprained ankles, and injured shoulder, it’s all stuff I can work through, but it’ll never be back to where I was when it happened.”
“Fuck them,” he huffs angrily. He’s deadly serious as he declares, “You dance like a motherfucking goddess. I meant what I said, the nights you’ve danced for me; you are the best I’ve ever seen.”
I offer him a tender smile. The man always knows how to make me feel special in his own way. He’s everything I needed in my life, but never knew it. “I learned other types of dance to help make up for it and to also improve my balance. However, I have had multiple falls since my accident. I fractured a rib, was concussed, and re-sprained my left ankle in some of those later falls. I’ll never be where I need to be to follow my dreams of ballet. I had trained for most of my life just to get to where I was before.”
