Page 162 of Facing Off
Her silence is absolute hell.
I jog across the studio, practically skidding to a stop in front of the fridge. “Look!Homemadesnacks. Made by me! Way better than any sad, crappy vending machine snacks. You know, the optionsotherstudios offer.” I fumble around and grab one of the granola bars, holding it up like a trophy. “This is packed with five kinds of protein!Andchocolate!”
My other hand opens another drawer. “And look! Cookies! There’s only one bag. Because you’ll want them fresh. Obviously. So, I’ll bake them often, and, and?—”
I’m babbling and?—
Clenching my fists, bracing myself. “Okay, yeah, it’s a lot. Probably too much. But don’t worry, if you don’t wantto use it all the time.” My shoulders drop. “Or sometimes. Or not yet.” I clear my throat, freaking out because have I gone overboard?Fuck.
“Why?” Finally she speaks, barely moving her mouth, asking, “Why did you build this for me, Adrian?”
I jam my hands into my pockets. “You spend a lot of time at the studio. And so you can spend it here…if you…want?”
Please want to.
I’ll do anything to have you here more often.
Sonya doesn’t answer. Her gaze drifts down, lashes low, breathing shallow like she’s holding something back.
I walk back to her, with my heart in my throat.
“It was too much,” I roughly breathe out, “wasn’t it?”
I feel stark panic spread across my expression. Sonya doesn’t see it though, because she’s dropped her head against the center of my chest. Her hair brushes my chin.
“You’re the worst,” she mumbles.
I flinch.
Here it comes.
Agony rips up my soul, even as I soothe my hands down her back. “Iamthe worst, aren’t I, Sonya darling? A moron who overwhelmed you with all this, when you need to be focusing on your audition.”
Her grip on my jacket tightens. “How long will it stay like this?” she asks, voice muffled against me. “When does your gym equipment go back?”
Okay, here’s an opportunity. I should allude to something vague, say maybe later this year. That’ll take the pressure off thisgiantgesture while I still can.
A bow dangling above our heads jostles to the side, as if agreeing with the obvious backtracking.
“It’s staying like this forever, baby.”
I’m a fool. A desperate, pathetic fool who’ll keep hisgym this way, in case a day ever comes that she wants to use it for her ballet.
“Stop, Adrian! I can’t take it.”
The tendons on my neck stand out. “I know, Ishouldn’thave?—”
Sonya lifts her head up.
Air punches out of my lungs.
I thought I was in agony before? That’s absolutely nothing compared to how I suffer seeing Sonya’s eyes brimming with tears.
My fingers shake as I ghost them along her cheeks. “Hey, what’s this? Baby, no. Wait.” She never cries. I’ve not seen it happen once. “Please don’t, baby. I’llfixit. If you want this studio gone—fuck, you’re killing me—it’s gone. I’ll doanything?—”
“You made me a h-home?” she stammers, voice breaking. “W-Where I can dance? I-I can’t believe it. How do I stop myself from wanting it?” She scrubs at a tear, outraged. “I’m already falling apart. You’re always under my skin, never letting go, and nowthis?”
“Why do you think I didit?” I rasp, brushing my thumb along her jaw, desperate to make her see it. “Any excuse. Any excuse at all to have you closer to me?—”
