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"Hi," I whisper.
He stands where he is, his dirty shoes cemented in the entryway. He looks amazed, zoned in on my outfit. He barely has enough focus in him as he tosses his keys on the kitchen table. I wince, hoping he didn't scratch the rich wood.
"What's… are you… you're doing it again? You're going to dance?" Shock and hope light up his eyes. He still hasn't moved from his spot.
I nod. "I have an audition at Julliard."
His eyes flare, his jaw going slack. "When?"
"One year. I have one year to prepare." I bite my lip, nerves creating huge, hawk-like butterflies in my stomach. I press my hand against my stomach, my leotard doing nothing to quell the flapping wings.
He steps forward, his dirty boots going straight onto his cream carpet. "Baby…" His voice is hoarse, emotion clogging him. He looks me up and down, the memories in his eyes going one million miles a minute. I can see it with every blink. Me as a child, me as a teenager, me now. Always the same. My leotard, my shoes.
I curl my feet, going up on my toes. My hands go up, creating a pose above my head. My fingers lay delicately upon one another. Tears flood my eyes, his face turning blurry as I look at him. I smile, my voice full of emotion as I ask, "How do I look?"
He blinks at me, his nostrils flaring. And suddenly, I hear his coat drop to the ground, and he's in front of me, his body slamming against mine. His large hands go around my waist, clutching my hip bones as he lifts me off my feet. Like I'm a feather, I'm suspended in his arms, pressed above his head, just as we've done one million times before. A part of me is nervous, the ceiling not that tall in here. But I still do my pose, arching my back, pointing my toes, tears streaming down my cheeks.
"I love you, Luna, so fucking much," he says from below me, his voice a low rasp.
A sob breaks from my chest, and I curl into a ball. He lowers me, clutching me against him as he sits us on the couch. His hands circle my waist, going to my naked back. "I love you, too," I whisper.
My bare legs are scratchy against his rough-textured pants, the thickness making them bulky between my thighs. His body is sweaty, the shirt sticking to him. Even in the fall, the air is warm outside. "How did it go today?"
He shakes his head, a darkness passing his eyes. "It was fine."
I run my fingers along his face, passing underneath his darkened eyes, wiping away a greasy dark smudge. "Doesn't sound fine to me."
He looks up into my eyes with a vulnerability in his that I haven't seen since we were younger. "It's just hard, you know? Working in a job like this. I see a lot of shit. I never thought this would be my life."
I grab the hair falling over his ears, tucking them back, playing with the ends. "Why don't you start music again? Is that something you want to do?"
He shakes his head. "No. I'm done with music. I love what I do. It just… it takes a lot out of me." He looks up at me, a softness in his eyes. "Having you here makes it so much better."
I lean forward, capturing his lips with mine. I dive my tongue in, kissing him with all my love, all my gratitude. I love this man with all my heart, with my entire soul. He fills me, completes every inch of me.
He kisses me back, his hands going to the back of my head, curling in my long, dark hair. I settle into his lap, my body fitting perfectly against his. I rub against him, and he grunts, lifting his hips against mine.
Leaning back, I look him in his dark eyes, wanting him so badly. Wanting him to fill me, to fix me, to heal me.
I need him more than I need air.
My finger goes up, curling underneath the fabric on my shoulder, I lower it down my arm, showing him my naked skin. Showing him how much I want him.
His hand goes to the fabric, stopping my movements. My eyes snap up to his, and there's a hesitation lingering there, one that makes me frown.
"No, Luna." He pushes my fabric back up, sliding it back in its place.
My eyes fill with tears, my jaw trembling. "Why?" I knew I shouldn't have told him about Willie. I knew I shouldn't have told him how ruined I was.
"I can't. You aren't ready."
"I am." I lean forward, my hands pressing against his pecs. "I want this."
"Maybe you want it, but you aren't ready." His hands attempt to soothe me, running up and down my arms, but it does the opposite. I try to crawl off him, but his hands go to my waist, pinning me on his lap. "If you don't want me, let me go," I cry.
His hand goes to my jaw, and he pulls me close, bringing me against his lips. He doesn't kiss me, just breathes. "There are scars in your eyes. Scars so deep I can see all the way to your soul, Luna. You try to hide them in your gray eyes, with your kisses and your smiles, but I see them. You're in pain, Luna. Your soul is in pain. I can feel it, Luna. I feel your fucking pain." His hand presses against my chest, right over my heart. "You're bleeding on the inside, Luna. You can't hide it from me."
I sob, breaking my walls down and showing him my hurt, my regrets, the pain that he sees, that I've been foolish to hide. He sees it all. He always has. "Heal me, then. Heal me, Roman." I clutch his shirt, needing him. I want him. All of him, yet he won't give me the piece of him that will heal me completely.
