Beyond

Chapter Four

The sunlight feels warm against my face when I get out of my car. The sky is clear like water and the breeze whips my hair around my face. The light jacket I have on does little to keep out the cold, but it doesn't matter once I start running. The sound of my Nikes hitting the pavement and music pumping through my ears, I'm untouchable. City Park is busy this morning, so many people out taking advantage of the beautiful weather.

I left DeAndré sleeping in my bed knowing he'll be knocked out until noon. I needed to get out of the apartment this morning and clear my head. So, I drove out to City Park to go for a run and enjoy some time with my own thoughts. Just let my mind wander and take some time to just breathe. That's all.

Yesterday was a dark day for me. It's always interesting to me how easily and quickly a person's mood—particularly mine—can change. DeAndré is my light, but he was quickly doused out when I saw Bradley. It bothers me that Bradley, a year later, still has so much power over me.

Not anymore.

I make a pact to spend more time doing things I enjoy. Like running. Maybe, I'll take that vacation Margie has been forcing on me.

Last night, DeAndré told me I need to learn how to pull myself out of the sinkhole I find myself in every now and then. "You can't depend on someone to be your Prince and save you. You're the Prince. You save yourself." I know he's right, but the idea of being solely reliant on myself frightens me. I told him this.

"Then take it one step at a time," he told me. "One day at a time."

By the time I finish my route around the park, I don't feel the cold anymore. I take a long sip from my water bottle and lean against my car to catch my breath. I watch people as they pass me by. Some of them are runners, like me, and some are parents taking their kids to the park. One runner catches my eye and my breath gets stuck in my throat.

Blue eyes . . .

He runs along the path coming toward me. His eyes focused; headphones stuck in his ears and I can hear André's voice

Talk to him, woman!

My lips part slightly wanting to talk to him, but my tongue feels like lead and my heart drops into my stomach. What do I do? I imagine running along next to him.

Can I pretend I'm just starting my run?

How flushed does my face look?

He's getting closer.

I can see the beads of sweat along his collarbone.

I panic.

I turn my back to him and lean against my car door pretending to play with my phone. I watch him run past through the corner of my eyes. I lay my head in my hands. I'm such an idiot.

"Hi, my name is Shiloh and I think you're gorgeous and I love you," I say to no one.

I could still catch up to him. Bump his shoulder as I pretend to not be paying attention as I run past him.

In the end, I get into my car and drive away leaving the what ifsand might have beensin a trail of exhaust. André is still at my house raiding my refrigerator and wearing my robe when I walk back through the door. I plop down on a kitchen stool and huff loudly trying to get André's attention. He pokes his head out of the refrigerator raising an eyebrow at me.

"I saw him," I say.

He grabs the apple slices out of the fridge and jumps up on the counter. "Blue eyes?"

I nod.

"Where? Did you talk to him?"

"At City Park when I went for my run. He was running. We both like running." I'm avoiding his question.

"Okay," André says dragging out each syllable, "but did you talk to him?"

"I panicked."

"Shi, you should have talked to him. This guy is perfect."

"We don't know that," I say.

"He's a specimen."

"He could be a jerk. Looks aren't everything. I've learned that from Bradley. Besides, what would I have talked to him about? Just the idea of talking to him was enough to make me freak out."

"You could have thanked him for the cupcake," DeAndré explains like the answer is obvious.

"I'm not good at small talk. I'm not even sure how I have friends. I'm too awkward and too quiet."

"Your overthinking, Shiloh. Sometimes, you just have to let things run their course. You'll never learn what you're capable of until you close your eyes and jump."

"And what if he doesn't catch me?"

"Then, he's just another pretty face. Look, let's go out tonight. We can celebrate my audition and we can practice not being awkward together."

I purse my lips. I flip through a list of excuses I can use to get out of this, but in the end, I nod and give in. Maybe, DeAndré is right. If I want to be a more confident person, then I need to practice what I preach. Nut up or shut up, right?

The club is crowded. Bodies press against one another swaying along with the beat of the music. Some techno noise that DeAndré and I wouldn't listen to otherwise. We dance together the bass vibrating so harshly through my body, I can feel it in my throat. Swaying my hips back and forth, my eyes flutter close. DeAndré's hip bumps against mine and I laugh as he grabs my hand and twirls me around. I can't help the laughter that bubbles up as we dance together. I wish life can be this carefree all of the time.

"I'm going to get a drink," DeAndré says. "Do you want anything?"

"Just a Coke. I'll be DD."

"Shiloh, you're a Saint," he replies. I shake my head as he ducks into the crowd and makes his way to the bar.

Another song plays, this one not as thumpingly painful, and I bounce on the balls of my feet along with the beat of the music. I jump slightly when I feel hands falling onto my hips from behind. I look over my shoulder to see someone I don't recognize looking down at me. The first thing I notice about him is that his eyes are a deep brown, a startling contrast to Blue Eyes'. He smiles lazily at me and I smirk shyly at him. My conversation with DeAndré earlier comes back to my mind and I can hear him telling me practice makes perfect.

I steady my body and begin to move my hips again and he starts moving along with me. He presses his body closer to mine and the line of our bodies become lost as we merge into one entity. DeAndré makes his way back over to us not even trying to hide the smug look on his face. He hands me my drink and the guy dancing behind me jolts up straight and releases my hips.

"Sorry, I didn't know she was with someone," he says innocently.

"Honey, I'm gay. You two knock yourselves out," DeAndré replies. "I'm going hunting." He gives me a thumbs up as he disappears into the crowd. The guy I was dancing with laughs and lets his hands settle on me again.

"My name's Shawn," he says. His breath is warm against my ear and I can smell a bit of alcohol on his breath.

"I'm Shiloh."

"It's nice to meet you, Shiloh," he replies, smiling down at me. Shawn seems nice enough. He's cute enough. It takes this moment for me to realize how lonely I've been over the last year. And I don't mean lonely in the sense that I don't have anyone. I mean, I have Margie and I have André. I mean lonely as in someone who is tired of going to bed alone. Turning around in his arms, I nuzzle my face into the crook of his neck as we sway. I breathe in his cologne and bury my fingers in his dark hair.

My hip slams into the table beside the front door as we come crashing into my living room too wrapped up in each other's arms to pay much attention to where we're going. We stumble over to my bedroom and fall onto the bed in a tangle of limbs.