The next morning, I listened to Stay by Rihanna, which was my guilty pleasure and alarm. I took my phone off the speaker and scrolled through my contacts. I looked at Roger's number and tossed my phone on my black and white bed.
"It's none of my concern if he wakes up late. It's not my job anymore."
I walked to my closet and looked at the black leotard that had been a constant reminder of the sacrifices I had made for Roger.
That's what I would do with my day. I'd dance.
I pulled the leotard from its hanger and found my point shoes. I stumbled upon my black designer leg warmers and my silver metallic dance bag that had been signed by every member of my dance troupe on the day I left.
I slipped into a pair of worn out jeans, a black cami, a pink crop t-shirt with a black peace sign on it, and my favorite pair of black UGGs.
I walked into a Starbucks and heard an order come out of my mouth before the guy behind the counter smiled at me.
"Hey, Tess! You didn't come in yesterday and I got worried that something had happened. So, you'll have the usual, two salted caramel hot chocolates with tons of whipped cream and cinnamon?"
"Just one today, thanks."
"You and Roger get into a fight or something?"
"He fired me."
"What? Why?"
My order was called and I took it without speaking. What could I say? There was no way to describe yesterday's events without breaking down completely. I walked a short way to a dance studio.
I walked up the creaky wooden stairs and came to a large empty room with mirrors covering the back wall. I set my speaker down on the floor and slipped out of my jeans. I hadn't worn so many layers since I had stopped dancing and it took a few minutes for me to get out of my jeans.
I looked through the long list of songs on my I-Phone and found the song Turning Tables by Adele. I slowly began to spin and leap around the large studio as the music started.
I started to really think about what happened the day before.
I had been betrayed by my best friend. He stabbed me in the back and for what? Some girl he most likely didn't have a chance with?
The tears burned in my eyes, but I only leaped higher and spun faster. Every bad thought made me attack each move with even more ferocity.
I noticed a blur every time I passed the mirrors. It looked like someone leaning in the doorway.
"Horrible break up," a baritone voice asked.
It startled me enough to make me glide on my toes and into the stranger's arms. I looked up and my eyes widened as I stared into his warm brown eyes.
"My apologies. That was impolite of me. I did not mean to interrupt your thought provoking dance."
""I'm sorry. Is this your studio? I didn't mean to intrude...I just...it was empty and I..."
"Might you call yourself Theresa Natalie Davies?"
"Yeah...Tess, normally."
"Michael speaks so highly of you. You previously danced here, yes?"
"Mikey? He talks about me? I mean, yeah, I used to dance here."
"My title is Paris Gregorio St. James. My original place of birth is Spain."
I hadn't realized that he was still holding me in his arms. He was so calm about holding me, that it was almost too perfect. He had long mousy brown hair, straight white teeth, a nose ring, and he had a presence that made me shiver.
