The Twilight Saga


I'm busy uploading my fanfic as we speak...

DISCLAIMER: Stephenie Meyer may own them, but I can manipulate them. HA, HA, HA, HA, HA…cough. That’s it for my Mandar laugh.

Chapter 1

Dance Shoes

In the heart of Seattle, Washington, nestled in a 2-bedroom apartment were Alice and me, Bella.

We were best of friends that came from opposite ends of the earth. She was the overly perky one, while I rested at a calm neutral.

I had just returned home from an afternoon of classes. I flung my bag onto the counter and made way towards the sofa, where I prepared to put my feet up and relax. Ah, my favorite part of the day: the transition between when I came home and when Alice came home.

Alice. Sometimes that girl was too high energy for me. I looked around the apartment and her bubbly personality was definitely evident on every surface she could get her crafty hands on.

Currently, she used her interior design skills to remake our apartment into an abstract art museum. The couch was now plush and an ivory white, contrasting the boldly streaked pillows. Paintings contained busy layouts of primary colors. Our apartment was like Alice: busy. Sometimes, I can’t keep up with her. And her room…

Her room surprisingly didn’t change that often. Right now, it resembled a royal suite. Framing her suite was a four post bed that was stacked so high with mattresses you would think The Princess and the Pea would have been set there. She had satin sheets of aquamarine and lime green that glittered and draped onto the floor. Her bed was finished off with an over abundant supply of pillows, ranging from sinkable soft to rock hard firm. On her vanity, there is a mound of makeup, various shades of blushes, eye shadows…each one seeming to have some significance.

But even Alice had her secret: she had a shoe fetish. Shocking, I know. One day, I walked into her to see her pushing against her closet door.…

“Alice, what’s going on?” I asked, frightened by the horror stricken on her face. She was startled and all of a sudden a wave of shoe boxes sprayed across her room.

“It’s not what it looks like, Bella,” she sped. “I don’t have a problem. I don’t have a problem…I do have a problem. But I need them. All of them,” she gestured towards the array of shoes. She slumped to the floor cradling one heel and she began to stroke it like a cat. “Each pair goes with a designated outfit. And ‘You’re never fully dressed without a Manolo Blahnik…,” she trilled.

“I thought it was ‘You’re never fully dressed without a smile.’”

She just shrugged.

But, there was one room Alice couldn’t touch: my room. I liked the simple things and my room represented just that. My bed wasn’t sickeningly soft. It was soft enough to be comfortable, but firm enough that you won’t suffocate in fluff. My closet had a decent array of clothes (though Alice may disagree), and I had only a brush, a couple of clips, and a tube of lip gloss lying on my dresser.

“You have serious problems,” she would say.

…Anyways, between working in a bookstore, going to school, and keeping up with Alice, this short 30-minute break was my heaven. I liberated my feet and began to massage them. I tripped today, but that was no big deal. If I only tripped once, I was having a good day. After I felt like I soothed my feet enough, I lay back on the sofa and closed my eyes.

“Bella, I have a surprise for you!” Alice sung. Man, thirty minutes went by quick. Well, it was good while it lasted. I hesitantly peeked out of one eye to see Alice beaming as she held out a package towards me. I groaned in disgust.

“Get it away from me,” I muttered as I slightly pushed the box away. I absolutely hated surprises and Alice knew that. Why does she like to press my buttons? I stared at her with both eyes as I crossed my arms. She temptingly waved the gift in front of me. Like I was trained, I curiously watched it flow back and forth. “You know you shouldn’t surprise me. One of these days, I might blow up,” I joked as I snatched the box from her. She giggled giddily as I began my mutilation of the parcel brown wrap. There was another layer of wrap. But, this one shimmered when it caught the light. I looked at her confused. More wrap?

“Open it,” she ushered. I proceeded with my tearing through the layer of wrap and revealing the contents inside.

“Heels, Alice? You got me HEELS!?”

She ignored my outburst and took the shoes. Apparently, she didn’t think I appreciated her gesture. “Bella, these are signature Marc Jacobs,” she frowned from my lack of recognition. The name itself seemed to electrify the air with class. “These shoes have a peep hole for your toes and they are not that high, Bella.” Indeed she was right. The shoes – smooth black leather that danced together to expose minimal toe – had only indeed a one and a half inch heel. But, they still looked too sophisticated for my clumsy feet.

“But Alice, why would you buy me a pair of heels?” I inquired. She moved towards the opposite end of the sofa and put her feet up to sit Indian style. She let the shoes rest in her lap as her smile widened.

“I wanted to start you off with something small and easily manageable. And well, because I knew you were going to need a pair to start off with when we started our…tango lessons!”

“WHAT!” I, Bella, do not dance. I couldn’t dance. I was like the whitest person I knew. It was like when my genes where being factored, dance skills seem to have disappeared from the batch. “I draw the line with this, Alice. No way!” I protested as I stalked towards my bedroom. I knew she was following me so I didn’t even bother to close the door. I sat down on my bed and looked at her as she leaned on the door frame, staring at me incredulously. “I refuse to participate this time. Count me out.”

“Come on, Bella,” She whined.

“No! Alice, you always get me caught in your crazy ruses. I went along with stealing the Porsche. Why? Because you said we wouldn’t get caught. I went along with you when you wanted to go cliff diving. Why? Because you said it wasn’t dangerous. Now, you want me to get in front of a group of people and dance. In heels. No. I. DON’T. DANCE.” She crossed her arms and pouted as I glared at her. She narrowed her eyes to glare back. She broke first.

“Ah, Bella, it wouldn’t be as much fun without my best buddy in the whole, wide world there,” she reasoned. I continued to stare at her in disbelief. “Imagine all the cute guys there.” I raised an eyebrow. I haven’t dated since high school. No, still wasn’t worth the humiliation. “Please, Bella. Do it for me,” she begged.

I searched for an escape. Window…no, it was too high. Bathroom…no, I would have to come out sometime. Door…shoot, she was in the way. I didn’t have any options. It was no use. If I didn’t give in now, she was probably going to drag me onto that dance floor…

I sighed. “Where do I sign up?”

Alice clapped and bounced around until she registered my question. She shrugged nervously. I groaned again.

“When did you sign me up, Alice?”

“A week ago,” she squeaked.

I glared at her. “Wow…Alice, you are special,” I enunciated slowly.

“Thanks, Bella,” she smiled, mistaking my sarcasm for a compliment. She drew me into a hug. Finally, I pushed her jokingly aside and went to retrieve the dance shoes that might be my undoing. Tango lessons could be fun, right? Who knows, I might actually learn something.

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Written to "Mad World" by Gary Jules and "Main Theme" from "A Beautiful Mind" by James Horner


A/N: Thing One and Thing Two are two identical (and mischievous) characters from the popular Doctor Seuss book "The Cat in the Hat."


I started college and internships and volunteering and work and…all in all, life is once again my frenemy. If you are still reading this, I applaud you for your dedication. I know I would have given up a long time ago…


Chapter 44: Over




Dear Diary,


It was a day that started as innocent as any other day, but why did it have to end the way it did? Sometimes, I wonder if I am cursed or something?


Seriously, why did death always seem to haunt me?


"Are you okay, carmelita?" Marco asked from the other side of the bathroom door.


How could he ask me if I was okay? He was bearer of bad news. It was my day off from the competition, for god's sake—a break from a bunch of oversensitive juveniles. And I thought the young dancers were going to be the only ones who got their feelings hurt today.


The day had started so nice. I just didn't know where it went wrong.I remember that morning clearly.


I had peeked from under my covers, basking in the rays of a new day. Marco was already up in bed, with a book across his lap.


"Studying?" I'd assumed, rolling my side towards him. I'd propped up my head with my hand.


"It never ends," he had smiled, still concentrating on the page, highlighting where appropriate.


"That's it? No random follow-up fact?" I had teased.


He'd chuckled. "I thought you didn't like my random facts?"


I'd shrugged. "I've grown to expect them." I had sat up in bed and begun with, "I have a random fact for you…"


He'd looked up from his book, unconsciously tipping his head in interest. "Okay, go ahead."


"Did you know that kissing is good for your teeth? It increases the flow of saliva into the mouth, which breaks up the plaque the settles."


"Hmm…interesting," he'd smiled, now turning to face me. "Now, during that 'rinse,' your mouth is gathering tens of millions of bacteria in order to be exchanged with your partner."


Gross…but understandable. I had pretended like it didn't gross me out—and hey, maybe his intentions were to do just that.


Coyly, I had replied, "I wouldn't mind sharing some bacteria with you…"


He had laughed before kissing my cheek and resuming back to his studies.


Frowning, I had rolled out of bed, heading to the bathroom. I had not reached it before Marco called out, "Someone is calling you."


It was, like, eight in the morning which meant it was way too early for my family to be calling me due to the time zone. And besides, they barely called me.


Sighing, I had gone back to check my phone only to see it was an unwelcomed number.


"Who is that?" Marco had asked, intrigued.


"I don't recognize it," I'd lied, tossing the phone on the bed before going to take my shower.


Later that day, Marco and I had a picnic on the countryside. I even wore this cute, little tan sundress with cream polka dots, conservatively cut down to the knee. It had been such a sweet and leisurely day…until I found out.


It was so unfair. How could a person as sweet and as caring as Mr. Johnson die? I knew he had been sick for a while, and we had had a couple of scares at work, but he was a strong as a horse—he was built to last forever.


At least, I had thought.


I quickly scrubbed the make-up off my face, secretly hoping it could erase the reality I was about to face. Inevitably, I would still open the door to same, sad tale.


"Are you feeling better?" His face twisted with concern.


I smiled half-heartedly. "Yeah, I'm fine. I think I'm going to go for a walk." I moved past him, but I felt his presence behind me.


"In your dress?"


No, in my underwear. I didn't answer, and soon, Marco disappeared from my side as I made my way out of my room.


The sun was beginning to set across the field. With running shoes freshly laced, I started off jogging towards the field, passing by the pool.


I'd told Marco that I used to be fat, but I never explained how I lost the weight. Food wasn't my comfort. Pain was. The ability to push myself past my normal physical boundaries was how I found solace.


When my parents fought, I turned up the volume on my cassette player when I was a child (and then on a CD player as I grew older), and just danced and danced. When my little brother died, instead of attending the wake, I ran around the block several times, exchanging the tears for sweat. the anguish for stamina. Then, when…


Well, running and dancing were how I released myself from emotional obligations.


It was how I dealt with life. It was now how I dealt with Mr. Johnson's passing.


Before I could pick up the pace, I heard the presence of another's steps, off-beat with my own. Without turning around, I knew it was Marco coming to join me.


Marco was bigger and faster than me; however, he didn't try to outrun me, like he normally would have. He didn't tease me, which was his specialty.


Instead, we just ran in sync. In prefect unison. We ran through the vineyard, zigzagging through each and every row. Step after step, we blew past the blurs of colored bloom.


All the times before, running and dancing were able to relieve me, but running wasn't enough this time.


I needed a release—a catharsis.


Everything had been building up inside of me, and it was getting increasingly difficult to hide my feelings from Marco—and ignore them from myself.


I stopped abruptly, huffing but not for air. Wiping the sweat off my forehead, I drew up to the old vat house, pushing my palms against the stone exterior. With my head down, I cried. Pathetic me, leaning against the wall, just balling my eyes out. This is the vulnerability that I hated to express.


Only a few people have seen this side of me, and most of the time it made them uncomfortable. Most panicked with fear and confusion. Some just froze from fright. Probably thinking, "How could this dragon lady cry?"


But Marco was the only one who did what he did. Instead of just hanging around and waiting for me to finish, he came up beside me, pulling my arms towards him.


My defenses kicked in. "Let me go!" I roared at the top of my lungs. I could hear the birds fleeing towards the sky as my cry echoed through the fields.


He didn't pull away. He adjusted his hold on me. "¡Calmate!" he said. "Calm down!"


I shoved him. "Don't you tell me to calm down! I'll calm down when I want to calm down!" Angrily, I wiped the tears from my face—sorrow replaced with rage. My hands balled into fists. I probably resembled She-hulk at that moment.


Marco put his palms up in submission. "I was only trying to help…"


"I don't want your help! I don't need it!" I spat, pushing him away again. "Don't try to pretend like you know me because you don't!" Another shove. "Mr. Johnson was all the family I had and he's dead! He's dead! Mr. Johnson's dead! Vasilli's dead! Trevor's dead! They are all DEAD!" Before I could push him again, he seized my wrists, placing them behind me, and pressed me against the old vat house.


I had the urge to fight back, but he placed a knee between my legs, literally pinning me in place. Every time I pushed him away, he would move my hands to the side and drive me back to the wall. At one point, he tried to kiss me on the cheek, but I shoved him away again. He positioned his hands on my hips, which limited how much I could wiggle away from him.


I shoved him away again and ran towards the house, feeling a little delirious. I ended up stumbling through the house. Marco reached for me again. I shook him off when he caught my waist again, causing me to trip on the stairs.


"Will you listen to me?"


In my moment of weakness he caught my leg, and I turned on my back to fighting him off, but he positioned himself between my legs again.


Then, the struggling ceased. Chests pounding, we laid staring at each other. Marco looked away, muttering, "What am I doing?"


Before he could think too much, I seized his face, bringing his attention back to me. He tried to kiss me again. Not on the cheek; this time, he went for the bull-eye's—my lips—and was successful.


Fury. Angst. Misery. Lust.


These emotions were pushing us past the point of no return. And selfish me—I wasn't going to deny myself this moment.

It was uncontrollable, like a wild fire blazing through my veins, igniting my neglected bones. Marco never kissed me this way, not that I gave him the opportunity. Everything we did was always light and sweet. Cute, even. Nothing as passionate or as…hot as this.


He started whispering things that I couldn't understand. "…orbicularis oris…labios…Tanya, do you love me?"


I wanted to say yes, but my mouth just couldn't do it. Couldn't he tell that my body was screaming it to him? Or that I really wanted him to know.


"Tanya, do you love me?"


Then, he asked again. This told me that he couldn't tell. That he was thinking I was just in it to hit it and quit. That I just wanted some skin.


Just when I thought he was going to pull away, I held fast. "Don't..." I pleaded, wrapping my arms tighter around his neck. "Please…"


He gave me one last kiss before he backed away, breaking from my bond. "I can't do this."


Then, he just left me there. He disappeared. There I was, vulnerable on the staircase.


Feels like déjà vu.




"So. when do you leave?"




"Hmm…when will you be back?"


Edward readjusted his arm around my shoulders as we lay on the couch, still shocked by the events of the afternoon.


Combing his fingers through my hair, he answered back, "As soon as I can."


"I can't believe you're going to be gone in a few days…," I whispered into his chest, snuggling closer. Quite quietly, I admitted, "I don't think I can live without you here."


He sighed. This wasn't an Oh-Bella-I-love-you-so-much sigh; it was an I-wish-I-did-not-have-to-do-this sigh which meant one thing—the next thing Edward was about to say could not be good.


"Bella, there's something I need to tell you," Edward began, his voice low and hesitant.


I looked up at him, straining to see his eyes. "What? What is it?"


He looked down and expelled a breath. "I've been accepted into medical school."


"Edward! That's great news!" I cheered, pecking his lips excitedly. "You made it seem like we were breaking up or some—" The excitement cleared my eyes to ask, "Which"—I was even afraid to finish the question—"medical school?"


"There are several, but I think my heart is set on one. It's in Boston. It's Harvard…medical school."


My world bottomed out.


I pulled away from him, shrinking to the other side of the couch. "How long have you've known?"


"Not long…"


"How long, Edward?" I asked again in a flat voice.


"When my parents came, Carlisle brought my mail in a yellow envelope. I was just skimming through it when I finally opened it a day ago. He had been urging me to check it immediately, but…I put it off," he shrugged.


I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly feeling vulnerable.


Was this how Cindy felt when she was with Edward? Every time he worked or practiced late, did she feel lonely and forgotten? Was this the reason why she drowned her sorrows in the arms of another man?


Did I have Cindy figured out wrong? Was she really trying to protect me from what she knew would soon happen to me?


I knew she had done some stupid things in the presence of Edward, but all in all, was to save me her real motive?


"What about the house in Seattle?" I wondered, thinking about the lease on my apartment. How many more months did I have?


"I will still own it, but I will also get a place on the east coast. I was thinking about buying a house; it will be a great investment."


He had missed the point.


I found myself in unfamiliar territory. "Edward," I began carefully. "What about us living together? Remember, the house warming party, the gifts, the remodeling?"


"We can still do that stuff…"


I smacked the arm of the sofa out of frustration "I don't care about that crap, Edward! The whole point of me agreeing to live with you is the fact that I would, indeed, live with you—not just in your house."


Edward seemed to be processing that information when the front door opened. Emerging from the shadows was an excited Alice and a hurt Liz.


Anger fell from me as worry rushed in its place. I suddenly rose up to tend to Liz who was holding a bag of ice up to her face. "What happened?"


Liz rolled her eyes.


Ignoring her mood, I forced her to remove the bag from her face, only to see a red and swollen region encompassing her lower left cheek and bottom lip.


"That girl, Jane, from Aro's Academy jabbed me in the face with her elbow during the paso doble. She apologized."


"Even though she did it on purpose. She was just jealous that Liz and P.J. had a higher standing than they did…that is until this afternoon," Alice added sadly. "Thing One and Thing Two are now leading in Liz's division. I can't stand that brother and sister duo."


"A lot of people can't," Edward grumbled before going into the kitchen. I could hear him opening up the refrigerator.


Alice shooed Liz towards her room while she said to me, smiling, "We're going on a double date."


I crossed my arms. "What? You and Liz? Who's her date?"


"Relax," she giggled, touching me reassuringly. "We're just taking her bowling. We're celebrating!"


"What?" An engagement?


"Despite her injury, Liz was able to still rip it up on that dance floor. The girl was fierce. Right after she finished, I got her all cleaned up before she had to dance again. She's in the semifinals!"


"Really? That's so awesome!" I tried to sound more enthused but there was just more important things on my mind.


Of course, Alice noticed. I had texted her about Mr. Johnson when I found out.


"How are you, two holding up?" she asked.


I shook my head, not knowing what to say.


She wrapped her arms around me, squeezing me the way my mother would sometimes. "Everything is going to work out just fine, hon. Trust me, I know."


"I just hope you're right…"


"Have I ever steered you wrong?" she added before kissing my cheek. She giggled as she left my side.


As Alice went to change her shoes and freshen up her make-up, I went to meet Edward in the kitchen.


He was doubled over the counter, his shoulders hunched, sipping on a glass of water. He didn't seem to react to my presence.


"Liz is in the semifinals."


"That's great news," he replied coolly. He didn't even turn around.


I cleared my throat, feeling the tears build up in my eyes. "So, this is it, huh? You're just going to look right through me, as if I'm not standing here."


He turned around, reaching for me when I put up my palm.


"Don't come towards me, Edward," I whispered, crossing my arms.


"We're heading out!" I heard Alice call from the living room. "Later!"


"Have fun!" I yelled back. Once we heard the front door slam, awkward tension fell around us. Softly, I said, "The saddest part is that I never felt…included in your plans, Edward." Then, it happened. One lone tear slid down my left cheek.


I closed my eyes and discovered his hands enveloping the top of my arms. Reluctantly, I melted right into the touch, causing myself more pain than what was necessary.


"Bella, none of this was meant to make you upset," he pleaded softly in my ear—the agony detectable in his tone. "I never wanted you to feel like you weren't included in my decision." He continued. "I have thought about this, and it hurts to know that we will be apart at first. I will be in Seattle in a few days, and you will be here. Just that separation alone is enough. But once you graduate, you can join me in Boston. We can be together. We will be together. You and me. I promise you that."


"Edward, don't make promises you can't keep," I muttered, exasperated. I turned to head to room, not in the mood to even leave the apartment.


He followed me.


"This is a promise I can keep," he persistently uttered, trying to get my attention.


I stopped mid stride, spinning around quickly to meet him. "How do you know? How do I know you won't find someone better in Boston, huh? How do I know that when I follow you, you wouldn't have already had a change of heart? Edward, how will I know that you still love me? Even thousands of miles away…how can I trust you to wait for me?"


The look in Edward's face showed only one thing—hurt.


"Edward, you do these things. You don't tell me that you arranged my study abroad trip, don't tell me what you and my father discussed, probably weren't going to tell me about medical school…how can we be equals if I'm always the last one to know?"


He opened his mouth to speak but went against it. He sighed, and admittedly stated, "You're right, Bella. I know I am not a perfect man, and I've made mistakes in the past. However, I'm not willing to screw this relationship up. I would be damned if I give another man the opportunity to steal you away from me."


More tears built up. Then, I confessed. "Edward…I'm scared." I sunk into his arms as he quietly admitted, "I'm scared, too."


It was difficult for me to come out and just say exactly what my heart kept yelling. This time, I was glad that Edward didn't feel the need to protect me from the truth.


There were still a lot of things that Edward and I needed to work out: the studio, my apartment, buying a house on the east coast. However, the news was still too fresh; it still stung. We would have to wait a while and clear our heads before we could make any definite decisions.


I was almost finished with school, Edward was about to start medical school, and Alice was finishing up her line. Life was about to take off for us—if only I could survive the rest of this week—and the first step was to relax and just let go.




I slept alone that night.


I wouldn't even call it sleeping. I was awake the whole night, replaying the events in my head like bad movie. I kept thinking to myself that maybe it didn't happen, that he would come strolling in to lay with me like he did every night.


But he never showed.


When morning came, I resented the moment that I would have to face Marco again. I couldn't help but feel like I had ruined something precious and that he wouldn't want me anymore. I couldn't stand in his face to be rejected.


My poor, little heart couldn't take another blow.


However, it was day three of the competition. Though it was difficult to accept what happened yesterday, the competition, let alone life, must still go on.


So, I did what I did best. I told myself that what Marco and I had was just a fling. Had it been fun? Well, of course, but now it was time for me to regroup, to remember my actual mission here in Argentina, which was to win and win big.


Instead of waiting for Marco to take me into town, I rode with his father Sebastian.


I should have known he would have suspected something. Doctors were some of the most observant people I've ever met in my life.


"You know, Tanya, I'm very sorry about your loss," he began, his accent making him sound more genuine.


"I'm sorry, too," I replied curtly, sipping on my freshly brewed coffee. I hid my traitorous eyes behind oversized sunglasses.


"Marco is really fond of you…"


I looked towards him, glad that he couldn't see what I was feeling. Once again, I managed to mess up a good thing. Sometimes I felt like I had a bad curse of the Midas Touch—except everything I touch dies.


"I'm surprised you're not going with him to the competition," he commented.


"Well, as a wise man once said, 'the early bird gets the worm,' and I want to be fully situated before showtime."


"Oh, I see." For a moment, it was quiet in the car. Sebastian turned on the radio, which played songs I couldn't understand. Though the song playing was in Spanish, the warbling of the ladies voice, accompanied by the melodramatic acoustics only lent itself to one thing—a love ballad.


It felt like the longest car ride of my life.


Finally, I arrived to the competition. With my coffee in hand and sunglasses on to reduce the effects of the overhead lighting, I quickly paraded through the lobby, heading straight to Alice who already at the competition with the rest of the group. She has turned to the group's personal stylist. I really hope she makes a lot of money from this one day.


As I sat in a chair, Alice immediately got down to business, removing my sunglasses.


She started parting my hair when she commented, "Tanya, you have to get some sleep. Make sure Marco knows that." She frowned at the subtle bags under my eyes.


"Marco is more concerned about my health than I am," I muttered, wrinkling my brow and sipping my steaming cup.


Truth was—and I wasn't sure what this made me—but this was the longest I had gone without sex while I was in a relationship with someone. And I blew it up in a hazy frantic fog of anger.


Don't get me wrong. I get regularly tested and make my partners get tested as well. I was very careful with my body. Still, this sort of intimacy kind of was the commitment factor that I looked forward to.


And now, it was the factor that I feared the most with Marco.


I answered, "I'm still a little shocked with Mr. Johnson, you know?" I didn't even notice that I had closed my eyes in remembrance.


Alice replied, "We are all going to miss him." Her voice sounded a little distant and quite nostalgic. She continued on, manipulating her hands through my scalp. "Anyhoo, what did you and Marco do that was too busy for you two to join us at the bowling alley?"


I shrugged. "We had plans."


"You and Marco seem to have gotten closer," she noted quietly.


"Well, that's what partners do," I casually answered.


"I'm sure," she replied skeptically.


"What are you trying to say, Alice?" I jokingly challenged.


"You're in love with him."


So, she knew.


My eyes grew wide with alert. I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out. I probably looked like a fish as this pattern continued for a while.


Finally, I sighed.


Alice squealed like a six-year old girl who just received a pony. "I knew it! I knew it, I knew it, I knew it! Oh my god, I've been telling Jasper this forever. Does Bella know?"


I nodded, burying my head in my hands.


"Well, does he know?" she inquired.


"You're the psychic. You tell me," I muttered.


I was pretty sure Marco knew that I loved him—even after my big mouth said it on the dance floor. But I think he was looking for me to confirm it once more. Yesterday, it was like he was waiting for me to say it, but I couldn't. Then, he just left me there.


Alice finished up my hair, smiling as wide as the Cheshire cat. "You should tell him."


"And what will that accomplish, Alice?" I moved her hands as I stood up and turned to her. "Really, what is so great about telling someone you love them if it's not going to last? On Saturday, I leave to go back to the States while Marco is going to go back to studying and praying and his celibacy." That I almost made him break.


Face it, I would be the blame for Marco going to hell.


Every time I looked at Marco, I saw a future I couldn't have. Every time I look at Alice and Jasper, I thought to myself, 'Damn, if only I could just get it right.' The truth was…I've already had my shot and I blew it, and that was that.


"Well," Alice continued, "you'll never know if you don't try…and that's all I'm going to say."


"Thanks, Oprah."


The competition progressed at a horribly, slow pace and get this: Marco still had not shown up.


"Where's my brother?" Liz asked me, her spirits a little higher.


"I'm not his keeper," I replied quite snidely, feeling nervous.


Today at the competition meant business. The first couple of days, all the dancers are always a little more buddy-buddy with each other. "You need something? Oh, here. I have it." Blah, blah, blah. You know, all that friendly crap.


However, we were down to the nitty-gritty; we didn't have time to play games. I wanted to win.


Well, at least to beat the enemy.


See, we were fighting a two-front war here. Aro's posse was enemy number one. They were fierce and ruthless when it came to this competition. A couple years back, one of his dancers got involved in a scandal involving breaking someone's ankle. One of his couples were officially banned from participating for five years because they tampered with another's property (a costume massacre). This team was full of ruthless, blood-sucking dancers.


The other enemy; Cindy. Cindy, Cindy, Cindy—the ever-pestering fly. The never-dying cockroach. She was the worst ex-girlfriend that could ever exist. She cheated, left him, got put out, and caused a scandal with an ex. She had soap opera written all over her. I made the mistake of trusting her once. But, it wasn't just Cindy who was a problem; her partner was also an unwanted nuisance.


It would be best for my sanity to not mention the unmentionable at this time.


I've done my best to avoid the two of them all through the competition, but I knew we would cross paths sooner or later….


As it drew closer to my turn, my mind returned to Marco.


What if he doesn't show?


I couldn't go on without a partner. I could ask Jacob, but what good would that do for me?


"What did you do to him?" Liz immediately took the accusatory tone as if I was in control of this situation.


I was about to speak when Alice came out. "Hey, Liz, I need you for a moment."


Before turning away, Liz shot me the most evil look she could muster. Then, she went back to be as cheery as ever.


I knew that Marco wouldn't respond to my calls, so I did the most childish thing I had ever done as an adult. I went outside the lobby, dressed in my formal gown and waited for Marco on the stairs. I probably looked like I belonged at a costume party, wearing bold performance make-up and overly flourished dress.


I only had to wait five minutes before I saw him coming down the sidewalk, already dressed.


Now, in a perfect world (and if I was thinking), I would have rushed up to him, expressing my worry and dread over his absence. He would have swept me into his arms and kissed me wholeheartedly.


However, this was the real world, where thinking seldom took precedence over acting.


I stood up, placing my hands on my hips in annoyance. "Why are you late? You know we have a show to do?"


"I had an emergency," he muttered, walking right past me.


How rude.


"Emergency? What kind of emergency?" I asked, following behind him. I had to lift the skirt of my dress up just to make sure it didn't get ruined.


Bitingly, he responded, "So, are you my mother now?"


Damn. He had slapped the words I often used on him right back in my face.


He kept walking up the stairs until we came inside when Liz spotted us.


Before I knew it, they were conversing with each other in Spanish, ignoring the fact that I was standing in the midst of their conversation. I knew I was an outsider then.


I knew I didn't belong.


Maybe this was some God's way of letting me off easy.


After getting on the floor, I could tell something had changed about us. It was as if Marco didn't care to challenge me today. There were no awkward random facts of the day. No scientific analysis of something insignificant to a normal personal. It was just…eh, today.


After dancing in our last heat for the day (and now waiting to find out if we made it into the final six), Marco pulled me to the side, saying, "Tanya…we need to talk."


The words. He said the words.


The end was coming. It was like a wave rushing towards me that couldn't be stopped. No barrier could keep the water from breaking through. He was about to tell me something I didn't want to hear.


"Is there something wrong?" I asked. "I mean, what happened yesterday was just—"


He laid his finger on my lips to silence me. Continuing, "I've been doing some thinking lately, and I don't think we should be together right now."


"Oh," I said quietly. "Is it because I'm not pretty enough?"


"Yo creo que tú eres muy hermosa. I think you are the most beautiful woman in the world."


"Well, if you think I'm beautiful, there must be something about me that offends you in some way…"


My logic on treating this like a "fling" went right out the window.


"Perhaps the way I wear my hair…or my American accent…or my mood swings. Something about me has to annoy you."


"I should be focusing on finishing my studies, and you should be concentrating on your dance career…"


"That wasn't an issue before," I interjected. "We worked it out before. What's so different now?"


He sighed, feeling as if he didn't want to say the truth. But here it was: "Tanya, I'm looking for something serious. I'm looking for a wife, not just a good time. I need a serious committed relationship, not just a little side whim."


"Well, then." I couldn't look at him, because I feel like it was just all my fault. Like it always was.


All those secrets, those hidden, deep thoughts. All those quiet, deep moments where we just laid in silence, understanding each other. All those things I shared in confidence.




He was saying other things, but I couldn't focus on that. I guess it was officially over for us. For me.


"Would all the dancers please return to the floor?" the announcer called.


With as much dignity as I could muster, I smiled with my blood red lipstick, kissed his right cheek, and walked towards the ballroom.


As if nothing had ever happened.

Chapter 45: Torture




Distractions were God's way of providing relief in our lives in order to keep the grief and emptiness at bay. Distractions kept the heartache from consuming every second of our lives. They were accepted and welcomed with arms wide open.


However, some distractions weren't kind to me at night. Sleep didn't come easily. In those times of insomnia—or just plain daydreaming—I often thought about my conversation with Mr. Johnson regarding Bella.


It was like torture treatment, all the thoughts that constantly pervaded my mind.


Fortunately, tonight would be a rather joyous occasion. It was the annual competition formal. I was looking forward to spending another evening not having to focus on my problems.


A gentle knock directed my attention towards my bedroom door. "Come in," I called, expecting it to be Bella, but I was pleasantly surprised when my father, dressed in his tux, stepped in.






"Well, I guess congratulations are in order," he began, smiling. "I heard that you and Bella are in the finals. It's unfortunate what happened to Tanya, however. How is she holding up?"




He chuckled. "Well, regardless, both of you have done a splendid job."


"Thank you," I kindly responded. I turned back to the mirror, putting on my bowtie.


"Before you put that on, I have something for you."


Confused, I turned back around and noticed the black box in Carlisle's hand. He sat on the edge of the bed, ushering me to join him. Once, comfortable, he went on to say, "Before your mother and I left the States…"—he took in a deep breath—"Theodore wanted me to give you something."


"Mr. Johnson left something for me?" I looked back at my father, still unsure as to where this conversation was going.


He opened the little box and out came something that I instantly recognized.


"He gave me his tie," I whispered, frozen with shock and overcome with humility. To some, this would like just an ordinary tie that you would, perhaps give your father on Father's Day. However, this was Mr. Johnson's competition tie—and in the tango world, ties and amulets were special, magical even. This superstition still held true in though Mr. Johnson had passed away. The "power" in the tie would still remain ready to be bestowed onto its next recipient.


Looking back at Carlisle, I asked, "But why me?"


Carlisle grinned. "He told me to tell you, that it's up for you to discover the reason why. He always believed that a man had to discover his own purpose. Same speech he gave me." After passing the box into my hands, he rose from the bed. "Well, Edward, you better hurry. You know how your mother is about these things."


"Wait. Dad, can I speak with you for about one more minute?"


He sat back down, his brows furrowed with worry, lips pursed with concern.


"Is everything okay?"


I sighed. "I've been doing some thinking about medical school and Bella and the studio—"


"Having second thoughts?"


"Well, it's mainly about Bella. The thing is…I don't want to her to give up her life in Seattle for me. But I also don't want to be away from her. I feel like, sometimes, I'm just going about this wrong. As if everything isn't just right yet. I don't want her and myself to go into this just on a slight feeling. I want it to be definite—"


"You want to be sure, right?" he offered, finishing my rambling into a very concise, very coherent fashion.


That was thing about Carlisle and me. Our relationship may not be as close as I was to my mother, or even Mr. Johnson for that matter. However, when we did have conversations, he was able to take my complex thoughts and ideas that always seemed to float in the ether and transform them into something grounded and tangible.


He laughed quietly. "Ahh…we've come to the age old question that every man must answer for himself. You really want to know if Bella is the right one, if she's the one. That, my son, I cannot answer. I'm not going to give you those overdramatized speeches like the parents do on the Bachelor—you know your mother is absolutely enraptured by the show. She even contemplated nominating you as a candidate."


"You were just going to let her, weren't you?"


"Perhaps." Then, he went on to say. "Past that, Edward. I want you to know you are at the point where there aren't any more multiple choice options. There is only true or false, and once you know what that answer is, you'll know if you are truly moving in the wrong direction or the right direction after all."


"Thanks, Dad," I smiled.


"My pleasure," he smiled back. Quite suddenly, another knock came from the door and soon, my mother stepped in, initially looking tense.


"If you, two don't get a move on, we will be late—my, just look at my handsome men," she expressed quite proudly. Turning toward me, her smile quickly became a grimace. "Edward! Where is your tie?"


It was nice to have Esme around. Moms always made the best distractions.




Maybe it was the optimistic part that Marco had built up in me. Or maybe it was just me having hallucinations. However, I really thought that he would just come outright and say that he wanted to take me back.


The car ride was uneventful, but I was sure that he wanted me back; he sat next to me in the limo. He said I looked nice and smiled.


But he was wrong. I looked better than just nice. I wore an onyx-colored floor-length gown with a plunging neckline and subtle sequin detail along the bodice line. No splits mid-thigh, and nothing too revealing. I had picked it out, trying to keep classy and sexy in mind. And when I picked it out Marco never expressed that he didn't approve of it.


Marco helped me step out of the car, and I felt slight spark from his touch. I knew he had to feel that. He even went so far to walk me inside the hotel lobby. There, I felt everyone was watching me and Marco.


Maybe everyone could see it. Maybe it was written on my face.


We were heading towards the bar, weaving through the crowd, when all of sudden—


"Marco! Is that you?"


I turned around to come face to face with this…gorgeous woman. Her skin was the color of mocha with a hint of bronze glow, her smile suggesting warmth. Her auburn hair cascaded into messy loose curls that seemed to only enhance her features. Her facial bone structure was one models would kill for, let alone her body—full and curvaceous in her red, off-the-shoulder dress.


Damn her.


"Zafrina…how are you?" Marco greeted as he gave her an extra affectionate hug that seemed to have lasted a little too long.


"Oh, just great," she replied, pulling away to look at me with genuine curiosity.


"This is Tanya," Marco began. "She was my partner in the competition." Partner.


"It's so nice to meet you, Tanya! Silly me, I didn't introduce myself. I'm Zafrina. I am an old friend of Marco."


I nodded and smiled. "Nice to meet you, too."


Zafrina looked around in awe. "Gosh, everyone here looks so beautiful. I really need to get invited to more events like this, or I will never leave the lab."


She was smart and pretty.


She laughed and then said, "Hey, thanks Marco for inviting me tonight."




"I'm going to go get a drink. Excuse me."


As Zafrina moved away, and Marco started towards the ballroom, I demanded in a low whisper, "How do you know her?"


"She's part of my past."


"You mean, you dated her."


"I wouldn't call it dating…" he implicated.


At the round table, I couldn't think of anything but anything but that stupid conversation. I didn't notice how nicely decorated out table was, or the fact that Bella and Edward were a table over. I didn't notice that Jacob was trying to win the attention of Zafrina while Liz futilely was trying to use him to make P.J. jealous, who wouldn't stop glaring at Jacob (Alice had to give me the 411). I couldn't keep up the conversation, only able to insert "mmm…" and "Really?" when it deemed appropriate. Once again, Alice had to keep the table flowing and lively.


This was how my night was kicking off.


Someone struck a glass, chiming to get our attention. Reluctantly, I turned towards the front stage to see a short man standing at the podium. I usually didn't listen to the introductory speeches because they were all the same: he announced the competition statistics, congratulated the finalists, thanked the judges, and then wished for an eventful evening.


This time was no different. I carefully tuned into Zafrina's soft voice, listening for giggles, sighs, and small talk. However, she was quite still as the emcee recited his speech with a stale delivery.


At last, dinner was served.


My glass was emptied (again), and still I couldn't make Zafrina disappear from my mind. All I could think about was Marco having sex with her…and not wanting to have sex with me.


Losing my appetite, I resorted to sizing up my competition. "So, what is it that you do again?"

Zafrina chuckled and replied. "I work in the biochemical field. Right now, I'm in the middle of testing this new drug to see if we can eliminate the teratogenic effects presented in other drugs in order to see we can halt the development of certain birth defects. If successful, we can greatly reduce the number of newborns afflicted with birth defects. How about you?"


"I dance," I replied rather flatly.


"Ooo…what style?"


"Latin ballroom and the Argentine Tango."


Zafrina, as if she was child, turned to Marco with wide, surprised eyes. "You never took me dancing," she accused.


He chuckled and replied smoothly, "Trust me, it took me a while to learn how to use these two left feet."


She giggled. "Well, I guess you can't be good at everything."


I chuckled, a little irritated. Before I could contemplate why my wine glass was empty again, the emcee came back, this time wearing a very somber expression. "While you enjoy your dinner, fellowshipping with one another, we would like to remind you all how…special it is to have us all together again. Every year, we come together through our passion and dedication to dance. Unfortunately, the dance world has lost one of its shining stars."


He's talking about Mr. Johnson, I thought to myself.


"Theodore Johnson served us as more than just a competitor. He was instructor, he was a leader. He gave his time to teach the next generation about something as traditional as ballroom. He was a good friend to some us, and a great leader to all of us. Theodore, you will be missed. We would like to take this moment to show a video, a tribute to his life."


The lights dimmed and a projector was started, rolling a presentation of Mr. Johnson's life. Just hearing his voice and seeing his face—it was all too much.


I tried to stare at the screen, but the pain pinched my side, setting my tattoo on fire. It felt as if everyone could see the pain in me, as if everyone could see my flaws. Everything felt stuffy. My dress felt too tight. I was creeping on the edge of an anxiety attack.


Barely thinking, I barely registered that I was standing up, muttering something. I found myself rushing towards the exit doors. A hand went out to reach for me, but I slipped past its grasp. I passed the lobby, going out in the crisp air of the night.


It was a little cold on my exposed skin, but I was too stubborn to accept the jacket from the bellhop. Sighing, I touched my forehead, trying to pull myself together just walking away from the place that was causing me pain at the moment. I took off my heels, and I just walked around the block.


Same routine every time.


A good ten minutes passed before I was able to guide myself back to familiar lands. As I approached the lobby, I saw there was a figure coming towards me. At first, I thought it was Marco, waiting for me. So, I hurried to meet him.


Only…it wasn't Marco. I ran only to come face to face with the ghost of my past. Only he was flesh and blood.


"I knew you would find your way back to me."


"James," I breathed, holding my chest. I think my heart stopped.




Accompanying Edward and me at our table were good friends of Edward's parents: Charles and Makenna from Scotland, and Mary and Randall from Canada. I was almost starstruck, sitting at a table of professional dancers. Part of me didn't feel like I deserved it. Really, who was I kidding? I was coaxed by my best friend to dance, ended up competing as a substitution. Now, I sat next to some of the greatest dancers of all time, posing as their equal. It was almost unfair to them. It was really mind-boggling for someone like me without any type of dance background to become so highly skilled in such a short time.


And now, I was sharing this intimate moment with them as we all paid respect to Mr. Johnson.


Edward was a still as a statue as frame by frame, the memory of Mr. Johnson flickered past his eyes. Holding his hand, I relaxed my head on his right shoulder. I peered at Esme who dotted the corners of her eyes while Carlisle rubbed the small of her back.


"Look Bella, there's me," I heard Edward quietly say.


There he was…a little blond boy on the screen with a younger Mr. Johnson. They both seemed to be happy, caring a small ribbon for honorable mention.


"Edward…your hair…"


"Born with hair like Carlisle, and it grew into dark locks like Esme," he sighed.


The next photograph was a picture of Mr. Johnson with a dancing couple, both young and gorgeous. "Is that…?"


"Yes, those are my parents."




More pictures consumed the screen, ranging from different points in Mr. Johnson's life. There are pictures of him when he started out as a young dancer, of his marriage, of his first studio. His whole life seemed documented in this short five minute tribute.


I was touched. Literally, I felt someone move behind me as the presentation continued.


I was never one for funerals because I never responded the way everyone expected. I didn't cry at Grandma Marie's funeral, but I do get emotional every time I make her famous stroganoff. I'm a complex mess.


However, looking around the room, they were so many people here that seemed to be affected by the passing of Mr. Johnson. Some only knew him as strictly a competitor; others knew him more intimately, such as the Cullens. It was a moving sight to see.


Finally, the lights regained strength and the presentation ended with Mr. Johnson's voice, saying, "We often let words get in the way; sometimes, we need to let the dancing do the talking."


Silence settled over the crowd for a moment as everyone returned to reality, coming out of their nostalgic daydreams. Esme was the first speak at our table.


"Well, at least they used a good picture of us. Carlisle, you have a tendency to photograph goofy…"


The whole table erupted in laughter. It wasn't because Esme's remark was particularly funny, but it was just the kind of thing needed to provide some relief.


As emcee drew back in the crowd, speaking about the competition, and the live band onstage commenced, inviting dancers and amateurs alike to test their skills on the center wooden floor.


Carlisle didn't hesitate to invite Esme to dance with him, and gladly she accepted. Soon, our table was only populated by Edward and me. I waited for him to invite me out to the floor, when he whispered in my ear, "You can relax, love. We don't have to dance if you don't want to."


I let out a breath of relief. "Good."


Edward chuckled and then took my hand, caressing it methodically, while never breaking my gaze. "I'm pretty sure I told you this already, but you look absolutely breathtaking tonight."


I giggled. "I'm pretty sure you have. However, that doesn't mean I get tired of hearing it." I kissed his cheek briefly before he said, "I love you so much, you know that?"


Once again, I giggled. "Yes, and I love you, too."


"I apologize for my—" Thinking ahead, I halted his apologetic mutters, placing my fingers on his lips.


"Edward, this night isn't about that. It's just you and me tonight. No one else, so let's try to make memorable, please?"


"You're right, love. You are so right," he smiled.


I sighed, grinning and looking around. "Rarely do I ever get to experience this. The highlight of my social life has been one dismal homecoming junior year in high school. I didn't go to prom or any formals afterwards."


"Why not?" he asked, sounding so intrigued.


I shrugged. "Never had anyone I wanted to go with."


Edward's did his crooked smile again. "Bella, there's something I have to ask you."


"Go ahead," I said, but Edward abruptly rose from his seat, causing me to think I had said something wrong. He glared above my head, drawing my attention to the approaching guest—Aro.


"What a fine evening. Wouldn't you agree, Edward?" Aro greeted, tipping his head politely. "I hope I'm not intruding."


Edward took my arm again, intertwining his fingers with my own, as I rose from my seat. "Aro."


Aro enveloped my free hand and kissed it. "And how are you, young lady?"


"Fine." My voice broke, losing the confident vibe I was trying to portray.


"Will you please send my condolences to the Johnson family? What an unfortunate event and especially in the middle of the competition…," Aro spoke sincerely, though I was sure it was far from it. "And so young."


"Mr. Johnson set out to serve his purpose in life, and he accomplished it. He led a life of fulfillment," Edward argued. "Unlike some instructors, he didn't value his career by the amount of trophies he won, but in the amount of people he touched and helped." It was a subtle but direct insult to Aro. Everyone knew he recruited only the best of his academy to serve one purpose—to win.


Aro grinned beatifically. "I'm sure he was a very good man."


"Well, if it isn't Aro, still snatching up dancers for his little army," a snide voice commented. Turning around, I noted the unusually tall man hiding his thin frame behind a full tux, his long, almost shocked white hair flowing down his back. And at his side, was a man of almost equal stature; however his hair was jet black. The dark-haired man commented. "Yes, seems as if Aro is still harassing the young Carlisle."


"Vladimir. Stefan." Displeasure thickly seeped from Aro's pronunciation of each name. "When's the last time your company won an international title?"


Stefan (I presumed the one with the dark hair) replied, "Well…let's see. Would it be..."


"The last time your company didn't try to swindle their way to the top," Vladimir completed. If I wasn't watching their lips move, I wouldn't have known which of the two gentlemen had spoken. It was like the freaky twin telepathy thing that made us all wish we were Mary Kate and Ashley when they were ten.


Aro, his eyes not hiding the hate that he harbored, patted Edward on the shoulder with quite the forced farewell chortle. "Oh, well. Edward, the offer still stands…"


Edward smiled unkindly. "And sadly, I still must decline."


"Well, in that case, I wish you…the best tomorrow."


"Thank you," Edward replied uneasily as he watched Aro seemingly glide away and share inaudible words with this young, unrecognizable female. Quietly, Edward whispered, "I'll be right back."


Before I could make my escape with him, Vladimir and Stefan turned to me with interest.


"So, you must be the famous Isabella Swan," Vladimir greeted. "I have heard so much about you. You have become quite the star."


"Really?" I blushed, thinking about the fact that people were actually talking about me.


"Oh, don't worry," he grinned. "It's only been nice things."


"Yes, nice things," Stefan echoed.


Changing the subject, "Do you have dancers competing this year?" I asked.


Stefan chuckled. "Heavens, no. Our company dissolved years ago due to Aro stealing away all our dancers. Instead, we have become part of the judging committee."


Vladimir frowned, "Doesn't matter how much we despise that man and his little toy soldiers, they are really true to form. Every year, I've seen dancers dreams crushed by his regime, simply because they merely didn't expect such domination. However, we've really seen some exceptional talent this year."


"Yes, we've seen amazing talent, reaching past our wildest expectations! Very refreshing!" Stefan added with glee. "I know we really shouldn't be saying this, but—off the record—we are greatly looking forward to crowning some new champions this year, after seeing some real shaking up. We really shouldn't converse too long…people start get suspicious."


"Claiming things like 'cheating.' Preposterous!" Vladimir laughed happily. Stefan chimed in gaily. Still chuckling to themselves, they quickly bade me farewell, granting me the opportunity to escape and find Edward.


It didn't take me long. He was actually approaching me out in the lobby with two drinks in hand, offering one to me.

Gladly, I accepted it. After taking a sip—tea—I said to him, "Bringing me a drink doesn't let you off the hook. I can't believe you left me with the Draculas."


He chuckled but didn't respond.


"Laugh all you want," I whispered, "but you won't be sleeping with me tonight."


"Who said we would be sleeping?" he teasingly murmured, before taking a drink. I could see the corners of his mouth pulling up, as if he was trying to hide his smug grin.


"Well, you do look pretty darn handsome in that tux," I qualified, smiling. I stroked his chin before pecking him on the cheek.


My heart warmed all over.


"Now, if I remember correctly, you said you had something to ask me?"


He seemed to falter a little, trying to gather his thoughts. Then, he grinned again, that crooked little smile that I knew all too well. "It's not important, love," he replied, setting our drinks down. "Come on, let's go for a walk."


It was kind of picturesque. Edward had draped his tux jacket around my bare shoulders, and then wrapped his arm around my waist. It was straight out of a chick flick.


"Two days…" I whispered, looking down. "You're leaving in two days."


"I know. Hard to believe," Edward mumbled. He kissed into my hair. "But don't worry, I will definitely frequent as much as possible. I will call and skype you every day. Twice a day if possible."


"And I will expect them," I smiled, touching his chest lightly.


"Never thought I would be dating one of my students."


"Never thought I would be dating an instructor," I teased. "Then, again. None of them tried to kiss me."


"What?" Edward laughed.


"You made a move on me," I repeated, looking up at him. Those piercing green eyes seem to sparkle a little. "Don't worry. I'm glad you did."


He laughed even louder, just before kissing me so sweetly underneath a canopy of trees. "You are a dream," he whispered in my ear.


As he pulled away, I cradled his face in my small hands. "But you are so real to me," I replied. Studying his face for a bit, I instantly whispered with a smirk, "I think this is where you take me back to the limo to have your way with me."


"You're so impatient, woman." He shook his head, though humored. "But don't worry," he teased. "I'm glad you are."




My phone had been buzzing all night, but dutifully I ignored it. James and I were now in a local pub, relaxing at the bar.

Part of me wanted to go back to the fancy dinner and be with Marco even though it was obvious that he didn't want me. Another part systemically sassed, Forget that fool.


So, here I was with James after having ditched the glitz and the glamour of stuck-up dancers in stuffy suits and dresses for good ol' bar food: burgers and beer. We looked like we had escaped from a wedding. Definitely overdressed.


"Aren't you going to answer that?" James asked, pointing towards my vibrating evening bag. I could hear the amusement in his voice.


"No," I frowned. "He dumped me like a bag of trash. He said he was looking for something serious—as if I was just a booty call. He's nothing but a selfish, inconsiderate ass!" I took a big vicious bite into my burger, and boy, was it delicious. I was careful to not the let the juices run down my chin onto my dress.


James laughed and commented, sipping on his glass of beer. "That's harsh. It's that what you thought when you didn't answer my calls?"


"I thought you would have gotten the message the first time I didn't answer."


"And what message would that be?"


"That we are over," I smiled half-heartedly.


He still held his amused grin. "You are so mean to me, you know that? But, they say you never forget your first love…"


I laughed a little before knocking back my drink. Last thing I needed was more alcohol. But subconsciously, I was trying to drown my heart. "I'm pretty sure I wasn't your first."


"How would you know?" he challenged, crossing his arms.


I didn't have an answer, but I assumed that James fell for anything with legs.


He continued, "Do you know how many times I lay awake at night, thinking about you? Every time I'm with another woman, you are the one on my mind."


I laughed, irritated. "Ha. You fantasize about me?"


He smirked, slinking closer. "Especially about how you used to rake your nails across my back."


"Hey, not in front of the kids," I teased before taking another enormous bite.


"Yeah, you were the best I ever had…" he sighed. He sounded like he was reminiscing, and then he looked over my direction as if he was checking me out.


I smacked him in the shoulder.


"OW!" he yelled, "what was that for?"


"For trying to imagine me naked," I answered matter-of-factly.


He laughed and rubbed his wounded shoulder. "You can't blame a man for trying. I've been watching you all week."—I bet, I thought to myself—"You're really quite amazing…even with your mediocre partner. It's a shame, you aren't in the finals."


"Yeah, but you and Cindy are. I have to hand it to you. She doesn't seem like the dancing type."


"And that's where you wrong," James whispered, leaning closer. "She's been taking gymnastics lessons since she was child, only stopping in high school for cheerleading. When she came to me, saying that you gave her my information, she said she wanted to pick up dance lessons, already flexible. She's almost better than you," he joked.




He laughed again, full and loud. "Okay, so I lied. She's great you know—but she's not a natural…but enough about my partner. Let's talk about yours…You're letting him hit, aren't you?"


I shook my head, feeling slightly angered. "No, James. It isn't like that."


It would have been easier to say yes, but it had never been that way between Marco and me. From day one, he showed no interest in seducing me for sex. It was nice to just be in the company of a man just because he liked spending time with me, not because he thought he was going to get lucky.


"How presumptuous of me…" James replied condescendingly. "You know what? I apologize." James took my hand and kissed it, causing me to shiver uncomfortably. It was like being eighteen again. "So…you are letting him cop a feel instead?" he whispered quietly, curious.


"We haven't even so much as kissed too deeply, James."


"Does he know about Trevor?"


"No, and I'm not going tell him."


"And he's not gay?"


"No. He's a gentleman—unlike you."


"I'm a gentleman," he offered, laughing. "But wow, really? You guys haven't even reached first base—in any of the leagues?"


I looked at him, shocked. "Why must you always belittle physical forms of romantic expressions to perverted metaphors of the juvenile years?"


He threw up his palms in surrender. "Look, I'm just curious to know what kind of guy—or girl for that matter—doesn't want to have sex with you. I mean, look at you; you're hot!"


I remembered when Edward rejected me and Marco just constantly discarded the possibility of it. A slight pang.


"Really, if this guy really cares about you as much as you make it sound like, and he still hasn't gotten a lay, he must really like you. But then, I have to ask, why aren't you with him right now?"


I shrugged. "I don't know. I asked him if there was a particular thing about me that bothered him, but all he could say was that he wanted a 'committed relationship' as if every time we got together all we had was sex! But if sex and my personality weren't really the cause…"


"Have you ever factored in that you might intimidate him? Sometimes, guys are afraid of women who appear very aggressive, strong-willed, or ambitious?"


That was when I realized, James really didn't know me as well as Marco did. James still saw the immature, aggressive side of me, only the first layer. However, Marco had dug much deeper, knowing my most vulnerable and sensitive parts.


I shook my head and remarked, "Can we stop talking about him?" I was feeling greatly uncomfortable.


We were quiet for a moment when James took my hand, "You know, I only did this, compete again, so I could be close to you."


I tried to move my hand away but he held fast.


"I know it's been years, but I never forgot about us. I never forgot about the life we had built up together. I know we are different now, matured more or less, and have grown wiser. One of us more than others," he joked. I couldn't help but laugh.


All of sudden, James looked over his right shoulder, the same shoulder I wounded, and complained, "Hey man, can't you see we're talking?"


When I looked up, my eyes almost fell out of their sockets. My jaw might have dropped as well. Maybe I was drunk, but I definitely felt my heart shut down and drop to the pit of my stomach.


"Come on, Tanya. I'm taking you home," Marco expressed quietly, seizing my wrist. I was forced up from my barstool and stumbled a little on my heels.


James got up, placing me in the middle of the two men. "Hey! Who are you?"


"I'm her boyfriend," Marco stated, wrapping his arm around my waist.


However, James took my free arm and pulled me his way. Caught between past and future (let's face it, the present was kind of crappy for me).


With this smug grin, James went on. "You were her boyfriend. And maybe she doesn't want to go with you. You dumped her. Now, she's with me. Next time, you'll realize what you have before you dismiss her."


"Look man, I don't know who you are, but you should mind your business!"


"Tanya is my business!" James replied.


I spoke up, "It's okay, James. I can handle it from here." I was trying to keep a confrontation from breaking out, but no one would listen to me. Maybe my words weren't loud enough. Maybe I wasn't even speaking…


"Really, who is this man, Tanya?" Marco demanded.


"Her baby's father!" James declared indignantly.


Baby. I knew I was definitely going to be sick now—and not because I was tipsy.


Soon, the manager of the bar walked over and said, "I don't want any trouble in my restaurant. I think it would best if you took this outside." That meant it was time to go.


Marco all but pulled away from me in disgust before stalking out of the establishment.


"James, how could you?" I snarled, holding my forehead in confusion.


"He needed to know, Tanya. You can't keep secrets like that from the ones you love. And you can't keep pretending as If he never existed."


"I don't pretend like he never existed!"


"Are you sure?" he asked. He pulled something out his breast pocket and pushed it into my hands. It was a picture, very ratty alone the edges as if it had been burned or damaged from the years. The image itself was black and white and kind of gritty. Almost abstract…like an ultrasound.


It was like he had taken a rusty knife and thrust it into the middle of my chest. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't damn well think.


It took all the power I could to hurry out the door to catch Marco. When I finally got to the street level, there was no one around. Only a few couples strolling the streets and small pockets of families enjoying the company of each other. Groups of friends laughing from the cafes, sipping coffee and tea.


But none of them were Marco.


I was too late.


Some things would never change for me.


No. Not for me.


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