For the past two days, it never occurred to me that participating in a semi-formal dance to be held in the school building required at least a little bit of dancing skills, even if it meant swaying back and forth and spinning around in the same spot while holding the hands of your partner. Or maybe even a sick dance move that you could break into when the DJ decides to break into a sweat beat drop, hoping to wow the crowd even though you look like a complete idiot in the middle of a crowd that would whisper things behind your back and point fingers at you the next few following days.
Unfortunately, I had none of either, and I actually considered on bailing Jake so that I wouldn't have to make a fool of myself, and of him when the day of the dance came.
I broke the news to him the morning after I bought the dress, when I was in for my morning shift at Connors'—it was a Sunday, I know, but I needed some extra money for the dance and to pay Mel back for the dress, no matter how much she insisted not to. I recalled telling that to him before, but he must've not taken it too seriously because when I told him yet again, he didn't take the news as well as I'd hoped.
"I thought you were joking last Friday when you said you couldn't dance." His voice was cracking and filled with static due to the poor reception from inside the building and the shitty Blackberry Curve that Mom gave me for my last birthday. Once again, I was two years too late to join the trend, when the trend had already died and everybody started using iPhones again. Despite this, even though I could ask my parents to buy me a new phone, I was already getting too used to this one and was just too lazy to transfer all my files, especially my music, to a new one.
"I wasn't," I said as I moved the phone in between my cheek and my shoulder as I filled the coffee machine in front of me with coffee beans from a newly-opened bag, pushing a few buttons and letting it warm up a bit before taking the phone back to my hand. "Don't get me wrong, I've been to these parties before; I just never attended any of them with a proper date before, so I didn't need to dance. Besides, I'd always bail three hours before the party actually ends, so I didn't think that it was necessary this time."
I heard him sigh from the other end of the line, flinching away slightly when the sound nearly became an ear-deafening static. "What time does your shift end?"
I frantically turned around to glance at the clock, taking a few good seconds to count how much time I had left before I could escape this hellhole. "Thirteen minutes and forty-six seconds."
"Good. I'm heading there right now; don't you dare move away from the counter or I will muffle you with a cloth drenched in chloroform. I would also like to order a cup of double-shot espresso, please. I'm going to need it if I wanna stay awake after staring at the ceiling for three hours straight just waiting for something interesting to happen."
The line went dead immediately after, leaving me no chance to respond to his sudden demands. I almost burst out laughing upon realizing that he might not be kidding about him just staring into nothingness, waiting for someone to call him and inform him that they couldn't go the dance just because they couldn't exactly dance. He seemed somewhat bewildered and even outraged when I first told him I couldn't dance, and I wasn't even lying about it.
Some people might say that everybody could dance, just like how everybody could sing, neither of which I was really capable of doing. I was about as graceful as a chicken, lacking rhythm and pace whenever I even attempted to do such a thing. I was only thankful that, unlike other girls her age, Gwen would only hum whenever a song she liked played on the radio instead of twirling around the room like an idiot. She didn't even last that long in ballet class because her teacher constantly chastised about how she would just sit in the corner of the room while the others would practice and socialize with each other. We couldn't blame her, so our parents had to cut her lessons short and occupied her days with books instead.
After realizing that I only had a little more than ten minutes left to prepare Jake's impromptu order and finish cleaning up my station, I immediately got back to work, pacing back and forth from counter to counter as I prepared the coffee. I also finally realized that he wanted a double shot, only to recall that he also had a somewhat unhealthy addiction to coffee in addition to his smoking addiction. I shrugged and prepared the double-shot anyway, and just as the glorious machine in front of me buzzed and gave a little sigh, the bell above the door chimed before it was interrupted by the door bursting open and nearly hitting the wall behind it.
Jake strode in looking like a mad man, before glancing at the clock above the chalkboards and then staring at the steaming cup of coffee I had in my frozen hand. His eyes then moved to me and his lips pursed as soon as he saw my widening eyes, pressing them to a thin line as he managed an awkward smile.
"Well, I can't say that I should blame you considering how I'm still three minutes too early," he said, laughing nervously. "Sorry. I was just too excited too early as soon as I heard your call for help because I would literally do anything else other than cringing in disgust while listening to all the noises coming from the apartment room next door. I think someone should really tell the guy that the walls aren't exactly sound-proof when they're for a subsided apartment building."
I bit my lower lip and pretended to not hear that. Resuming back to work, I brought the cup to the cash register and placed a lid firmly on top of it. I pushed a few buttons on the register machine, with Jake appearing right in front of me as soon as the receipt began to be printed out.
"So," I finally said, tearing the receipt out and handing it to him, along with the steaming coffee cup. "I take it that you're not here just for the coffee."
"You might be wrong," he replied, giving me a closed-lip smile as he fished his wallet out of his hoodie. "I've been thinking about my future, and I think that the only reasons why I'll ever need to get a job are to either buy songs from iTunes or buy coffee, which I hope can be my only source of nutrition for the rest of my life. Then again, I'll die from malnutrition before I can die from lung cancer or car accident, now won't I?"
I barely succeeded in trying to hold back my laughter. "You do know that normal people would never want themselves to contract lung cancer, or any terminal disease, or get involved in any fatal accidents, right?"
"I would've thought you figured it out by now, that I'm not exactly 'normal' per se." He handed to me two dollars. "I've probably offended everybody else who do have either one or more of those things, but life hasn't exactly been a sweet ride for me either. In fact, it's always been bitter, like this cup of coffee right here." He took the lid of the cup off, grabbed a pack of sugar from the small basket in front of the register, tore it open and poured the tiny, translucent crystals into the dark-colored liquid. "Sometimes sugar is added into it, which makes it a little bit sweeter. But then if the coffee has gotten a little bit too cold, the sugar doesn't dissolve and instead sinks to the bottom of the abyss that is the cup, and the rest of the coffee remains bitter as it always is."
He replaced the lid, took a thin straw from its holder and began stirring the liquid with the straw through the tiny hole on the lid. After a few seconds, he stopped, closed his eyes and took a sip. Never have I ever thought that I would be watching someone drinking coffee so intently, especially not after he compared his life to the damn thing itself.
I took a few moments of silence to rethink about his words, before asking, "So, is your coffee still warm, or has it gone cold?"
He raised a curious eyebrow as one side of his lips quirked up. "Well, right now, this one's just fresh from the damn machine so I'm pretty damn sure that this is gonna burn my tongue off if I try to down the whole thing immediately. But if you were continuing from what I said before, then... I'd say it's about halfway down to room temperature."
I still couldn't believe that I was having a life-questioning discussion completely filled with all sorts of coffee puns in the middle of a coffee shop. In fact, I was just surprised that Jason hadn't complained about me chatting with his customers, even when my shift was already over at this point in time. Whatever soap opera he was watching now was probably good enough that he didn't give a shit to all the commotion happening outside of his comfortable little office.
"Anyway, you weren't wrong," Jake then said after taking another sip. "I wasn't here just for the coffee, and I just realized that in my rush to get here—for you and the coffee, by the way—I forgot to haul your bike to Betsy's bed before I have something else in my hands that I will have to put down probably on the sidewalk while doing so."
He gave me the motion to wait where I was for a moment as he headed back out the door, presumably doing exactly what he'd just said. Shrugging to myself, I untied the apron straps around my neck and waist and hung it by the hanger beside Jason's office, and gathered my stuff before heading outside where Jake had disappeared to, only to see him just as he set my rusty old bike into the bed. He didn't take notice of my presence there until he crouched down to pick the coffee cup he placed on the sidewalk and stood back up, plastering the goofy grin onto his face as soon as his eyes landed on me.
"Our next destination, believe me or not, is not your house this time," he said to me as he circled around the car, holding the passenger door open for me like the gentleman he was. I bet he does that for all of the girls he charms with his witty jokes and heart-melting smile, I thought to myself, out of the habit of removing whatever thoughts I might have whenever I felt the slightest bit special. I admit, it was an admirable act, but good manners are what everybody is supposed to have, regardless whether or not it was towards a casual friend or a female companion.
I settled myself into the worn seat of the truck as he entered the driver's seat through his side of the door. He started the engine, and, as usual, Betsy gave a couple of unhealthy coughs before it roared to life and began to move. Seatbelts strapped and everything, Jake even attempted to turn on the old-fashioned radio situated near the dashboard of the truck, but after turning a few knobs and the radio remained broadcasting nothing but static to us, he shut the radio and we were once again engulfed in silence.
Judging by how the truck was driving towards the side of the city packed with more run-down apartment buildings and cheap boarding houses for aspiring transfer students than the other parts of the city, I had a feeling that we were, in fact, heading towards his home instead.
"I'm guessing that your mom is working a weekend shift, just like I was?" I asked, turning to him questioningly.
"Yeah, and the asshole my mom calls her 'boyfriend' went out last night and hasn't returned home—hopefully, he never does, but he'll probably beat me to death if I said that out loud," he groaned in frustration. I almost flinched when he tightened the grip he had on the steering wheel as soon as he mentioned this horrible man, with his left eye twitching ever so slightly, almost unnoticeably even. "But that means that the apartment we're renting is empty right now, which gives us a lot of space to move around and nobody to interrupt us—well, except my neighbor who might be done with whatever he was doing this past couple of hours. At least we don't have a twelve-year-old running around."
I rolled my eyes, nearly bursting into laughter at his pretentious annoyance towards my little sister, something that was understandable for us teenagers. "Gwen's as harmless as a cinnamon roll."
He seemed to be unfazed by my remark, giving me a short glare before returning his attention back to the road. "Yeah? Well, jokes on you because I'm allergic to cinnamon."
I widened my eyes, having not expected such a response, but remained silent anyway. He took notice of this, almost turning back to me immediately that it startled me a little. He soon flashed a small, comforting smile, however, and I soon came to notice that his stance had begun to relax, with his shoulders slumping back and his grip on the wheel loosening slightly.
"And don't worry," he then added a while later, glancing back and forth between me and the road up ahead, trying to maintain his focus while trying to fill in the empty silence between us. "I'm not taking you there just so that I can stab you with a knife and bury your body where nobody will find it—for the last time, I'm not a serial killer. If anybody's as harmless as a cinnamon roll—as you've so calmly said it despite its ability to possibly kill me even—then that harmless person is me. Well, that is unless if a burglar tries to break in, then I have to be the opposite to defend myself and defend you. Really, though, what are the chances of that happening?"
I laughed lightly at his words. "Well, I always bring my pepper spray with me wherever I go, so even if you try to do anything, you won't be able to see for at least a few hours after a few tiny drops of that thing on your eyeballs."
"You do know that if anybody's supposed to be scared of the other person, it should be me. I'm about to teach you how to dance, Hayley—it's bound to end terribly because I bet that by the end of tonight, I won't be able to walk if you keep stepping on my feet throughout the entire afternoon. And I still have school tomorrow, so don't forget that I still need my two feet to drive this thing."
After about ten more minutes of driving, the vehicle eventually began to slow down as we approached one of the four-story apartment buildings that were squeezed in between the others, with absolutely no gap or alleyway in between them whatsoever. The building looked to be decades-old but apparently well-maintained. The exterior was mainly painted with a sepia brown while the fire escape stairwell painted with a matte black, although the paint was starting to fade away and parts of the stairwell looked to be rusted from all the years of unfriendly weather. There were sixteen windows in total, which indicated that there were at least eight rooms available here, with only a few of those windows closed behind curtains. The main entrance was mahogany brown and had a little porch in front of it leading to a few stair steps, with a pathway leading through a small but lifeless garden that was bordered with wrought-iron fencing.
Jake parked the truck by the curb in front of the building. We both exited it at the same time, but I was still too busy taking in the details of the building that I didn't even notice what Jake was doing as I didn't hear his side of the door closing. There were two decent trees on each side of the pathway, shedding its warm-colored leaves all over the grassy floor. There were two large windows on each side of the front face of the building, too, but the fact that they were both covered by beige curtains from the inside gave me an unsettling feeling.
I couldn't help but wonder about the other residents currently living in this building along with Jake, his mother, and her boyfriend. I could only wish that they were just as friendly and welcoming as Jake was, but the uneasy feeling inside of me told me that they were unlikely to be your friendly, next-door neighbors but more likely the rude, loud and annoying kind of people. The kind who would either bang on the door every time you turn on some music in the evening and yelling for you to shut it off, or be the ones to host a fucking party in the dead of night until you have to call the police on them.
I didn't realize that Jake was already standing next to me until he cleared his throat, to which I nearly jump and snatch the pepper spray out of the side pocket of my bag for startling me all so suddenly.
"Sorry for unintentionally surprising you," he said, smiling apologetically. "But would you rather stay here and gawk at the front door or are we going to actually go inside? I mean, if you're too grossed out to go inside or anything, then we can just leave and go to your place instead—"
"No—what? No," I automatically replied, almost completely cutting him off. "Why would I be grossed out? This kinda reminds me of my place—well, except for the fact that it's a little bit shadier, but at least it's not some weird motel in the middle of nowhere and a hundred miles away from the main road."
"Trust me, Hayley; it's safe," he reassured. "If anybody wants to mess with you, they'll have to get through me first."
I almost flinched away when his skin suddenly came into contact with mine, and I looked down to see his hand slowly grasping mine in an attempt to comfort me. He was even hesitant in this action, looking as though he needed my permission just to hold my hand. Although normal people would be uncomfortable by this, he was already more of a friend to me than the people I used to be friends with a couple of years ago, and I found myself not minding his hand intertwined with mine.
Letting my hand relax in his, he finally took the first step and tugged at my hand to tell me to follow suit. I half-reluctantly followed him up the porch steps and into the building, with the wooden door creaking a little bit in its hinges. It opened to reveal the common area, which was nothing more than a wooden desk to our left and a seating area consisting of a few worn couches and a coffee table to our right. The brown wallpaper that covered the walls were peeling around its edges and some parts were even stripped and torn down, while the floor was covered in coffee brown carpeting. The lights on the ceiling and around the walls were dim and yellow, giving an antique-like atmosphere to the area around us.
He didn't give me much time to fully take in my surroundings before he led me towards the hallway straight in front of us, lined with similar wall lights as it branched off towards two directions; one to the back of the building, the other up a steep and narrow stairwell leading to the second floor. He began climbing up the stairs, all without losing grip on my hand, which I used as not only a guide but also something to keep myself steady as I slowly made my way up the ridiculously steep steps. The second floor was not much different with the first one, except that instead of just lights, there were also several wooden doors lined up on each side of the walls of the hallway, all of them with a three-digit number plated in bronze in front of them.
Jake then led me up the second stairwell to the third floor, and although there was another set of stairs beside it, he brought me down the hallway this time, before stopping in front of the door with the number 203 in front of it. He let go of my hand to grab a set of keys from his pockets and took a minute to select one, insert it to the keyhole and twist the knob open, revealing nothing but utter darkness.
I didn't follow him when he entered the darkened room ahead of me, fumbling along the wall behind the door, presumably to find the lights before a soft click was heard and the lights inside the room immediately lit up, and only then did I dare to enter.
The inside of the apartment was nothing more special than the hallways or the common room—the walls were completely bare with the exception of a few framed pictures, and the floor matched the carpeting outside. Directly to my right was the kitchen, consisting of a stove, two counters with the sink on one of them, two island counters that served as the dining table with stools as the chairs, a fridge, and a few cabinets overhead. Next to the kitchen was what I could assume were the living area, with only an old green couch and a matching armchair right next to it, a small coffee table and a CRT television on top of a small wooden cabinet. There were two other doors on the wall right in front of us and one to the right, next to the kitchen and the dining area.
Jake walked over to the single door on the right and opened it, turning the light on and standing by the open doorway as he motioned for me to enter first. I hesitantly complied, before soon realizing that it was, in fact, his bedroom; a double mattress covered with clean white sheets and two white pillows was leaning against one side of the wall, with two wooden bedside tables on either side of the bed and only a table lamp on one of them. A tall wooden wardrobe stood beside the door and in front of the bed was a simple, empty white desk with a white wooden chair. A window was opposite to the door, but the white curtains were wide open, allowing some light to illuminate the room despite the yellow lights.
"You like it?" he asked, appearing right behind me as he moved to close the door behind him. Thankfully, he didn't lock it. "It's a little empty, but I just moved here, so..."
"It can use a little help, yeah," I joked, smiling as my eyes wandered around the room, staring at the plain white ceiling. "But why the bedroom? Why not just the living room outside?"
"Because I don't want to make too much noise that it will agitate the uneasy neighbors," he replied, taking off his shoes and his bag before walking over to the desk and taking his iPod out. He unplugged the earphones and pushed a few buttons on the device before setting it down on top of the table. A familiar guitar intro began to play from the device, and I instantly recognized it after just a few seconds—Ed Sheeran's "Give Me Love."
I might've been a fan of alternative rock, but I fell in love with this song the first time I heard it, and couldn't get rid of it the first week after.
"It's a slow song," I pointed out, slowly approaching to where he was standing. "How is this going to agitate the neighbors?"
He rolled his eyes but smiled. "I wasn't talking about the song; I was talking about the shouts of pain I'll be screaming it after the tenth time you'll be stepping on my toes."
"I won't step on your feet, for God's sake!" I raised my voice defensively, and realized too late that I might've been a little bit too harsh on that one, but he didn't seem to notice.
Instead, he placed his two feet firm on the carpet floor before he motioned for me to come closer to him, which I willingly did. Once I was standing at least a foot away from him, he slowly reached over to take both of my hands in his, which I again willingly allowed, staring at him and his every movement carefully. He placed my left hand on his shoulder and outstretched my right arm with his left arm, and just as his right hand was about to go for my waist, he paused and looked up at me as realization dawned on his face.
"May I?" he questioned with a serious, doubtful look on his face, staring at me straight in the eye as he was hesitant to make sure that I was okay with this.
I couldn't hold back the smile at his gentle actions, which I really greatly appreciated. Ever since the incident happened, I couldn't beat the thought of anybody touching me, even when it was from a friend whom I recognized and knew, especially around the waist area. It had been a year since it happened, though, so I'd mostly settled myself back into my former life and gotten a little bit more comfortable with the people around me, but not without some degree of wariness at first every time I met them, even when I already recognized them.
Regardless, I swallowed hard and bit on my lower lip, before grabbing his hand and putting it around my waist myself. A strange sensation surged through the part where his hand made contact with me, even despite my clothes, only to disappear shortly after.
"Well, we'll be each other's dates for the dance anyway," I said to him, managing a small smile as I looked back at him, whose grave expression hadn't disappeared yet, only added with a slight shock after having his hand placed on me by myself. "So why not now?"
He seemed to have accepted this reasoning, and although he continued to hesitate a few seconds after, he quickly regained his composure and readjusted his posture.
"Okay, well—we'll start with the easiest," he spoke with some difficulty, looking down on both our feet. "I'll teach you a little bit on how to slow-dance, which really requires no skill at all and possibly the only dance we'll be doing throughout the night. Well, as long as they don't start forcing us to do conga line dancing or anything, but otherwise this is the only dance you'll ever need to do. Ever."
Before he said anything else, he then began to move in a swaying motion, with his feet going to his left, closing and then going to his right, following the rhythm of the music as he moved with unimaginable grace. His hands, acting as my guide, forced me to follow him, which I did with some difficulty at first. I soon caught up, however, since I already recognized the beat of the music and was aided by his extremely slow movements, despite the slightly more fast-paced nature of the song, especially when it would begin to approach the second chorus.
He seemed to be pleased by the small improvement, smiling as he began to move around in a small circle, which I had to stumble through yet again, inadvertently causing me to accidentally stepped on one of his toes. I immediately looked up and saw him flinch slightly, pressing his lips to a thin line and closing his eyes a little bit, but he didn't stop. We continued to dance, and again I stepped on his toe, causing him to flinch again. This time, however, he broke into a laugh, apparently not minding the fact that he was right about how I was going to step on all of his toes throughout the afternoon.
"Don't overthink it, Hayley," he then said, refusing to tear his gaze away from me, sending little shivers down my spine. "Just go with the flow. Pay a little more attention to where I'm going, but otherwise, just relax and let your body move along with the music. That's all there is to know—just follow the music, and put your trust in me and believe that I won't let you stumble or fall."
I bit down on my lip again, breathing out a sigh as the song moved to its second verse. Feeling how his body moved so fluidly compared to my stiff movements, I instead focused my hand which was wrapped in his, as it tightened its grip on mine reassuringly for a moment before it relaxed, along with the rest of his arm. I too allowed myself to gradually fall into a more relaxed state and found that I was slowly moving more in sync with the music and with him. The tension in my arms faded away, and my eyes looked up to stare directly into his gray orbs which were filled with so much raw emotion that it almost surprised me to see the gentler, tender side of him, completely the opposite of what I saw just two days ago.238Please respect copyright.PENANA0f0rMoUwPB
Within moments, I was already lost in the music and lost in his eyes, to the point that I wasn't even paying much attention to the song anymore. Even when it already ended, we continued to move in sync, unable to tear my gaze away from him and somewhat afraid to break apart from him—afraid that once we stopped, the magic and the happiness inside of me that nearly overwhelmed me at that one moment would stop, too.
But we eventually did, when he was the one to stop us to grab something else out of his pocket, this time being his phone which received a call. He loosened his grip on his other hand and moved away from me, taking the iPod back to his hands and stuffing it back into his pocket as he was talking to whoever was on the other side of the line. I didn't say anything, nor did I dare to, until he finished his call and turned back to me with a look of disappointment on his face.
"I'm regrettably sorry to cut this short, but I guess we'll have to continue in another time," he said with an upset tone in his voice, his eyes refusing to meet mine. "Although, that other time might be during the dance itself."
"That's fine," I said, shrugging as I hugged my arms around myself. "I'm sure I'll be better when the dance finally comes around."
He didn't seem any more assured by my words, as he bit down on his lip and nodded towards the door. "C'mon, then. The least I can do is take you home. Your bike is still with me, after all, and I doubt that those skinny limbs can lift that thing off the truck."
I would've laughed at the playful joke if the feeling of utter disappointment wasn't overwhelming me right now, so all I did was nod once and headed for the door without him asking me to. I didn't wait for him as I grabbed my bag which I dropped by the front door, opening the door and waiting for him to turn the lights back off and gather the rest of his stuff before he followed me out. We both walked downstairs and out the building in silence, and even as we re-entered the truck, started the engine and finally got the radio working to fill in the deafening silence, we didn't say anything to each other.
We couldn't, all because we both couldn't comprehend whatever happened during that dance of ours. Everything felt so surreal, almost like a dream come true; but once the dance stopped, everything just faded away, and we were pummeled back into the harsh reality that left nothing but uncomfortable tension between us.
We did not speak a word to each other, and once we bid our goodbyes once we reached my house, I turned around and headed inside without even the thought of looking back.
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