Accolade

chapitre seize

Nothing had changed since I fell asleep. 

I was roused awake by movement and I peeled open my eyes. An episode of Lucifer was still playing on the television, and night had settled over the city beyond my windows. I had thought it was much later but a quick glance at the clock on the wall told me it was only a quarter to eight. Warren moved his shoulder again and I pulled my head up. I had still been sleeping against him.

He froze. "I didn't mean to wake you, my arm had gone numb."

I rubbed my eyes. I glanced around and realized only the two of us remained on the couch. There was a delicious scent wafting from the kitchen. I sat up a little straighter. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to sleep so much."

"Are you always so apologetic?" Warren asked, and I realized he was teasing only when I met his dark eyes and blinked. "I'll have to teach you some of my ways then. Do what you want, and don't give a fuck who it pisses off." 

Even at his vulgar words, I felt a smile creep onto my face. "Is it your way or the highway?" 

He quirked a brow. "My way, not the shy way." 

"I think I like that a lot more," I grinned, "Any other inspirational quotes for me?"

"I'm not sappy," He crossed his arms, and then added, "I like to use paint for my inspirational moments."

"You paint?" 

"Watercolor," He nodded, "I've just started tampering with it this past year. I guess it's not much different than sketching, it's just colorful." He looked down at me again, something fervent flaring in his eyes, "You know, you should try it sometime. It's a great stress reliever, you just get to splatter all your feelings on a canvas." 

"You make it sound like therapy," I hummed, although I was greatly enjoying our conversation. I was learning more about him, and he wasn't trying to keep his walls up. 

"In a way, I think it is."

"I don't have watercolor supplies here."

"I'll get some."

"Alright."

"Alright?" 

"Yeah, I mean, why not?" I shrugged. It wasn't like I had a booked schedule anymore. "I've always wished that I was more artistic and creative."

"Aida," He said my name with slight displeasure, "Ballet is an art. You are brilliant at it."

"I was."

"Are," He repeated, "Just because you're temporarily absent doesn't mean you've lost all of it. Your muscles have memory, they will know what to do again."

"I suppose," I said, and then I felt like I needed him to confirm his faith in me, so I asked, "Do you think I can dance again?"

He was silent for a moment. "Of course I do."

I didn't sense a lie. Instead, I felt something else entirely. Desperation. One he shared with just four words. He needed me to be okay as much as I did. He needed it because he couldn't watch another leave. I needed it because I didn't know who I was without ballet. "Thank you," I whispered. 

I suppose that was the worst part about cancer. It didn't only thieve a healthy body. It stole moments, memories, and money. It ruined careers, relationships, and hope. Every day that passed, it kept winning. Kept thieving. Those around have to watch a loved one become a shell of themselves, slowly, as cancer liked to take its time. 

If I could go now, and skip who I'd be in the end, I would. 

"You guys hungry?" Auden called from the kitchen, "Dinner is almost done!"