WORK IN PROGRESS: The Dancer

Decisions

I rose when my alarm went,  still tired. Both physically and mentally. I looked at Juan, spread across the bed like a ten year old sibling claiming their space. Since when did I look at him as a chore than a pleasure.  When did his Portuguese endearments start to sound rote, or like they weren't meant for me.  How many passionate kisses had we shared lately.  I didn't know the answers to the other questions,  but the last was once.  Last night.  Probably why it affected me so much.

I felt a tear slide down my face.  This felt like an ending.  I drew a shaky breath and closed the bedroom door on him.  Maybe I'll try one more time tonight. One last time.

I was able to forget my troubles at work.  There were some interesting correlations in the research I was reviewing,  but I had some questions about a ongoing study into the benefits of culture recording towards preservation of ancient cultures and the interim paper in this. It seemed that there was something weird about the explanation.  It seemed very gender orientated.  I looked up one of the scientists listed on the contract database,  found them,  and sent them an email.

While I was there,  I checked the other emails.  Someone was trying to organise a catch up after work tonight.  Someone's birthday.  I sighed  I'd love to go. I really feel like escaping,  and there's no escape for me than people watching at a party.  I was the ultimate wallflower,  but happy to be,  and glad to be a people watcher. I just couldn't miss a rehearsal with Juan, he relied on my observational skills to improve his footwork,  or so he said.  I think he just enjoys me watching him... or he used... before Emma... now he doesn't take notice.  What the hell,  he didn't notice me missing last night.

I sent a yes response. One night away from the drama queen won't hurt me.  I felt lighter already. My mind buzzed with ideas and plans, dragging my mood into rainbows and sunshine.
Squee, I knew exactly what to wear. 

Later that night I danced into the house,  it was a decent samba. Tomorrow morning might be a bit dodgy,  but tonight was worth it. I flopped into the couch and slipped off my shoes.  Oooooh divine. My feet stretched out in relief.  I frowned at them. How dare they complain when the rest of me had fun.  OK, my head was starting to wind up the hangover engine,  ready for blast off in ohhh, 2 hours.  Wow late night. Mid week birthday bash... bad idea.

I stretched,  still fun.  I closed my eyes  in delight, and then opened them to the full cacophony of the hangover,  body strain and sore feet together.  Worst trio ever.  Ewwww. I checked my phone which was being the most annoying little brother ever and beeping its head off with the alarm. I switched it off.  Take that, you technological twat. I sighed and stood up in a waft of cigarettes,  beer and bo. The unmistakable odour of a good night out. But not good for a good day at work.  Some might call it shabby.  Shower time it is.

I worked out I was still feeling the freedom of making a decision for myself, without having to take anyone else's issues into consideration. It was... nice.  So was the shower.
I walked into the bedroom to find Juan taking up more bed space than I thought physically possible. Emma must have worked him hard last night.  He even had the drool coming out of his own mouth.  Completely out of it.  I smiled fondly,  selected my clothes for today, and dressed. In the kitchen I selected my hero for the day,  Coffee,  and his trusty sidekick,  Paracetamol. These two champions were going to do their best to get me through the day. I patted my travel mug.  Good luck buddies.

And off to work we went.

There we were greeted with other poor souls whose heroes weren't quite as successful as Coffee and Paracetamol were for me. This is a free book available through Wattpad (c) LTM1986. If you are not reading this on Wattpad, it had been stolen. Sunglasses abounded inside.  Either there was an unannounced supernova inside the building,  or we all had a really good night. 

I logged into my computer and proceeded to commence the most ineffective day of work in the history of work.  To be fair, I did have very stiff competition.

By lunch time the number of staff finding excuses to head home sick was significant. I was still going strong,  although my coffee supply was weak.
And I got a visitor.

Juan sauntered in.
"You got released?" I teased him. He told his head in confusion like a little puppy. "No practice with Emma?" I clarified.
"No, " He confirmed, shaking his head. "That woman,  she is a slave driver."
He paused as he sat down. " I missed you last night, meu bem." He gave me that smile that first caught my eye. I felt a little tingle start until he continued. "Emma was hoping you'd bring some more food for us."

Aaand there it goes.  All that happy feeling I'd been nurturing from last night,  poof, gone in a flash. I looked down, disappointed. 
"Meu Chuchu?" He queried.
"Who am I to you?" I asked him, quietly.
His beautiful eyes looked pained and confused.
"You're minha Vida, my gorgeous,  my woman,  my peace." He lifted his hand and cradled my cheek."Why do you ask?"
"I feel like I'm your chef." I admitted
"You are an amazing chef." He agreed.
Not what I was going for, Buster. I made a decision.
"I will no longer be coming to your practice sessions. I do not like the way I am treated by Emma,  and I will not put myself in the position of being maligned by her. I will cook for you at home and have food ready for you when you have finished and come home." I stated.
"Minha querida, don't take her word to heart, she's just a bitch." He soothed me.  I looked into his eyes,  and nodded.
"I know,  and she's your best chance to win.  But I will not be her punching bag.  I will stay away. She's your dance partner,  your problem.  Not mine."