My Love, My Drug, My Release

Chapter 5: Dance With Me

Linda's birthday planning slowly became so obvious that I could hardly believe she still didn't know I knew. I just hoped she wasn't going to invite too many people, and certainly none of my "friends" from school. Even though I was going to cheer practice four days a week, including four hours on Saturday, I still didn't feel like they were my friends, per se. I certainly didn't trust them not to geek out over Paul.

Speaking of him, he'd barely been drinking or smoking as of late, and with Linda out, taking Mary with her much of the time, I'd returned to him alone in the house almost every day. The Monday before the Wednesday of my birthday, I came home right after school (there was no practice on Mondays or Fridays) and Paul was sitting at the piano, sipping a bottle of Coke. He'd trimmed his beard and, I think, the back of his hair.

"Hi," I said, coming into the room, dropping my rucksack on the floor, flicking my fringe out of my eyes. It was just long enough to be annoying, but I couldn't bring myself to get it cut back to the length I'd had it since I was a little girl.

"Hi," he said, his eyes scanning a book of classical piano music.

"Did a package come for me, by any chance?"

"No, are you waiting for something in particular?"

"Yeah, some new uniform skirts. They're on back order so I have no idea when they'll arrive."

He looked over at me after that, eyes a bit crooked. "Why do you need new skirts?"

"These are too short."

Paul glanced down at my legs, and then back up at my face and shrugged. "It looks fine to me."

"Well, St. Peter's Co-Education Academy disagrees," I said with a hint of bitterness. I stood there a bit awkwardly, not sure what to do with conversation now that'd been started. Then I caught a smell of something. "Is that Coke? Only Coke?"

"Yeah, why, you want one."

"I'd like a sip of that one."

He hesitated before handing it over. The glass was warm in my hand, probably hadn't been in a fridge recently, if at all. I took a sip and recoiled slightly.

"I think that's more Jack than Coke, honestly."

"That's good Scottish whiskey, have a little respect."

"Well, if it's so good, why are you ruining it with soda? Maybe you're afraid Linda will catch you day drunk again-"

He stood up and caught my wrists. "Lo, please, I'm not drunk, I can't leave this house without being mobbed by angry fans, I'm dying of boredom. I put a little splash in there, I'm sorry, please don't tell your mom."

I twisted my wrists out of his grip and stepped away, folding my arms across my chest. "She's not my mom."

His face softened and he ran his hand through his hair. He got that look on his face he'd gotten a few times before when he tried to talk about my mom, because he lost his mom too. While he'd dated Linda, we'd gotten along really well, better than he and Jackson had, that's for sure, but I could never get on board with this topic.

"Are you playing this?" I asked, pointing to the music book, changing the subject.

He looked at me puzzled, before shaking his head. "No, I can't read music."

"You can't?"

"No, not at all, never learned."

I sat down on the bench and began to play. For as long as I could remember, I knew how to read music. I don't even quite remember how I learned. Does anyone remember how they learned to speak or their family's names? It had just always been a part of my general knowledge. The playing was a little tougher; I'd barely gotten past playing Christmas carols, and I'd scarcely touched a piano since I was very young, but the song was a relatively simple one, mostly quarter and half notes in the treble clef and whole notes in the bass. But once I got warmed up, it sounded quite pleasant.

Paul sat next to me, his leg against mine on the tiny bench. I could feel him watching me, and my ring finger slipped from G to F causing an unfortunate sound, but I just continued on.

"I thought you said you didn't know how to play," he whispered, his mouth a few inches away from my ear.

"No, I said I didn't know how to play the guitar."

"But you do."

"But I don't, and I don't really play piano either. Anyone can press keys slowly, I just happen to know how to read a piece of paper telling me which keys to press."

He chuckled and stood up. "You are truly determined to never give yourself credit for anything, aren't you?"

I didn't respond, not wanting to give him any satisfaction. He just laughed some more, and there was the sound of things being moved about behind me. After I repeated the last line with the retard on the second ending, I heard a pin being placed on a record. Turning around, I saw Paul swaying to some smooth jazz. I usually didn't go for that kind of music, but it was actually pretty groovy. Maybe it was just watching Paul dance that was groovy. He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, which was close to dressed as he ever got. Normally, he opted for PJs and a bathrobe.

"C'mon, dance with me," he said.

Giggling slight, I shook my head. "No way."

"No, you have to, you're too young to turn down a dance," he said, setting down his spiked Coke and taking my hand. "Plus, you have to practice for your party."

I hesitated, then snatched his drink up off the table. "I'll dance with you if you swear  you won't force me to at the party."

He gave me smile. "I would never force you to do anything."

Satisfied, I took a long swig of the coke, almost finishing it off before I couldn't stomach anymore; it was very strong.

"Easy there, Lo," Paul said.

I rolled my eyes and set the bottle down, my throat and chest fiery and I didn't even feel less anxious. Alcohol was a lie.

"Okay, so you put your left hand on my shoulder, and then your other hand-"

"I know how to dance, Paul."

"Thought you didn't, or do you secretly play the guitar, the piano, and dance."

We shuffled a bit, getting used to the rhythm. Or rather, I was getting used to it; Paul had rhythm in his soul. "I just don't care for dancing. I always end up embarrassed."

"Did something happen?" he asked, using the hand on my back to pull me closer to him as the song changed to a slower one. "Was it something with Brandon? I know he took you to a dance once-"

"It has nothing to do with Brandon; I've never liked dancing."

He nodded, pulling me closer still. Eventually, I was so close, I had no choice but to put my head on his shoulder. As the alcohol started to make my mind feel like it was too full of air, I let him put my right hand over his shoulder as he dropped his left one to my waist. The song was a crooning kind of jazz number, and I was almost drunk. He most certainly was. I threaded my fingers through his hair. It was soft, clean. He'd washed that day, probably around midday.

Just as I thought my brain might float out of my head and never return, the sound of the door being unlocked cut through the music. We broke away from each other before I could even process what was going on, I grabbed my rucksack off the floor and jogged upstairs. When I got up to my room, I closed the door and flopped on my bed, my drunkenness feeling more like a strange sickness than a pleasurable escape. Most of all, it made it impossible to pretend I ran away so I wouldn't see Linda's party supplies, and not that I was embarrassed to be dancing with Paul. Because dancing with your stepmom's husband isn't something you should feel embarrassed about.

A longer chapter, yay, hope you all enjoyed it. I know the school isn't real, but I figured it would be easier to make one up that try to realistically portray one that actually exists. Thanks to everyone who reads, comment, and votes, you guys are amazing!