“There’s a boy who keeps calling here for you. He’s very persistent.” She clasps her hands, her brow dipping low.
Thud.
Clint.
“Is there anything you want to talk about? Is this boy bothering you?”
“No!” I shake my head, laughing away her worry with a wave of my hand. “He’s just a friend from back home. I’ve been so busy, I haven’t had time to take his call. He’s probably just worried. I’ll call him.” I back out of her office.
I’m going to kill that little stalker shit.
Rummaging through my bag for my phone, I call his number, getting no answer. I find a quiet corner of the room and wait for his voicemail.
“You better stop calling my dorm, Clint, or I swear to god, I’ll never speak to you again. I need space—give me that,” I snap, ending the call.
My appetite gone, I head to the showers, thankful there’s no one in here when I arrive. Dumping my bag, I begin peeling off my clothes when a snivelling sound echoes through the room.
“Hello?” I call out, waiting. No reply but more whimpers.
Pulling my clothes back into place I seek out the sound, checking each stall stopping at the last one in the far corner. Wishing I hadn’t bothered when I see Jewel huddled on the tile floor, cradling her foot.
“What happened?” I ask against my better judgement.
“Nothing, leave me alone.” She sniffs, tears staining her cheek.
Bending down, I pry her hand away from her foot. The toenail on her big toe is loose. “It’s best to take it off and let the new nail come through,” I advise her.
This won’t be the first time she’s lost a nail. “I’ll bandage it up for you. You’ll be fine.”
“Why?” She wipes her cheeks screwing up her face like she’s tasted something bad.
Pulling her to her feet, I help her hobble to a bench along the back wall. “Because I’m not an asshole.” I tell her dropping her onto the bench seat before going to the cupboard for the first aid kit kept in all communal areas.
I pull out what I need and join her on the bench.
“Ready?” I ask, pulling her foot onto my lap.
“Ok,” She bops her head, swallowing and looking away.
Pinching the loose nail with tweezers, I lift the nail away, wincing when she gasps and a tear leaks to her cheek.
“It’s over.” I cringe, depositing the nail on a piece of tissue, dabbing the blood with a sterile wipe.
“Nathanial says it’s because I’m malnourished.” Her mouth curls. “He doesn’t understand the pressure I’m under.” She hisses.
I begin wrapping her toe, daring a glance up at her. “I thought if anyone could understand, it would be a fellow dancer.”
Snorting, she swipes at her runny nose. “His parents aren’t like mine. My mother…” she bristles. “She expects so much.”
“Was she a dancer too?”
“How’d you guess?” She shakes her head, inhaling a deep breath.
Sticking some tape on the bandage to keep it in place, a sigh leaves my lips. “My mother was the same way. It’s taken forever to get her voice out of my head. If I’m being honest, it’s still there. I’m not sure being a dancer would have been my choice,” I say aloud, feeling a weight lift.
“Was the same way?” her head tilts, studying me.
“What?” I ask, lost in a moment of thought.
“You said she was the same way—past tense.”
The cold chill of her memory wraps around my neck like a noose. “She died before I came here.”
I finish with her toe and gently place her foot down. “Toxic is toxic, Jewel. It doesn’t matter who the person is.”
Silence lingers and then she murmurs. “Are you going to take Nathanial from me?” her voice is broken, vulnerability wrapping around her question.
She’s just as damaged as the rest of us.
Placing the left-over medical material back in the box I get to my feet. “He’s not interested in me like that. How could he be when he has you?” I rest a hand on her shoulder and gently squeeze.
“This doesn’t make us friends,” she calls out to me as I head toward the shower.
No, it makes us human.
A light sweat covers Joelle’s brow as she marches up and down the bar making orders, my signaling to her going unnoticed.
The noise is loud tonight, every table is full making me flustered to be dealing with so many customers.
Simon makes his way down the bar to me, holding his hand out. Begrudgingly I hand him my next order for a table of six, all women celebrating a friend’s birthday, I fan my face to attempt to cool my heated flesh.
I’ve been awake for sixteen hours and keep daydreaming about my bed. Simon pushes a drink I didn’t order across the bar to me. “Drink this. Trust me, it will help you make it through the rest of the night.”