Twisted Dance
He was never this close before. Yet, he was never that far at the same time. She could see him with her own eyes and hear his deep voice with a touch of gruffness in it. How much did she really miss that voice or that breathy laugh of his? She could even touch him if she desired, to prove to herself that he was actually there. For the first time since years, he was real.
He stood there with his height towering over the rest of his friends. His old gray shirt and his shaggy black hair was proof of the rough time he was going through. This was one of the things she learned about him in the few months they were together.
Unexpectedly, his stare shifted from his friends and landed on her. Their eyes clashed for a fleeting moment. The clock stopped ticking, commanding the time to freeze. The murmurs, the laughs, all the voices faded to the background. For three solid heartbeats, the world just ceased from existence. It was only them.
His eye never left hers. The unspoken words were explicit “I know you are here. I know you are watching. Nevertheless, who are you now? After all this time?” She glared back at him, giving the answer he once feared “Oh! You will see.” They both knew their private dance was about to start. This time it shall carry on until the end of the dark night. He was the one, who introduced her to this kind of dance. She was so innocent; you could have mistaken her for a pure goddess. Yet, he ruined her. He taught her everything she knew.
He considered it a game, whereas she liked to call it a twisted dance.
The moves were actually simple. It consisted of three simple moves, the inattention, the unfamiliarity, and the hot and cold game. They would ignore each other, act like strangers who had never met while playing this hot and cold; the staring contest. She would keep an eye on him all night, staring at him, when he at least expects and shift her glare, when you look back at her. So did him as well. It was all about pulling and pushing. To see who would take control over the dance and who would yield.
Basically, she noticed the pattern of his movements and simulated them. She let him lead until she perfected her moves and created her own. She hated these moves. This dance wasn’t her at all. Yet, with him, there was always this silent dispute to see who would own the victory.
Three solid heartbeats might last for eternity. Yet, for others it was so quick, they barely had time to blink. People around them believed they were perfect strangers. None of them could tell the twisted dance they were doing. A dance that nobody knew about, or even understood. Only the two of them comprehend the rules, the playground, and the moves.
Tonight their movements flawlessly fit the rhythm of their song. The one that was wordless, but memorized by heart. The dance floor was the present and the audience was the crowd around them. Tonight, she would take control over the dance and he for once would follow.
