I could kiss you!

My words echo.

His face had contorted, eyebrows shooting skyward, jaw scrunching permanently, and nose curling in for an odd period of uncomfortable silence. His features only resembled something normal after I clarified my obnoxious statement.

"I'm not being serious," I had said.

I had been met with a long sigh, loosened shoulders and an all too-tense jaw.

For a moment, I had wondered if Dax had really let the action cross his mind. If Dax had imagined kissing me.

Of course, he had.

All evidence points there.

I kissed him before... on the cheek. I had said exclaimed those words one too many times in close company with another more violent phrase. Maybe he was thinking about the violent words I used to utter too, a good punch to his shoulder. Those words sometimes came wavering in with a promised kiss upon his cheek. That conjoined variation, in the form of a disheveled statement, had been rare words for me, but completely mine nonetheless. It spoke unsureity.

I gulp again, pushing the stray auburn hair behind my ears, tight bun atop my head. My reflection is anything but flattering. I see nothing to flatter. There is only a ginger with green eyes like lazars, sporting a permanent glare. My resting expression, something of a death stare.

Rolling my shoulders, my backpack shifts around my sports bra. The right, the shoulder bearing the weight, whines in agony. Weight. I'm weighted down. My heart, heavy. My mind, spiraling. My chest, sinking.

Dax, somewhere on a bike, pedaling like he might have when we were younger. Maybe he's traveling like we would have race or maybe he's reverted into a stream of cautiousness I used to adore. He had been the intelligent kind of reckless I could start. He had been the talkative kind of quiet I grew to love.

Dax, my only hope. Dax, my new number locked into his phone. Dax, Samantha's number in his mobile.

I nod to Ariel, the lead choreographer as her print tee exclaims, pacing out of The Broad Stage and into daylight. Now, I run, past zipping yellow vehicle, a car garage, a small restaurant, and tourist attractions. A fourth of a mile one way. A fourth of a mile back.

The dodge of humans, both the stares and warm bodies becomes a sort of challange, a challange that distracts.

Breezy air conditioning greets me, tingling my skin in a blanket of ice. A wake-up call. The plan rotates again, shaking up my guts.

We split up; I had to conquer the stage. Dax had to retrieve the costume. Still, I can't believe he's helping me. I was to take my remaining unruined garments with me, practice, wait for Dax to arrive with a new costume. All Dax needed to do, travel to the shop, call ten minutes before his arrival, call me when he collected the merchandise, travel to The Broad Stage.

With the plan in mind, I find his venture for me absurd.

But I would have done it too a lifetime ago.

"Get stretching!" Ariel calls. Her command is directed at me. No one else is here, no one that I will be performing with, that is. I'm alone here at Ariel's direction.

Dynamic first. Static after. All else is left to Ariel, her direction, and the routine I don't know as well as my former.

The piece has been put to one of the latest hits by a younger pop artist, a rising star in that industry. It's an original song combining genres, mainly pop, with dynamic changes perfect for the acrobatics Ariel has outlined. It's as if the song and choreography have been created for each other.

Eternal Echoes. The title.

A deep breath later, I backflip. The transition after is gradual, and I prepare myself for the string of flips that follow.

Dax isn't here yet.

One flip.

Can I call him?

Two.

No. How would I?

Three.

I'm flipping, flipping.

Four.

I land wrong.

I tuck and roll. The numb feeling creeping up my right leg jolts my brain to the face in front of me.

"Bro, really?" Ariel inhales deeply.

"Who uses 'bro' anymore?" I crack a smile, nursing my ankle.

She sighs. "I do. Can you not injure yourself too? I'm sure that chair over there can't take any more of my frustration." She jabs her finger at a wooden seat, a light blue color, with chips and splinters located every few inches.

"I pity the chair. It's had enough exorcisms to last a lifetime," I mutter. She laughs a little. I let her settle before asking, "That was you?"

"Mental breakdowns. It's not a human, so we're good here." Ariel shrugs, pausing. "But what if it was alive somehow? Had feelings?"

"Have fun."

"Oh, I'm not the one having fun. You are." Her grin carries a hint of mischief I couldn't bother to entertain, not while Dax is still out there, somewhere. "Again!"

I oblige, and I smile, again.

Has he even breached Santa Monica yet? Did he even get to the costume? Did something happen?

The flips come easily. I trace my way through the piece. The musicality choreographed in this piece makes me smile a bit. With that thought, it's quite a bit easier to maintain my game face.

Posed, arms stretched upward and feet planted at shoulder length I half twist for the final time.

"Your form is decent. Work on your footing. And you were just a hair off-beat for a second, but you self-corrected. Great overall."

Dax still isn't here.

I nod. My watch demands my attention, the current time calling me.

Ariel crosses her arms. She stares at me, smile bright, brown eyes swirling with a calculated kind of expression. Flipping her black hair aside, she pulls her features in, mellower. "You got that, Bronagh?"

"Of course," I reply, rolling my neck.

My watch reads. 3:22.

Dax has been gone for almost an hour and thirty.

"I'm not so sure about that," Ariel states, mouth held in a flat line. "Stop looking at that watch. Focus."

I nod. "Got it.

One last look. Still 3:22.

"Seriously, fifteen times in one minute." She tsks. "But you're due for a break. We can't have you too worn down."

"It's subconscious, I'm sure." I pass her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "I'll figure it out. The show must go on, after all."

"Yep. But I still need you all to rehearse again. So, rest up.'

"Got it." I pace right, in the direction of my backpack.

My fingers lace around the fabric of the zipper, unknotting the teeth. Phone stuffed into the front pocket, I find it with ease.

No calls from Dax.

My stomach does a backflip.

Closing my eyes, I find a strand of peace in the music, the performance piece, filling my brain. The melody with the movement, in with all that I do and am in that moment. I am the music, the dance, the life I bring.

My exhale is long and as I stare at my blank phone, I can't help but keep my breathing even and my mind settled.

Dax hasn't failed me yet. Everything will be fine.

I click my phone open again. It's 3:31

Time is passing. I'm running out of time. I can't perform in the ruined costume, let alone tell management. I would most likely get kicked off the project, and I need this performance. I need it for the money, my career, my new life in this expensive city.

Dax is my only hope.

I thump my head against my bag. If I hadn't taken the costume with me, this wouldn't have happened. If I hadn't decided wash the damn costume, this wouldn't have happened. If I hadn't chose that specific washer, this wouldn't have happened. If I had checked the contents poured into the machine, this wouldn't have happened.

This is my fault. I groan, shaking the feeling of eyes on me. Not the eyes of a human, the eyes of the bleached costume folded at the top of my backpack. Angry orange glares at me, nothing more than my imagination playing games. Though, the feeling is real. The anger is real.

I hop up, a new idea on my mind.

Fresh air for a fresh mind. I need fresh air. I nod to myself.

Pushing through the side exit, a single door swinging after for, I set into the light again. My eyes locate a bench near the front of the building, an aside where I can skim the area for Dax.

Foot tapping steadily against the pavement, I concentrate on my breathing and the upcoming performance, momentarily pushing the costume out of my vision and the flickers of hindsight I wish I had mere hours ago.

Exhaust fumes run the course of my nose, taking any other smells and dosing them in a blanket of fog. But the slips of some kind of friend food invade, making my stomach growl. I take note, remembering the protein bars I store in the side pocket of my bag.

I stand and find myself pacing, a walk that eases my mind into monotonous thinking, leading to something more empty and clear.

There's a coastal breeze in the air. Faint drafts of salt tickle my nose, and I smile, memories of the Gulf Coast trips I used to make with Dax and Mom on the edge of my mind.

A car honks.

Splashing seawater and bright sands flit from my vision. Honking vehicles replace it. Grimy gutters at the corner ahead meet me along with people and their footsteps, walking. The people, I scan as my heart accelerates again, peace lost.

The bikers I find don't have his slightly curled brown hair or his one-of-a-kind resting expression. I doubt anyone would be able to hold the frown between a smile he seems to carry on his face at all times.

Bright eyes meet me. Blue swirls of the sky, mixed, dark blue and light blue fighting for control.

Dax is here. A small three-zipper backpack sits on his shoulders where a non-bleached costume must reside.

I stand. Exhaustion claims my legs, but I find Dax in a short jog.

I'm tired, mentally, physically, you name it. I'm tired but can't stop working until the show is over and the stage lights dim.

But for now, I grin.

Thanks for reading! I hope you've enjoyed this book so far.

Any thoughts you would like to share?

Word count: 1,736