Read Online The Fated Dance: Bound to the Shadow Dancer by Leeann Whitaker - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Leeann Whitaker
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is infected by her. An addiction that is as frustrating as this illness. Unlike those asshole guys she’s used to, she probably for once in her life, has put the tiny amount of faith she has in me. Believing that I don’t want her physically. Believing my intentions are strange, but at least true. Now the reality is, I have become as false as those men, because I do want her. Will I do a thing about it? No. Why? Because I’m on the verge of expiry, and above all, I just need her to dance.
I jog in the blistering summer heat with sweat saturating my face as Swedish House Mafia blasts through my earphones. With a final burst of speed I arrive at my front door, gasping. I’m pushing every boundary. Pushing my body to feel a discomfort like I’ve never felt before. This is the one thing that I still have control of. The ability to rise to every challenge I set myself each day. To change my outer body, regardless of what’s happening inside.
I pull out my earphones and wipe my top lip with the sleeve of my gray hoody. I scowl and see that what is dripping from my nose, isn’t just sweat, but blood. I pinch my nostrils tight, hoping this isn’t some mad flare up in which I’ll need the blood vessels in my nose cauterizing again down at ER. In a panic, I quickly unlock the door while breathing erratically into my hand.
“Fuck!”
I hurry into the kitchen and pull off a handful of kitchen-towel. I hate this. If this disease could be seen in a physical form before me, I’d beat the living shit out of it. My liver isn’t swollen; I have no pain like last time. And my breathing is fine also, so my lungs seem to be functioning correctly. It’s as though this illness is rearing its ugly head in more devious ways this time, laughing at me. I won’t be sick- not today. Jen will be here in a few hours, and god, I need my fix of her before I change my mind, call her, and tell her the deal is off.
The latch on the front door clicks. It will be Henry, and I can’t allow him to see me stood here pressing this blood soaked towel against my face. He thinks I’m fine, and that’s how it needs to stay. I hurry into the downstairs bathroom as he closes the front door with his back to me.
I sit on the toilet seat with my head between my knees, pinching my nostrils tight. The blood that’s made its way down my throat irritates my stomach, and the taste of it makes me want to gag. Now I know why I received the look of horror from passersby. God knows how long I was jogging through the park resembling a damn zombie.
“Sir,” Henry calls.
I ignore him and very slowly lift my head, taking a huge breath. Like always when I have one of these sudden bouts my nose clogs up, and the only air I dare take in is through my mouth, in-case it triggers off another surge. I wait a few seconds to find it has thankfully eased. Gradually, I rise to my feet.
“Sir.”
I toss the bloody tissue down the toilet and flush, then quickly check there is no evidence left on my face in the mirror.
I unlock and open the door in frustration. Henry is loyal and one of the hardest workers I know. But just lately he’s rubbing me up the wrong way. He’s making my efforts to cover up what’s happening to me extremely difficult. He cares too damn much.
“Really Henry… can I not even go to the bathroom without you interfering?”
“Well, someone has to run things around here as soon as you’ve decided to stay off site nearly all week,” he grumbles, dropping a handful of paperwork on my desk.
Great, now I’m the bad guy. “Sorry Henry… I’ve been preoccupied.”
He removes his brown jacket, hangs it over his arm, and then rummages through his inside pocket to takes out his Blackberry.
“Well, that’s all well and good, but no one is able to get hold of you,” he says, sternly. “You’re not responding to the emails from your father, and your doctor has been trying to get hold of you.”
I blink with a nod, and grab myself a beer from
I jog in the blistering summer heat with sweat saturating my face as Swedish House Mafia blasts through my earphones. With a final burst of speed I arrive at my front door, gasping. I’m pushing every boundary. Pushing my body to feel a discomfort like I’ve never felt before. This is the one thing that I still have control of. The ability to rise to every challenge I set myself each day. To change my outer body, regardless of what’s happening inside.
I pull out my earphones and wipe my top lip with the sleeve of my gray hoody. I scowl and see that what is dripping from my nose, isn’t just sweat, but blood. I pinch my nostrils tight, hoping this isn’t some mad flare up in which I’ll need the blood vessels in my nose cauterizing again down at ER. In a panic, I quickly unlock the door while breathing erratically into my hand.
“Fuck!”
I hurry into the kitchen and pull off a handful of kitchen-towel. I hate this. If this disease could be seen in a physical form before me, I’d beat the living shit out of it. My liver isn’t swollen; I have no pain like last time. And my breathing is fine also, so my lungs seem to be functioning correctly. It’s as though this illness is rearing its ugly head in more devious ways this time, laughing at me. I won’t be sick- not today. Jen will be here in a few hours, and god, I need my fix of her before I change my mind, call her, and tell her the deal is off.
The latch on the front door clicks. It will be Henry, and I can’t allow him to see me stood here pressing this blood soaked towel against my face. He thinks I’m fine, and that’s how it needs to stay. I hurry into the downstairs bathroom as he closes the front door with his back to me.
I sit on the toilet seat with my head between my knees, pinching my nostrils tight. The blood that’s made its way down my throat irritates my stomach, and the taste of it makes me want to gag. Now I know why I received the look of horror from passersby. God knows how long I was jogging through the park resembling a damn zombie.
“Sir,” Henry calls.
I ignore him and very slowly lift my head, taking a huge breath. Like always when I have one of these sudden bouts my nose clogs up, and the only air I dare take in is through my mouth, in-case it triggers off another surge. I wait a few seconds to find it has thankfully eased. Gradually, I rise to my feet.
“Sir.”
I toss the bloody tissue down the toilet and flush, then quickly check there is no evidence left on my face in the mirror.
I unlock and open the door in frustration. Henry is loyal and one of the hardest workers I know. But just lately he’s rubbing me up the wrong way. He’s making my efforts to cover up what’s happening to me extremely difficult. He cares too damn much.
“Really Henry… can I not even go to the bathroom without you interfering?”
“Well, someone has to run things around here as soon as you’ve decided to stay off site nearly all week,” he grumbles, dropping a handful of paperwork on my desk.
Great, now I’m the bad guy. “Sorry Henry… I’ve been preoccupied.”
He removes his brown jacket, hangs it over his arm, and then rummages through his inside pocket to takes out his Blackberry.
“Well, that’s all well and good, but no one is able to get hold of you,” he says, sternly. “You’re not responding to the emails from your father, and your doctor has been trying to get hold of you.”
I blink with a nod, and grab myself a beer from
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