Sequel: I Won't Give Up ›
A Blend of Fear & Passion
Greg
My feet touching floor with every move echoed throughout the empty dance hall, my breath coming in pants, the sweat pouring down my face and bare chest in little rivulets. I was pushing myself to exhaustion. Over what? A 16-year-old boy who just happened to be in the two classes I instruct.
Dawson Andrews. The only kid in my class who can do a perfect pirouette while singing opera while playing any song known to man on a piano. You give the kid a crayon, he'll paint you a masterpiece. The boy had more talent in his pinkie toe nail than half of the student body had in their entire beings.
Then why was he driving me so insane? How could he make my solid steel walls melt away as if eaten by acid so easily? So many questions were running through my head, and even the most excruciatingly painful routines couldn't put those to rest.
Falling to the floor in a frenzy, I pounded the floor with all my might, and stared at the reflection in the mirror. The man I saw was me, but at the same time, he wasn't. The man in the mirror was who I always dreamed of being. He was happy, carefree, jubilant. The man I had come to know was this strict, angry person with so little happiness to give to anyone.
Bringing my knees up and resting my arms on them, I wiped the sweat dripping off my face with a nearby towel and slowly started breathing easier. I needed to rebuild my walls, keep myself closed off. How could I push away Dawson?
Who the hell am I kidding? How can I even dream of resisting him when all he's ever done was be the type of friend I've never had?
Dawson Andrews. The only kid in my class who can do a perfect pirouette while singing opera while playing any song known to man on a piano. You give the kid a crayon, he'll paint you a masterpiece. The boy had more talent in his pinkie toe nail than half of the student body had in their entire beings.
Then why was he driving me so insane? How could he make my solid steel walls melt away as if eaten by acid so easily? So many questions were running through my head, and even the most excruciatingly painful routines couldn't put those to rest.
Falling to the floor in a frenzy, I pounded the floor with all my might, and stared at the reflection in the mirror. The man I saw was me, but at the same time, he wasn't. The man in the mirror was who I always dreamed of being. He was happy, carefree, jubilant. The man I had come to know was this strict, angry person with so little happiness to give to anyone.
Bringing my knees up and resting my arms on them, I wiped the sweat dripping off my face with a nearby towel and slowly started breathing easier. I needed to rebuild my walls, keep myself closed off. How could I push away Dawson?
Who the hell am I kidding? How can I even dream of resisting him when all he's ever done was be the type of friend I've never had?