༺ TWENTY - SIX ༻

I'm kind of nervous right now. The 'we need to talk' is the worst thing, even after Thomas said I wasn't in trouble or anything like that.

So I'm stretching my legs against the wall until it hurts, all to get rid of the sickening feeling in my stomach. I don't want to vomit both dinner and that small piece of cake, along with the six laxatives I took, and then all the water I drank.

The cakes ended up nice. Somehow, no one spilled anything and Minho was more serious than I've ever seen him.

Now, they've decided that all three of them will sleep in Newt's room, so no one will be left out. And I know Thomas is going to show up, eventually.

Sighing, I dip my head in cold water and brush my hair before I bury myself in pajamas, which have gotten a little too big. I must buy new ones soon.

There's a knock when it's past midnight. I hesitate a few seconds, then open the door and am soon sitting on my bed with Thomas in front of me, the door locked.

"It was hard escaping them." He laughs quietly under his breath. "I doubt that Minho is even asleep, but we'll risk it."

I nod, also smiling. He indeed doesn't seem mad about anything. Just worried. "What'd you want to talk about?"

"Well." He notices it's getting serious and straightens his back, the worry increasing. "The other day, my dad's friend came over. I was, eh, watching that video of you dancing along with the other kids in your class. It's on YouTube."

Unaware of that video, I frown. Thomas just continues.

"He said he recognized you."

I'm not sure how to feel right now. "Who was the friend?"

"Vince Cooper. He said he knew you from when Newt had a checkup at the hospital."

I think Thomas is connected to everyone.  

"Oh. That's nice," I manage to say. It can't be that special Vince recognized me. "I know him, yeah."

"Alright." Thomas tenses up, his jaw tightening. "Vince asked if I'm your boyfriend. And I kind of denied a little too much a little too fast... so uh, he knows."

I shrug. My smile stays. If the fact he accidentally spilled our secret is what he wants to talk about, I don't have to worry. "That's alright. Someone would find out, eventually."

Sadly, he goes further. "When he realized, he told me about your visit to the hospital."

Something in my breathing hitches. Vince can't have told Thomas about my dizziness. I don't want Thomas to worry about me. "What'd he say?"

"He asked if I knew more about your dizziness and why you're often cold," Thomas explains. His tone only gets more serious by the second, and I don't enjoy it. "I said I wasn't aware of any of that in the slightest."

I avert my eyes. "Don't worry. It's not that bad. Low iron."

He either doesn't hear what I said, or doesn't want to hear it. "And I started thinking. Kind of connected all the dots."

He can't know. He'll stop me and make me gain weight and maybe tell Mom and Dad and if he does that they'll make me gain weight and I can't gain weight.

"So I was wondering," he still continuing, "what that diet really includes. The one you told me about. For ballet."

The panic starts to set in, but I keep my face straight. "I eat healthier. Drink water before every meal so I'll be full sooner, and don't take snacks unless it's an apple or cracker."

It's true.

"And between ballet and work?" He asks. "I've always thought you brought food and ate that after ballet, but I don't know if... well, if you really do that."

"I do," I lie. A scoff leaves my mouth. "I don't think I'd be able to work with that less energy."

He nods, but his eyebrows furrow deeper. "What about the snacks last Sunday?"

"What about them?"

"You ran to the bathroom straight after you ate them."

"To fix my hair," I say.

"Then why was it only messier when you returned?"

I know he's just trying to help, but he's interfering and trapping me too much. It's irritating me.

Yet I stay calm. "Fine. I threw up because I hadn't eaten snacks like that for a while and it hurt my stomach."

Kind of the truth.

"But I eat, Thomas," I say. "You've seen me eat dinner today. I ate one of those cupcakes. Those snacks were just too much."

He nods again. "Alright."

I'm really hoping this interview is over now. I can't allow him to make me gain weight right now. Not yet. After The Nutcracker I'll start eating normally.

"Aris said you keep calling for breaks."

My nails are starting to pierce in my palms. "Oh, so Aris is snitching about what I do during ballet? And Vince about the hospital?"

I hate not being included when it has to do with things I should be included in.

"I was the one who asked how ballet went, and I asked Vince how it was in the hospital. If I wouldn't have, they wouldn't have said anything either," he says. "Don't get angry at them, please."

I chew on my lip. "You can weigh me. I swear I weigh the perfect thing for my age. You—"

"I don't need any proof other than you saying what's true," he interrupts.

It's sweet, but only makes things worse.

I nearly burst out in tears. I hate lying, especially to Thomas. "Okay."

He nods. "Okay." And takes both of my hands, fidgeting with them. "Promise you will eat at least a little more?"

I nod, too. "Promised."

Sorry, Thomas.

The corners of his lips move up. "Awesome. Come here, Blondie."

His arms wrap around me. It forces me to rest my chin on his shoulder as I blink a million times, trying to get the tears away, but it doesn't really work when he starts rubbing my back.

This mixing with the guilt because I know I won't keep my promise and that I lied all gets too much, and a few tears start to spill onto Thomas's shoulder.

He pulls me closer, on his lap and into his chest, no words shared. I feel like a bloody baby once he rocks us back and forth a few times, but it's comforting so I stay where I am.

"Wait. I still owe you like a thousand minute massage." Thomas props me back up. "That'll cheer you up."

I smile through my tears. At least he keeps his promises. "You really don't have to do that."

Wellllll... dancing is tiring and I'd have to get daily massages if I want all the muscle knots out.

"No, no, I will," he says, and it kind of satisfies me. My back gets turned to him. Gently, Thomas moves my hair out of the way and start kneading my shoulders with his hands.

I think the fact that it's his hands touching me makes it feel ten times better. My head nearly falls back into his shoulder.

"You're not really gonna do it for a thousand minutes, right?"

"That's more than six and a half hours, so maybe not," he agrees. I'm surprised he even managed to calculate that so fast. "I'll divide it."

A chuckle leaves my mouth, followed by an exhale of pleasure. I take my words back: I wouldn't mind a thousand minutes of someone running their nails over my back. It's better than massaging the shoulders, I'll say that.

"You like that," and I can hear the smirk again.

"Sure I do," I reply.

Thomas snickers, and is silent for about a minute, then speaks. "This reminds me of the times my cousin and I had sleepovers."

"Chuck, right?"

"Yup. In the summer, we often had sleepovers, but he sleeps in the attic, so it was shucking hot. We had our shirts off every night. I was going on and on about how my back hurt from playing hockey everyday. I stopped once he did the nail scratch thing. It was stupid and childish, really, but we started taking turns every night."

My smile is only growing brighter by the second. "That's really nice. And I understand why you'd get addicted to that."

Thomas laughs. "So all the practice helped."

I nod in confirmation, then speak about my own adventures. "I can't sleep in one bed with Newt or Sonya, or both. Every vacation, it's a struggle. Sonya either tries to suffocate Newt in a pillow, or I pull the blanket off everyone. Though that only happened when we were very young. Young enough to share a bed with three. It doesn't really fit right now."

"Chuck and I haven't had a sleepover this summer either," he says. "Or well, not like the old ones. My accident happened and I was highly against someone trying to touch my back. No longer slept shirtless."

My heart sinks slightly, but his tone isn't too sad. More like don't-feel-bad-for-me, which I still do. "And now?"

"Eh, not a lot of people attempt to touch my back. Not very usual, is it?"

I manage a laugh. "Yeah, I get that! I mean like, would you be okay with anyone touching it? Are things still... triggering?"

He's still touching my back as he replies. "Except from how much I hate showing the scar, I don't think I'd refuse any touch on my back now. And no, it's not as triggering as before. I can sleep shirtless, swim, all that... though I find it hard to talk about."

I nod, understanding. "Can I return the massage? Like you did with Chuck?"

The method might be crazy, but if it helps him recover emotionally, I'd do anything.

"I think so."

I turn around, meeting his eyes. They're happy and sad at once. And smile is real, I can see it. "Alright. Turn around."

He obeys. And though he said he hates showing his scar, he still removes his shirt in a smooth motion.

My eyes trail over his skin until they encounter the scar. It's below his left shoulder blade. Stitches that seem to have been there before now leave the mark unevenly. It's white, a line sliding below his shoulder blade.

He indeed got lucky it's not in his shoulder blade.

My fingers tips touch it before I can control myself. "I honestly think it looks pretty cool," I murmur. His body does a shake because of his laugh.

My fingers then move all over his skin. "How old is Chuck?" I ask.

"Just turned fourteen," he says. "Like a week ago."

"Tell him happy birthday for me, once you see him again," I say. "Even though he doesn't know me."

"He'd want to know who you are," Thomas replies. "He's gonna interview me and that kid is basically a lie detector."

"Well, just tell him that I'm your girlfriend."

Thomas's head turns from surprise. "He's a real talker. Everyone will know the second I tell him. Unless he promises. He keeps his promises, after all. Though he might blurt things out."

I shrug. "People will find out eventually. You're free to tell him."

"Okay," he then says. "I will. Proudly."

Another laugh escapes. "You do that."

I continue trailing my nails over his back until he takes my wrists and brings them forward, forcing my arms to embrace his waist.

"I wish I could stay the whole night," he murmurs as I rest my head on his warm back. "Not that I don't enjoy the sleepover, but you know."

I nod, sighing. "Maybe another day."

My hands leave his waist and he gets up to put his shirt back on. I watch him (and the muscles), still smiling the smile, yet it's fading.

"Guess I'll see you at breakfast tomorrow." His lips brush against mine before he fully kisses me, sending butterflies everywhere. "Good night, Blondie."

"G'Night," I say. "Sleep well."

"You, too."

"Don't get caught," I warn. "And don't step on anyone through the dark."

Laughing, Thomas shakes his head. "I won't."

Once he disappears, I let myself fall back on my bed, sighing another time.

Newt's yell is clearly audible. "Thomas, would you not step on me?!"

Lord.

"Also," Minho's voice, "no one takes that long to go to the bathroom."

"Explosive diarrhea."

Lord.