Page 30 of The Breaking Pointe

if eyes could speak

COLTON

Fixing my jacket, I walk along the busy sidewalk, rushing through the cold winds, my hands as deep in my pockets as they can get. I double take at each store to my right, making sure I don’t pass the dance studio—dodging people when I need to until I get to the studio entrance. I usually never have an issue with parking on this side of town, but today isn’t one of those days. It’s not like luck has been that much on my side, though, recently. Life has me working extra hard at pretending things are normal.

I’m unsure of what normal is, to be exact.

I wonder how past generations of men have overcome the stipulations of actually being a man—without losing their wits and retaining normalcy, that is. Many men are out of wits nowadays. I imagine I need to gather the ones I have left and hold onto them tightly before it’s too late. While doing so, I would like to discover what specifically makes a man lose his

wit. A general question that unfortunately holds a heavy weight for me. Losing one’s self is all it takes, I suppose. In order to lose it all, the fall would have to start with something, right?

Pushing the door open, I look around at a vacant studio. No thin, ginger woman in sight.

“Elle, I’m here!”

I yell, hoping she hears me from wherever location she’s at, receiving no response.

I scale the room once more before walking to the hall to enter the backrooms and head to her office.

“El…”

I say, looking in each room as I put my hands back in my pockets, still trying to warm them.

The last room to look into is her office. Slowly, I creep in, giving a gentle knock to the door. Peeking my head in, I finally see her. Her head is in her hands, letting the smallest weeps escape beyond her fingers as she creates a wet puddle on the papers on the desk.

“Noelle, what happened? Look at me.”

I am suddenly alert, marching behind her desk to kneel down to her.

Warily, I take my hands to hers, pulling them from her face to show her flushed cheeks and red eyes.

“Hey…”

I fondly murmur, kissing each of her hands”

Calm down for me. Tell me what’s going on.”

She tensely grabs hold of my hands, sniffling and catching her breath.

“The letter—it’s the letter,”

she stutters”

They’re taking my spot away…”

she whimpers, squeezing her eyes closed to stop more tears.

Letting go of one hand, my brows furrow before grabbing the dampened paper and taking a quick scan of the few paragraphs.

Suddenly, everything makes sense.

Her tears are for a good reason. This isn’t something she or I

can argue out of, either.

“The second page details every payment I’ve been late on, and why I can’t buy the building. Like I could do that, anyway.”

She rolls her eyes, shaking her head with a few sniffles.

I could. But in my opinion, she would thrive in a place much better than this. Bigger, and more functional.

“Let me. I’ll pay it,” I offer”

It’s too late,”

she sniffles.

I sigh quietly, standing up all the way and pulling her up with me to bring her closer. Wrapping each arm around her, I armor her body with mine, slowly swaying us while she cries underneath my chin, buried into my chest.

“You once told me to let it all work out. Right?”

My hand grazes her back, rubbing it”

So now, I’m gonna tell you the same thing,”

I whisper, resting my cheek on her head, closing my eyes”

I’m so sorry.”

I might not understand the fear in her heart completely, but I know I’ve never seen her this crushed. I’ve gotten too used to seeing her being spunky and full of life. Everyone has their moments where they have to crash and burn—but she is someone who puts her all into every dance move she executes. Her fall is a lot harder than others’.

Why do all the people with big hearts and big dreams have to face the most treacherous tribulations, just to get a piece of something good?

It angers me.

I need to see her smiling, and getting the best out of what New York has to offer. Not for my sake, but for all of her future plans’ sake. I see it in her eyes, the desire and the want to have something so damn bad, you’ll quite literally do anything. That’s what pro boxing has been to me. If I can make her dreams

come true, I’ll do it. I’ve waited a long time to put my money to good use. I think a dance studio makes a lot of sense. Making Elle the happiest woman on Earth makes sense. Being able to have her on my arm as mine makes sense—and having feelings for her is starting to make more sense than it ever has before.

* * *

Research on buildings is a much more extensive task than I presumed it to be. I’m stuck finding something that feels good enough.

Something that feels good enough for Noelle.

All in all, I’ve spent hours obsessing over finding the perfect place to build her dream dance studio. Honestly, fuck hours. It’s been days now, and as a result of relentless frustrations, the price is a non-factor for me. I’ve congregated all of my concerns and picked the most important ones out of the list. Those concerns relate to whether the location is child safe, and how many square feet I’m allowed to go crazy with. You’d think that the rest would follow suit—assuming it would be easy to find these amenities together, but apparently property sellers are a lot more strict than most business people. Every possible option has one giant deal breaker that lands me at a dead end, with no choice but to start my search over.

On the other side of my search, there’s an additional big job. Another reason for me to hide in my art studio.

That would be drawing out a floor plan and map of what needs to be built, and hiring the proper team to execute exactly what I need to be done. Something I selfishly wish that I could do on my own, but won’t out of fear it might not come out how I need it to. If it weren’t urgent, I’d absolutely try. I would try just

about anything for this woman, scarily enough.

But this? I need this done as quickly as possible. At least by the end of the year. No later.

A few knocks on the door echo throughout the art studio, sending my work into a pause.

“Come in.”

I spin my chair around, waiting to see Steven come in.

He takes a couple of steps into the room, his eyes wandering about.

“I um…I’m going to Jake’s,”

he says, rocking on his heels”

Okay, buddy. Go for it. But be home before dinner tomorrow.

Noelle really wants us there.”

I nod, tapping my pencil against my hand.

“You’re not mad?”

He licks his lips.

“Why would I be mad, Steven? You can’t stay cooped up in here, forever.”

I inhale, assuring him.

“Neither can you, Cole,”

he quietly comments. Fair.

“I know. I’ll be alright though. Tomorrow’s outing will be enough for me,”

I respond.

“Okay…”

he mumbles, looking at the floor then back at me. I can tell he has more to say, so I remain quiet.

“So you’re okay with still taking me to the dorms this week- end?” he asks.

“I would rather you stay here, but you’re eighteen. I can’t decide that for you, or force you to oblige,”

I tell him”

Besides, you’re already late in the semester, and I don’t think your roommate wants someone moving in in the middle of the first year.”

He looks down again, ignoring my minimal humor.

“I know I’m not your favorite person, Steven. But I’m trying to change that,” I add.

“I want to be as far away from here as possible. It’s just a reminder that things won’t get better,”

he reveals in a louder voice.

“That’s not true.”

I roll my chair closer to him, watching him slowly back away.

“Then what about you? You haven’t made it seem like I’m wrong. I just miss how we used to be. Before Hannah. Before you were…this.”

He watches me.

Like this—meaning drained, empty, and lost? Luckily he’s a much brighter and less tormented kid than I was.

“I’m sorry that I’m like this, Steven,”

I say, seriously”

Don’t apologize to me. Look in the mirror and apologize to

that guy.” He sighs”

He’s wasting his time being mad at the world when he could be basking in the glory of his hot girlfriend, all of his money, and his pro boxing career. You might’ve lost Mom, but you didn’t lose everything else that’s good in your life.”

Bringing my gaze to the space between us, I sigh back.

“By the way—Trey is here. He’s in the living room. I’ll text you. Let you know I’m safe,”

he finishes his speech, backing out of the art studio to leave me alone.

For the first time, he said what he had to say without yelling. Maybe that’s progression.

Or maybe he’s sick of repeating himself.

That wasn’t a repeat of an older speech, though. Him missing how things used to be wasn’t something I knew about. I always assumed he despised me to some degree, due to our differences in age and attitude. Seems I was wrong. We’re both searching to make things go back to how they used to be.

Getting up, I pause my train of deep thought, treading out of the art room to meet Trey. I could already hear him roughhous-

ing with Bonnie in the kitchen.

“Hey,”

I say, watching Steven grab his backpack and rush out of the front door.

“Long time no see. Came to check on you,”

he says, standing up from petting the pup.

“No updates. Same shit, different day, man,”

I say, leaning against the island.

He finally looks at me, almost jolting back.

“Ever heard of clippers? You know, the thing with the blades? I heard it makes facial hair look pretty good.”

He playfully jabs. I roll my eyes, tossing my painting towel over my shoulder”

I’ve been preoccupied, alright? Now, did you come here for a

reason, or just to talk shit?”

I almost sprout a half smile.

“I came here for a reason, honest. You just look like you could cosplay Jesus Christ.”

He chuckles”

You going to Noelle’s tomorrow?”

“Funny,” I leer”

Yes, me and Steven are going together.”

“Good.” He nods”

I saw her this morning while running past

her studio. She told me to swing by. I’m hoping to see you two.”

“Yeah, of course. I wouldn’t miss it. She cares about this a lot,

and I care about her,”

I say, rubbing at my beard”

Okay, simp.”

He chuckles.

I rip the paint towel from my shoulder and twist it, whipping his arm with it.

“Ow!”

He laughs”

Am I wrong?!”

I finally smile”

No. Any other comments you wanna make?”

He smirks”

Yeah. Lemme know when you tell her you’re in love so I can plan the wedding.”

“Trey, man, I am not in love,”

I state, huffing.

“Right now, maybe not yet. But you’re going through a rough patch. From what I’m hearing lately, it’s a lot more than you

having some feelings for her.”

He crosses his arms.

“We’re in a honeymoon phase. It’s always good in the beginning.”

I cross my arms in defense.

He stares at me with a skeptical expression, questioning me with his eyes.

“Okay—it’s deeper than me only liking her. So what? She’s different, okay? She’s fun—and she makes me feel like I can be myself. Hannah never did. I never knew I could have this feeling, and it’s like a drug. It feels like I need more of her, every second of the day—so sue me for letting my guard down, for real this time,”

I rapidly speak.

“You love her.”

He smiles, smacking my arm”

It’s sweet, bro. Now all you gotta do is admit it to yourself.”

He chortles”

Denial is not just a river in Egypt, Cole.”

“Whatever. I’m not in denial. Simply taking my time. Trying to not scare away the only thing in my life right now that brings me a genuine sense of joy,”

I fluster.

“She’s not going anywhere, genius. She would’ve been scared away ages ago if she was. Remember her crazy ass ex still exists.”

He gives me a pointed look”

I gotta run. Gym time. Was gonna ask if you wanted to join?”

he offers.

I shake my head. “Therapy.”

He purses his lips”

Way more important than a dumbbell.”

He half-smiles”

I’ll see you tomorrow night, then,”

he says before making his way to the door.

“See you,”

I say softly, watching the door close behind him.

I didn’t think I loved her before he came. Now, I’m questioning myself. Saying those three words is locking in for good. It’s chancing the idea that I might have to face my fears once again, like I did with Hannah. The years I spent rebuilding my walls, Noelle has spent months taking it down so that she can get to

the real me, and it’s working. Trey makes a good point. All I have to do is admit it to myself.

I won’t say that I’m in love because I don’t want to buckle at the wrong time. I’m in a vulnerable state of mind—of course, I want love. I want it like a fiend, and I want it from Noelle Mayberry. But with the small chance that she’s moving slower than I am, or rather, not thinking of me in that way at all, it makes me want to cower.

Makes me want to keep it to myself instead.

When I said I’m sensitive, I meant it. I can’t push myself through another heartbreak. Some have said love is more intense when it’s kept a secret. Nobody can tarnish it. As I’ve stated before—I’m great at keeping secrets.

* * *

The tips of my left fingers graze across the top of my right hand, feeling the coldness sting at them. Today, the sound of the metronome from the grandfather clock and the deceiving sunlight outside of the window behind Dr. Lydia is just perfect.

Hopeful.

“You’re quiet today. Should I find that to be unusual?”

she asks, tapping her pen against her notepad softly.

I look at her instead of behind her.

“No.”

I look at my hands”

I suppose I have nothing to bitch about today.”

I chuckle.

“Hm.”

She gives a short, breathy laugh. I half smile, locking my hands together.

“It isn’t bitching, you know? That’s why you come here. To talk about problems. Or other things.”

She smiles.

I suck on the insides of my cheeks, smiling back shyly. “I

know.”

She takes a quiet, deep breath, leaning forward carefully.

“I want to ask you something. Circling back to a few sessions ago—if I may?” she asks.

Am I allowed to kindly say hell no? “Sure.”

I nod once.

“It’s about your dad. I know he serves as a sensitive topic for you. I’m just curious if you’ve come around. To your brother. Or maybe your friend—Noelle?”

she asks with caution.

I sit back, gathering a response in my head”

Noelle is my girlfriend now.”

She nods slowly, giving me time to generate more words. My eyes bounce from her low sitting glasses, back to my lap.

“No. I haven’t,”

I say with guilt overflowing inside me”

I’m not asking to make you feel at fault, Colton. You’re

just so quiet today that it dawned on me that maybe you spoke with someone about what you’ve been holding inside. I’ve been hopeful for you to gain some relief in your emotional pain,”

she says honestly in a motherly tone.

“I’d like to. I don’t know if I know where to begin. I know Noelle deserves some sort of explanation of who I am, though.”

I raise my head again, looking at the bright sunlight.

“What makes you feel so sure all of a sudden?”

she wonders aloud.

“She hasn’t left yet. When I think she will, she doesn’t. I couldn’t see me ever achieving anything that I have recently when it comes to taking care of my mother. Not without her. I find it hard to explain, but when I’m looking at her, I know it feels like destiny. She finds a way to precisely fit herself into each broken puzzle piece that makes up who I am.”

I slowly blink my eyes.

“If eyes could speak…”

She tilts her head, barely. “One look

would say everything,”

I finish in a mumble. She smiles”

How’s Steven?” she asks.

“I take him to the dorms tomorrow. We went school shopping today. He seems off. I’m trying not to think about it too hard.”

I deeply inhale.

“Could it be…college jitters?”

she suggests.

“Possibly,”

I agree, choosing the more comforting scenario”

You’re very passive with that response,”

she notes.

“He’s hard to read. The kid is a mastermind.” I smile”

I’m not much different. I’m beginning to realize that, that may be why I hate it so much. Our miscommunication feels more like I’m looking at younger, more hardheaded version of myself.”

She nods, now slightly amused.

“Why don’t you try telling him one deep cut. Before he leaves for school. You think you can do that?” she asks.

“I’m sure I can think of something by the end of the night…”

I say hesitantly.

“Just try. At the worst, nothing will come of it, but you can say that you did,” she says.

She could be right. Or she could be very wrong. I guess another issue that I have is expecting the worst, at all times. She’s probably right, though—considering the years of fixing me she’s dedicated her time to.

“Yeah,”

I whisper, considering all the negative possibilities”

Did that make your mind race? I’m sorry, that wasn’t my

goal—”

I stop her”

No.”

We both pause.

“Sorry.”

I look down, dragging my tongue along my teeth”

It does make me think. But more so about what Steven thinks of me—like, beyond what I do for a living, and who I’ve made myself to be in front of him,”

I say, closing my eyes. “I don’t

have any family left that means as much to me as he and my mother did.”

I lift my head, shielding my mouth with disturbance by my next sentence, rubbing my face.

“I’m scared that his hatred for me has moved onto something more profound. Now that our one parent isn’t here to mediate whatever disagreements we have—I have to try to fix it on my own. What if I can’t do that, Dr. Lydia?” I plead.

She inhales through her nose, exhaling her words”

You can.” She nods”

And you will,”

she affirms.

The alarm on her phone begins to disrupt both of our concen- tration, snatching away the metaphorical, emotional weighted blanket that is my hour-long session.

“Next week, okay?”

she says quietly, silencing the loud ringing.

I nod, pushing myself up from the outdated, velvet couch.

I would like to kindly disagree with her encouragement, but very much like my mother, she is always right. Most men I’ve met don’t seem to take well to instructions delivered by a woman. In my case, their instructions have never failed me.

It’s sort of like having that decades old recipe from your grandparents. It tastes like gold, no matter how ancient the concoction is, and if you follow accordingly, you can’t mess up. You can only mess up if you decide to change the formula. If you change the formula, you get something that holds too much of one specific thing, and not enough of something else. It ends up burnt, or just so foul—it’s beyond human consumption. To one’s demise, you usually can’t fix something once it’s been ruined that much.

So, after all is said, why would I change the formula?

* * *

Dr. Lydia encapsulates my feelings so well, you would think that she was the one feeling them. When I leave our sessions, I never leave with a feeling of bemusement. Which is how most human interaction leaves me feeling.

I’m unsure if any of my words hold meaning to most people— even if they say they do. I don’t think people genuinely listen to anything, anymore. They may hear you, but it’s the listening that’s the most important. Without it, everything you say is null and void. I learned at a very young age that people don’t want to listen to you, and sometimes it isn’t purposeful. People are mentally disturbed, in debt, are in the middle of crisis, and God knows what else. Therefore, it’s imperative that you stay quiet, to appeal to the general eye. The world loves quiet people. I spent most of my childhood being good-natured, God-fearing, and knew the manners playbook quite well. This never worked in my favor, though, simply because I was overly obedient and way past the point of na?ve. I had no backbone, couldn’t stick up for myself, was a coward, and well—fucking quiet.

I’m tired of being fucking silent. I need to find out if telling the honest truth will make me feel better.

“Here. Finish the rest of this,”

I say, nearly commanding Steven to finish the last of a can of beer.

“Are you sure? It’s alcohol…and I’m your underage brother?”

He examines my mannerisms, looking at my nonchalant smile”

I’m good. I have to drive, and I’m feeling awfully nice tonight since it’s Friendsgiving.”

I slightly smile, watching him take a

sip. He shakes his head, disapproving of my logic.

It doesn’t matter, because I know myself. And once I get alone with Noelle, I’m going to want to play the ‘sleepover’ game.

Since Steven falls asleep early, it’ll be just fine, as long as he’s tucked in somewhere comfortable.

“Y’know, despite you being such a hermit, I got to be really independent here. I might miss that the most once I’m gone.”

He chuckles.

I huff out a bit of laughter”

You’ll be even more independent now. Doesn’t matter cause you’re very quick witted, kid.”

“I’m not a kid…and I know.”

He smiles, respectively.

I sigh quietly, nodding”

Right. You aren’t a kid. Not anymore.”

I look down, buttoning up my cardigan.

“Sometimes I feel like I still am. Like I don’t know what I’m doing,”

he says in a more certain and straight forward tone.

I look at him, seeing his look of discouragement”

It’s alright to feel that way, Steven. It happens to more people than you know. Me included.”

He glances at me, chugging the rest of the beer before wiping his mouth.

“Yeah, but how do you make it stop?” he asks.

“I um…I don’t know,”

I honestly respond”

I just know that you keep living until one day you do. Or at least that’s what I’ve been told.”

He throws the can away, leaning on the counter as we mosey around the island, allowing me to finish getting ready.

“It’s hard to do without Mom.”

He taps the counter.

“It is.”

I take a deep breath”

It’s really hard for me, too. When Dad passed, and now,”

I say, grabbing my keys and wallet as I head to the closet for my jacket.

He stands in silence for a few seconds before speaking again.

Suddenly, he sheepishly asks”

Is it true? What people say he did?”

I look back at him sincerely, then at the closet, opening it and

nodding. “Yeah.”

A bit of silence parlays between us again. I just can’t tell if it’s good silence.

“You saw it?”

He begins to walk toward the door, waiting”

You saw the gun go off?”

I nod, putting my jacket on, closing the door, then walking over to him.

“Yes,”

I say, putting everything in my pockets”

Do you…think about it?”

he mumbles.

We both look at each other, standing at the front door now”

Almost every day. As if I don’t have enough issues.”

I weakly smile, watching his face stay stiff in disbelief.

“What he did wasn’t your fault, Cole.”

“Yeah, well.”

I clear my throat”

Look, Steve, it isn’t for you to dissect, okay? It’s something for me to deal with. Alone.”

I shrug with my words, reaching for a bouquet of flowers on the table beside the front door—fresh from the flower shop this morning, specific to Noelle’s liking.

“You can’t always do everything alone,”

he says with frus- tration”

Maybe when you understand that, you might start to enjoy life more.”

He stands straight up now”

You push everybody away. Along with me. Stop doing that,”

he scorns me before opening the front door, storming out.

As Dr. Lydia said, that did make me feel better. But it wasn’t the outcome I wanted—and I think that overshadows the goodness entirely.

I toss my head back, sighing as I follow him out the door, wishing I could snap my fingers and be at Noelle’s immediately.