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I DIDN’T WANT TO LEAVE her room. I stood outside the door with my forehead pressed to the cool wood, listening to the sound of her sobbing. They were faint, and I knew she had moved across the room. My heart broke to hear her so distraught, when all I had offered to do was try to make it better.
I don’t.
Her words echoed in my head, though if it was a lie, I wasn’t sure. Over the last few weeks we had worked so closely together, we were finally at a point where she didn’t shudder at my touch, and I thought something more had blossomed between us. Something we never shared in postcards and letters, something organic that grew from a mutual feeling.
I refused to believe she didn’t care for me; I saw it in her eyes, the way they had shifted when she told me she didn’t care. For whatever reason she reacted, sending me away instead of clinging to me the way she had two days ago.
A strange comfort washed over me, her body had spoken a volume of contrasts to her words. Jaqui was in love with me, but she was terrified to even believe it. And I would be willing to bet my last ruble it was because of the men in her past.
I willed my legs to walk away, but I stayed in front of her door, frozen. I listened as she moved about the room, opening the closet door and sitting something heavy on her bed.
She’s going to flee, I thought, she’s going to run back to Paris.
I couldn’t let her go, not when I’d found her so soon. Despite everything I’d said, she came here anyway. She fell in love with me, and I with her. It felt like it had happened so fast, but everything had been so natural. The very idea of watching her walk away when we’d just found each other was soul-crushing. I’d spent every day with her for the better part of two months. I couldn’t let her just go.
I wasn’t giving up on us, not yet. I refused to let this slip through my fingers. Not after she had helped me gain so much confidence.
Unsure what to do, I wandered back to the cafeteria, grabbed more coffee, and made my way back to my room. Staring at my unmade bed, where I hadn’t slept in two days now, I wondered how I could stop her. Confronting her wouldn’t help; she’d only be more scared and tighten her resolve to leave. There had to be another way.
Down the hall, I heard her door open and shut softly; I knew time was running out. I checked the time. She’d head to the train station, but there were still a few hours before the train would arrive. I still had a chance.
What would I do when I got there? Sweep her off her feet and convince her to stay? Or maybe ... I was right, and this place was slowly poisoning her. Maybe it was toxic for both of us, and we needed something new.
I ran a hand through my hair nervously. I get I couldn’t forget about the things she’d done, but I wanted to show her the bustling city I had grown up in. For a minute, maybe we could forget ballet, Misha, pills, Svetlana, the whole thing. Maybe we could even slowly begin to put it behind us.
Maybe instead of her going home, we both needed to go to my home. If I could get her away from the pills and the pressures of ballet, I could start to put those pieces back together. I meant what I said: I would put her back together again. I wanted the passion and heart I knew from our letters. I wanted Jaqui back.
I packed a few things hastily and made my way to Pytor’s office. He wasn’t there, surprisingly. I froze in front of his desk, staring at the pile of papers and wondering what to do.
There it was, Jaqui’s resignation, hastily scribbled in her native French and signed at the bottom. I gritted my teeth. She wasn’t getting away so easily. I snatched the paper from the desk and pocketed it, then pulled a notepad and pen from the desk.
Penning a short note to Pytor about our unexpected trip out of town. I promised him we’d be back within the week, and during that time we would train and practice as we did here. Strangely, I told him not to worry, Jaqui and I would be fine. Yet, I knew it was far from the truth, at least, the truth I knew now. My crazy plan to take her home might not even work. But it was worth a shot.
I ripped the paper and sat it in front of his chair, tacking it to the edge of the wide calendar hidden beneath the stacks of bills, letters, and other materials.
I made it all the way to the entrance of Tanets, where I almost collided with Pytor himself, carrying a white paper bag and a brown cup of coffee. Shocked, I backed up, staring at him. It had never occurred to me he left Tanets for any reason, but then I remembered he also never came to the cafeteria. Today, his trip out for breakfast had saved me a lecture, and I was grateful for it.
He looked up at me, then down to my suitcase, saying nothing at first. Then, finally, he cocked his head and asked, “Are you running away, understudy?” As if he expected this all along.
“No,” I gripped the handle of my suitcase. I tried to push past him. “I’ve left a note.”
“A note?” He side-stepped, his hands full, unable to stop me. “Where are you going, young Petrov?”
Normally, I would never say anything personal to him; he made it clear more than once that our personal lives meant nothing for the sake of ballet. But this one time? I ceased to care. I uttered the truest sentence I knew.
“To save the love of my life from her greatest mistake.” I shouldered through the front door.
“And exactly where do you plan to do that?” Pytor called after me, a look of amusement on his face.
The door shut behind me, nearly snatching my words as I reached out to hail a cab.
“In St. Petersburg,” I shouted.