Free Release by Louise J Page B

you
what I think of you. I expect I’ll see you around at some point, so at least
this way we’ve had closure, not that there was much to close.” I shrug my
shoulders and stop at that, because this is starting to sound like the end of a
flipping relationship.
    “Goodbye, Dane.” I turn and
walk back the way I came, even though I actually need to go the other way. My
mistake, but I’m not turning around now.
    “Brooklyn, wait.”
    “I have to be somewhere, I
don’t have time,” I say with a glance over my shoulder at him. I’m glad I got
to clarify that I’m dressed up for a reason. Not for him.
    He catches up to me. “I’m
sorry I wasn’t more honest with you. I don’t usually do things that way, but I
didn’t know how to tell you.”
    “It’s quite simple. “I don’t
want to see you again, Brooklyn.””
    Saying it out loud hurts. It
really bloody hurts.
    “Not really. As lame as it
sounds, I do like you and I wanted to see you again. I just think we’re looking
for different things.”
    “Seriously, Dane,” I stop in
place, because I need him gone. “I feel humiliated by you. Not only because of
your actions, but because I still gave you a chance when my friend warned me
off of you. This conversation is only making me feel worse. I need you to leave
me alone.” I continue walking and up my pace, feeling like complete and utter
shit. And it isn’t because of him . It’s because I … I just can’t deal
with this.
    As my eyes sting with tears
I’m not going to allow, I search my handbag and pull out my mobile. I select
Owen, but before I press ‘call’, I realize that cancelling my plans will mean
being in the apartment alone, which is the last thing I want or need right now.
    I put my phone away and push
Dane Sinclair, and all men, out of my head.

Eleven:
Brooklyn
    I push open the studio door and enter, ready to teach
my Thursday lunchtime advanced Pilates class. “I’m sorry for the delay,” I say,
trying not to be too flustered.
    I see their responding
smiles through the mirror as I approach the front, and return the friendly
gesture. They were made aware of the flood in the ladies toilets and that I was
the only staff member here until ten minutes ago. A couple of them were even
nice enough to help me out.
    Standing before the group, I
proceed with screening them for injuries, illnesses, and pregnancies. We limit
this class to ten people in order to provide a better quality session. Dancers
from Release and members of the public attend, it’s always full and
today’s no different. The words leave my mouth with ease. I’m so used to saying
them they’re imprinted on my memory. But I’m impressed with my ability to
conduct this part in my usual manner – when there’s a tall, black guy standing
at the back of the room dressed in a fitted, white sleeveless T-shirt and navy
running shorts, looking like something off the front page of a fitness
magazine.
    What the fuck is Dane doing
here?
    I’d never usually ignore a
participant, but that’s exactly what he gets as I start the class.
    Somehow, I teach without
acknowledging Dane, but with the full awareness that he is in the room and all
the details surrounding him; my mind racing through reasons why he’s here, my
participants giving full appreciation to the mirror image of him – they’re
making no secret of it, either. On top of all that, it’s clear to me he’s never
stepped foot in a Pilates class before. You only have to look at him to know
he’s probably an expert in the free-weights area of a gym, but that bears no
relation to what I do.
    We perform several exercises
and as I guide the group into the open leg rocker, which is performed on the
mat, my irritation begins to peak. Dane can’t hold the move very well, and it’s
making me look bad. I get up as gracefully as I can, with the level of
frustration I’m containing, and walk over to him. Thankfully he’s positioned
himself away from the others.
    As I