Chapter 9

I drive the car to the side of the house, like I always do, habit's so ingrained I no longer think about it. But I'm a guest here, now, maybe I should start parking at the front, Lin DaoShi might prefer that. It's a bit too intimate, innit, to park the car by the side door, as if I'm a regular here. As if I belong here. Fuck, I never really belonged here; this was Allen's realm, his fortress. I was nothing but a prisoner within these walls. And still I miss it, that sense of having to care for nothing, of having to do nothing by my own. When I had classes, he drove me to university, picked me up once they were over. When I went shopping, it was he who took me, when I travelled, it was because he wanted to travel. When I went out at night, it was on his arm, to his favourite restaurant, his favourite bar, and I drank the drinks he told me I'd like, and ate the food he said I'd enjoy, and bought the clothes he deemed suitable for me, shunned the friends he found unworthy of me. Lived the life Allen deemed was to be mine.

And I was never me.

I don't want to think about this. I'm no longer living here, someone else is. Someone whose image springs to mind unbidden, those eyes of his, soft and warm when he looks my way; dark and stormy when he's lost in thought. Shit, I need to get over this, bloke's straight, I need to get that in my head. There's no point swooning over how gorgeous Lin DaoShi is, he's not for the likes of me.

Maybe as friends. Yeah, we can be friends; after all, he did ask me to help him practise. The stupid smile is back on my lips as I park the car and get out, dance shoes in one hand, keys in the other. I march across the gravelled floor down the side of the house, rain begins to fall. Piano music sounds from the inside and I can't help myself. I texted him as soon as I left work, ran home to change into dance gear, drove here like a lunatic. Half an hour since I clocked out of the bookstore until I parked by the side of a house that once was mine. And he's started without me.

Instead of walking in, I hide in the rain and watch from the outside as Lin DaoShi does a few battements on the barre, legs stretched to the side and the front, to the back of him, muscles taut and exposed under the tight, knee-length leggings he's wearing. Leg-warmers cover his shins, a pair of old, white ballet shoes on his feet, his arm curved into second position, hand delicate and ethereal. I'm invaded by a sudden want to hold that damn hand.

He's so thin! I can't help noticing just how thin he is. His ribcage stands out under the tight vest he wears, elbows sharp as blades, bony knees straightened as he does a perfect relev‚, buttocks clenched - and my eyes go straight to those buttocks. Shit, I'm gonna regret this. So glad I'm wearing a long, loose jersey. If my body decides to have any weird reactions to how hot Lin DaoShi looks, at least those reactions will be nowhere in sight. But he's too thin, that's not normal. I wonder if he ever eats. Must live off the milk and apples Lee says is all he has in the kitchen. And the array of green teas. Bloke likes his green tea. Doesn't take a genius - and I'm not one - to figure out he's got an eating disorder. Maybe I should have a word with JunJie?

I'm brought back to reality by DaoShi spotting me outside. He waves me in, walks towards the door, meaning to open it for me, but I beat him to it. Walking out of the rain, I still manage to bring it with me. He's placed a standing hanger here, wasn't this in the garage? Allen bought it and then decided he hated the thing, hid it away in the garage. Along with those two chairs. DaoShi catches my stunned face, pales as if caught out of line.

"Should have checked with you," he says. "About bringing that stuff in here. It was just lying around in the garage, Leandra said it'd be fine. I figured a couple of chairs would be useful, and a hanger too, so you can hang your coat."

I smile back at him, shake my head, get out of the jacket. "It's okay. You started without me," I tell him, my voice whiny and childish.

"I was just warming up. Put on your shoes, want to see how good you are. Leandra mentioned you were very good, said she and your mother went to all your dance recitals, and you were the best in your class?"

Why would Lee tell him that? Did he ask about me? Why did he ask about me, what did he want to know? No, I mustn't go there. I sit in one of the chairs and put on my dance shoes, realising I missed wearing them. When I stand up, he eyes me up and down. My cheeks blush and I feel so self-conscious I just want to disappear.

"Barre," he says, and I follow him there. He waits for me to stand in first position, hand draped over the railing, and once again eyes me up and down. "Take off that jersey."

What? No, fuck, I can't take this off, what if I happen to experience a sudden... unwanted reaction to how hot he looks in a leotard?

"I'm not wearing much of anything under it," I say, my voice small.

"Can't see your back properly, I think you're not standing quite straight, but need to see it. Come on, it's warm in here, out with it."

I pull off the jersey and stand up straighter. He walks nearer, and slaps the low of my back, making me jump in surprise. "Ow, what's that for?"

"What's this curve here for? Straighten up, and your knees too. Feet outwards, that's it. Now, give me a pli‚."

I obey, and he instantly slaps my knee. "Wider. Grand pli‚, if you please. Straighten your back, Jai, shoulders out. Widen your chest, come on. Yup, that's good. Okay, keep this in mind while we do the barre - stomach in, back straight, arms wide, knees out. Can you keep it that way?"

"I'm so out of shape," I justify, and he smiles. He's got the most stunning smile, that man has.

"It's all right, we'll take it slow."

Only we won't, he's like a bloody slave-driver, and pushes me to the limit. Not that I'm complaining, it's great, the advice he gives and the corrections he makes are just so good I'm sure my technique would improve by leaps if we were to keep this up for a couple of months. I pray we do keep this up for at least a couple of months. And watching him dance is a privilege, he's just glorious. I try to follow his centre work and am left staring after him while he does the grande allegro on his own - I sure can't keep up with that. The height he reaches while executing the beats is extraordinary, at least for me, who was never very good at this. But I can't fail to notice him wince at certain movements, especially the jetes and the arabesques that demand more on his back.

He winces again after one final pirouette, this time not from any discomfort or pain, but the incessant ringing of his phone. Giving me an apologetic look, he turns off the music and takes the call, speaking hushedly in Chinese. I follow the conversation with difficulty - he talks so fast and I'm so out of practice since Mum died - but can't fail to notice his excitement. Hopefully, he's got some good news, he could do with a break. I can't help smiling at him when he turns back to face me with the widest grin on his lips.

"Everything all right?" I ask, already knowing everything must be better than all right.