Just Dance

Lethal, she looks. The worst kind of lethal, like a monarch – oh so pretty, oh so poisonous, little butterfly. She moves with such grace, yet any of those moves could turn into something quite painful with a little more concentration. I speak from experience. I never before knew to what extent you can be distracted from the fight. I had the bruise to prove it as well, right here, but now it's really faint -

And as always, she comes at just the right moment to startle the crap out of me and lose my train of thought.

"Yo," she chirps, seemingly taking a leap and landing on the chair to my left. She bares her teeth at me and raises her hand for a high-five. I oblige. Not just because it's an excuse to make contact with her skin for that brief amount of time, but it's become our little… 'thing'. A cute little routine of ours, or something. "Yo Steve" "Yo Chris" cue high-five. She doesn't high-five anyone else. Or I hope, at least. She likes 'a boxer's touch', apparently, and I'm not about to complain.

Five up high. She giggles ever so lightly, bringing her hand back, eyes scanning the crowds before us. After a couple of seconds of absorbing the bright lights shining off her face I return my gaze to my hands. We sit in silence for a while, letting treble bass and unnecessary talk of all present wash over us. Then she starts humming something. Sounds like Debussy, strangely. Clair de Lune. Beautiful tune. Leave it to Christie to whip up the most random piece of music to leave you feeling both nostalgic and as if you've been rushed at the same time. Crazy mix, yeah. I raise my head and let out a loud sigh before I can stop myself. My eyes are purposely fixed on a small group in front of us, taking part in an activity I'd assume they'd call Dancing. Pft. I've seen better. So much better. Not just senseless movement, I've seen rhythm, precision, passion, heat, beauty… in short, dance as an art form. A release, not a mere leisurely social find-a-mate interest.

Christie chooses this moment to place a light punch on my shoulder, the usual leave-a-tingle Monteiro special. I feign a look of pain and she giggles again, still quietly. But she stops soon, and eventually my eyes find hers. She's biting her lip, that annoyingly endearing concerned expression gracing her features.

"So," she says, getting up and taking the chair across the table and opposite me instead, "talk." She's still breathing a little hard from dancing. "And none of the 'clubs just aren't my scene' crap."

Times like these, I think, I'm unsure of whether it's a blessing or a curse she knows me so well. For one, there are moments, not unlike the present, where she picks up on the single thing I expressly do not wish to discuss, and will not stop until it has been discussed to the point of awkward smiles and strange silence. On the plus side, it's as if Christie and myself share this weird connection thing, beyond the level of conversation, closer to the realm of intimate subconscious and… again I find the craver in me grabbing at all too distant straws; the only something we share is a high-five. Still, I treasure that bloody high-five, so much so it borders on Slightly Disturbing and Christie being forever put off by the Boxer's Touch were she ever in the know, and this is when I blink a couple of times. The snapping of her fingers pulls me back to the driving beats of underground London and the hot, sticky ambience of mindless dancing.

Click-click-click. I shake my head and smile a little. "So he is home," she observes, smile at odds with the slight furrow of her brows.

"Yeah," I say sheepishly, and exhale. "I was just thinking, you know. I -"

"No, no," she interrupts, shaking her finger and head. Her fringe flies left, right, left. "No thinking. You think too much. I don't wanna see you think. I wanna hear you talk," she stresses, and leans forward chin resting on her fist. "So go. Talk."

Oh for God's sake Chris. I'm returning her determined stare with one of my own, all the while struggling to find out why those eyes are in my direction when there are so many more worthwhile things to be looking at. A familiar struggle, I'll add. The longest eyelashes line her eyes, but they hardly move as she continues with her unwavering listen-to-Christie stare. I falter under it as usual, and am reduced to the blinking twit that resurfaces all too often. Luckily he's only at the Wade In The Depths Of Her Eyes phase and I can still pull him out before he is Immersed. Getting to that stage isn't exactly fun. Been there, drowned in that et cetera. Not fun at all, and especially so if I happen to completely lose focus of the surroundings and poor Christie is left wondering why the heck I look so vacant.

Come to think of it –

"Err. Hello?" A furrowed brow and a sceptical laugh. "Still with me here?"

- the damage seems to be done.

"Oh. Yes, of course." Her eyes still mark me sceptically. Here it comes.

C'mon Stevie, pull yourself outta that. I stand up, starting to feel a bit more confident, readying myself with the answer to Christie's inevitable question. I straighten out my shirt and take a step forward when she speaks.

"Just need a little wee, Chris," I answer automatically. Rather proud of myself and my inventiveness, I put a bit more distance between us. Then I stop still. I turn around to face her. She's wearing the most incredulous look on her face and I can actually feel my humiliation in the air as something clicks into place at its own leisurely pace.

Christie is the first to break the pause.

"I, er…"

"Wait – wait, what did you just say?"

"I asked if I could get you anything from the bar."

"… Oh, right."

"… I was just gonna go ahead and get a couple of cocktails, but if it's urine you really want I'll see what I can do -"

"What – ha ha, Chris – "

She bursts out into laughter. "Idiot," she mutters, also springing to her feet. "What did you think I said?"

I frown defensively. "I thought you asked me where I was going. And I was - I was going to the toilet."

She raises her eyebrows with a slight puh. After a number of seconds of careful scrutiny she speaks again. "Do you need the toilet?"

That bloody does it. She knows me too well. I try to stare her down a little, but fail miserably after about three seconds. "Not especially," I mumble, barely audible to even myself over the pounding music. But she seems to have caught the gist of it, and laughs again, walking over to me.

Is this seriously happening?

Oh no, outta here Stevie, get outta here -

Before I know it I'm being pushed backwards into a slightly more crowded spot by a gentle hand. I glance up and Christie's wearing that knowing look again. "Oh come on, this isn't fair, it's bad enough I've been sitting here for this long – being on the actual dancefloor's pushing it a bit far, don't you –"

"No I don't," she interrupts. She seems satisfied with the area we end up in, and we stop pushing our way through the crowds. I sigh, not even bothering to continue my feeble objections. She stares furiously at my lowered eyes, trying to catch them. I am wholly aware of this for a record six seconds before faltering and meeting her gaze. We keep it for a moment.

When she finally speaks, her eyes don't look as threatening. Her voice is softer than before. "So, you gonna tell me what's bugging you?" Her eyes aren't even playful anymore – all I can see in them is sincerity.

Out of nowhere there's a hitch in my breathing and I'm trying to swallow a huge lump in my throat. For crying out loud, this can't be happening. I want more than anything to tell her, but how on earth can I? Sure Christie, basically, when it comes to you I'm head over heels. Literally. And no, I do not realise how corny that sounded, sincerest apologies, m'lady. So how's about that cocktail? No way could that ever sound better out loud than it does in my head. Christie has, in any case, always shined brighter when dancing alone. Sure she likes her company, very much so – too much so, I've sometimes overheard people saying – but there's definitely something about her being alone. She prefers it like that – not that there'd be anyone alive good enough for her.

So she's dancing alone, and I'm here singing solo –

"Is it about your boxing?"

I'm brought back to the present with a slight jolt, another track starting up. She's still sporting that expression; truly worried for my well-being, I realise. I attempt to smile reassuringly, "no, no. Nothing to do with that." When her brows contract further I amend, "nothing to do with anything, in fact."

"Well that doesn't make any sense. You're… unhappy about something, I can tell. I only wanna help if I can –"

"I know that…"

"So there is something wrong, then?"

I sigh. Like always, this conversation isn't going to be over with until she sees fit. While waiting for my answer, she is pushed lightly by dancers around her, resulting in her moving closer to me yet. I have to focus for a moment just to find my voice again so I can say something, instead of doing something stupid like gaping at our impossible proximity.

"It's not that I'm unhappy or anything. No, honest," I add, after seeing her eyes narrow accusingly. "It's not unhappiness. Everything's just become a bit too… monotonous, I guess, you know?" I am forced to raise my voice to a half-shout to be heard over the pounding chorus of the song. "Er, I dunno how else to put -"

"Basically you're lazy?"

"No! I just -"

"You're just stubborn?"

"Noo, I – alright, I'm a little lazy – but that's not what I was trying to say!" Almost shouting at her almost grinning face. She pushes back her fringe, leaving her forehead bare for a few seconds before it falls straight back into place. "It isn't stubbornness."

A song less ear-abusing drifts through the air. Christie speaks softer still, "you're bored?"

I shrug. "I guess, kiiinda… everything feels like it's being done by habit now, you know, by default? Like… when you hear an old song out of the blue and your body moves along, nice and easy, all the right steps, without you even realising you're in motion. That's it. It's like a dance, or… something…" I trail off, hoping whatever I just said made an ounce of sense.

My hopes are sort of trampled on when Christie starts laughing manically. I widen my eyes. "What?"

"You don't have to explain to me in terms of dance," she takes a break from laughing so much, and takes a step closer, "I can understand non-dance related language, you know."

"Oh." I stopped short, then joined in with her laughing. "I didn't realise the analogy I guess. And I wasn't er, implying that it's all you- you understand…" Hum de ha, she's literally a step away from me.

"So, like – like I was saying," I struggled, "I'm not unhappy. But I can't help but feel that something is missing somehow, like… I'm dancing. I know the steps, and I'm dancing. But what if," I stop, staring into her eyes, and wonder what kind of prat she sees through them, "what if I don't wanna dance any more? Or at least have another song to dance… at least do a different, er…" Oh god oh god why am I so bad at metaphors curse my ability curse my degree curse it curse it

"Steve."

And I'm back. Christie's voice is sharp yet surprisingly soft. She closes the gap between us, and I get a sudden urge to widen it up again about three hundred miles.

Arms that feels like Christie's wrap themselves around my neck. Tentatively, to be frank, but around my neck they undoubtedly are. "Should I teach you a new dance?"

… Wait, what?

"Huh?" I manage to splutter, my head jerking back involuntarily. "But I'm a – a bad dancer –" Ahh, smooth Steve! Real smooth! I exhale, and try to start again. "Par'n me?"

She tries to hold in her laughter, which I see absolutely no point in because she's so bad at it. As she shakes her head, one of her hands gently tousling my hair, I notice with horror that we are now swaying in time with the music.

"Christie I don't feel like dancing much," I stammer. Why does her perplexed look surprise me. "I mean, dancing in a club, not really my - "

"We're only moving," she says in a sing-song voice. Then she becomes still at my expression, which I can only guess is an unfavourable sight. She sighs. "Would that be a 'no', then?"

That would be a Hell Yes, Ma'am.

"It's… I'm afraid I'm a slow learner."

A final smile creeps onto her face slowly, crinkling her eyes. "In that case, we'd better get started."

Holy crap. Is this really happening?

And we're back to the swaying. This can't be good for my head.

Before I know it I'm being ordered to 'get the hell back' so we end up in a more crowded part of the club. Great, just great. "Oh come on, this isn't fair. I'm not gonna dance, you know."

"I expected you to feel that way."

"But you still want to make me feel so uncomfortable…" I roll my eyes.

She laughs icily. The unfamiliarity of the sound itself silences me. She stares furiously at my eyes, trying to catch them. I am wholly aware of this for a record six seconds before faltering and meeting her gaze, and her scathing voice cuts through the air.

"It's not difficult, Steve."

Easy for you to say, miss I-can-do-anything-and-still-look-great Monteiro. Whether or not it's difficult, it's still impossible. Christie. You drive me crazy in every single way. Get rid of him. I'm so much better for you. Yeah right.

How does the saying go? It takes two to tango. How I'd love to be the one to dance with her, however corny that sounds. But she already has a dance partner, and no matter what anyone says they… look great. Perfect for each other, even.

So she's dancing the tango, and I'm here singing solo –

"Stevie. Just dance."

"What's eating at ya?"

Do you have to, Christie, every time –

Wait. Sod it.

"Er, actually, Christie," I start, looking at her straight in the eyes. I take a breath. Get it right. "I know this is gonna make me a prick, but I don't think I'd ever gather the guts to say it again – anyway, it's been ages that I've wanted to say –"

"Then hurry up and say it," Christie laughs, leaning back on her chair. "Otherwise you're just gonna go back and forth and it'll be really annoying for the both of us and stuff."

"Yeah." I say, staring into her eyes and determined to keep that gaze. "Christie…"

Wait. Her eyes… are obscured.

She's laughing again. "Stooop it! I know who it is!" Large hands cover up her eyes, her petite fingers try to pull them away. The laugh she gives is different to the one she gave me a moment ago, it's louder, fuller, more flirtatious, more… I wish she'd direct that at me.

"Who then?" Eddy's voice asks, from some towering height. "Because I don't know who you are, you just caught my eye from the other side of the room and I thought I'd pop over to say hey hey good lookin'." He leans over to give her a kiss. I stand up to avoid unease. As I slowly edge by them, hoping not to disturb, Eddy resurfaces.

"Hey Steve," he says, with a genuine smile. Yet another thing that makes him almost infuriatingly detestable, his charm. His sincerity. But of course I can't detest him, he's too much of a nice guy. Wow, do I feel like a wimp.

I manage a "hullo" and a smile, strained like tea. Christie stands up, wrapping an arm around Eddy's neck, and also turns to me after one more quick peck on his cheek.

"What were you going to say, Stevie?" she asks.

"Oh that, nothing really, I'll tell you later I guess," I reply.

She nods. I nod. She smiles. I strain.

I start. "So yeah, I'll just, er…" I trail off, pointing vaguely to the left.

"You're gonna dance?" Christie asks, seeming pleasantly surprised. I glance to where I had pointed, and of course, it's the dancefloor.

I shrug. "Sure, why not." I don't think they care that much though, they're kissing again.

"Nothing to it," I say to myself, as I make my lonesome way to the floor. "You know the steps, Stevie, it's still the same dance as always…" I find a random platinum-blond girl dancing with a bit of room to spare, and decide to go over. "You just gotta…" The girl responds with some zeal. Good. Distract me for a minute.

The music blares through the club, my eyes close, the image of you, Chris, automatically washes into view, and I…

I just dance.