Sasha Torres was a "package". She'd been shipped and promptly delivered and passed back and forth between excited recipients and kept under wraps and stored every place but home. Sasha Torres was a package, a vessel of constantly raw nerves and splintery emotions and high expectations and dark secrets, bundled in a highly reflective wrapping of sarcasm and perfect dancing.
Her ruse had been going alright until today. Today had been spent listening to her friends advising her to go home, dropping the "Package" at the inopportune instant when she truly had nowhere else to go. It was ironic that to return to her residence would not be going home, nor would she feel any less alone if there. She felt more comfortable (in a disinfectant-scented hobbit hole sort of way) in Boo's broom closet than she did in the palatial house she lived in. Snug, warm and Gain-scented beat out roomy, cold mausoleum any day. Any other day, it probably would again, but she needed a place tonight. Walking in the dark, the little home invader searched for a place to store herself, her warp-speed thoughts putting her body on autopilot until she felt the familiar crunch of the gravel outside the dance studio beneath her boots. She shoved her hands in her hoodie's pouch and drew a very deep breath; she always fit here. Better than almost anywhere else if she needed a place to belong. Dashing off a quick text, she hunted for the hide-a-key and let herself into the guesthouse.
She'd told Roman where she was for 2 reasons: loneliness and curiosity. All those "typical" hormonal responses she'd read about or glimpsed on television between pirouettes were actually beginning to percolate whenever she was around the teen with the carefully studied nonchalance and affected air of disinterest. The scientific side of her told her repeated interactions would provide data to support or reject a hypothesis; the miserable scared little girl she kept duct-taped in a trunk in the back of her mind merely wanted to not feel alone. She loved her friends more than anyone (including them) truly knew, and being deprived of even occasional affection was making her reach out to someone new.
A few moments of Banter preceded the Slow Approach (that's how these things always went, right) and soon they stood in a Tentative Embrace waiting to kiss. She was aware of the key jangling in the side door, and had enough time to process the thought that Madame Fanny had found her in the guesthouse (and of course she'd left the curtains wide open), when she turned to see Michelle Flowers-Simms in the doorway.
For just a minute, time held still, shimmering like a dew-dotted cobweb. Then Sasha was vaulting across the floor and throwing her arms around Michelle. There was a moment of resistance, of uncertainty on the older dancer's part, before she folded the girl into a responding hug. They stood wrapped in each other's arms, letting warmth and affection wend around them like a time-softened quilt. A vague recognition of retreating footfalls and the shoosh of the sliding door alerted her to Roman's departure, but Sasha couldn't find any spare emotion to care with. All it took was a "hey, kid" and it was confirmed: Michelle, their fabulous Vegas-flash Nutcracker Macer, was back.
All day long, her friends had suggested she simply "go home". Not until the former showgirl walked into her life and ended up in her arms did Sasha realize she'd done exactly that.
Author's Note: after the season opener, this idea sat on the edge of my consciousness and said "write me!" until I did. Hope you enjoyed it. Reviews are appreciated, even if you didn't.