Page 63 of Fighting Fate
It's time for some me-time. Milli time.
Deciding I don't want any outside distractions, I opt not to respond to Miles. If he wants, he can come to my dorm. It might be amusing to see him squirm.
You're bad, Milli.
Firmly, I switch my phone to "DO NOT DISTURB" mode and toss it into my dance bag. Leaping to my feet, I draw in a long, steadying breath and stride back to the center of the dance studio, my mind set on immersing myself in the routine.
Positioning myself in front of the mirrored wall, I extend my leg gracefully, pointing my toe as I inhale deeply. "Just be, Milli," I murmur to myself, allowing my mind to drift as I start moving in sync with the soft rhythm playing in the background. The music wraps around me, a comforting cocoon, pulling me away from the chaos of thoughts, into a world where movement and expression reign free. The tension melts away from my muscles as I dance, each movement fluid and natural.
In this space, I am truly alive, unencumbered by worries or expectations. The practiced routine flows from me as naturally as breathing. My body spins, leaps, and glides across the floor with an adrenaline-fueled grace. Sweat forms on my brow, my breath quickens, but I push on, relentless.
There's no stopping me now.
Not a chance.
I pour every ounce of my being into the dance, channeling all my bottled-up emotions—the frustration, fear, doubt, and insecurity—into each movement. It feels like a cleansing ritual, a way to rejuvenate and start anew.
As the music reaches its crescendo and then fades, I find myself standing still, panting and glistening with sweat. A smile of pure satisfaction spreads across my face as I wipe the sweat from my cheek. My heart gradually calms, and there's a palpable sense of relief, like shedding a heavy burden. Looking at my reflection, the familiar, confident, and passionate Milli is staring back at me, and it's a sight for sore eyes.
This is it—my moment to pause and truly appreciate the simple joys of life. To find my footing once more amidst the chaos, and honestly, it feels damn incredible.
"Dude, you're totally coming off as a jealous boyfriend. You get that, right?"
My phone slips from my hand once more, adding to the gazillion times it's happened tonight. It lands with a soft thud on the jumble of study books scattered all over our well-used couch—the one Luke and I practically live on. The screen briefly lights up, throwing a faint glow that paints fleeting shadows across the messy pages of open textbooks and scrunched-up notes. Glancing over nonchalantly to the opposite side of the couch, there's Cam, unsurprisingly downing another gulp of our beer. I mean, seriously, it's only Thursday—smack in the middle of the week—and he's acting like it's just another run-of-the-mill moment.
Miles, pot calling the kettle
I shake my head, trying to brush off his comment that's clearly about Milli. My mind was all over the place during classes this morning, then during practice, and of course, Cam picked up on it because the guy's sharp as a tack. Then again, he doesn't know shit, especially when it comes to me and Milli.
"Remember when I mentioned that knocking back beers on a weekday, especially with a game around the corner and Panthers' Days coming up, might not be the best plan?" I remind him, half-heartedly.
He raises an eyebrow, offering a nonchalant shrug as he takes another swig from the beer he helped himself to from our fridge. Did I argue when he showed up unannounced? Well, no, because I've made it a point to have him and the other two fantastic freshman mentees over to ensure they're keeping up with what they should be doing—including my own responsibilities in mentoring them.
I'm aware I should've probably snatched the beer from his grasp, but I've been reminding the guy since he strolled into our apartment an hour ago that it's not the wisest move. Yet, all he's done is shrug, and I've let it slide. Though, at least he's here and not out painting the town red. I mean, if need be, I can ensure he gets home safely.
Cam rolls his eyes and reclines on the chair across from me. "Relax, dude. I'm just unwinding a bit. We've been practicing like crazy for weeks; a little booze won't do any harm."
I roll my eyes. I'm pretty certain his response is on autopilot because it's definitely not the first time I've heard it. "It's not your alcohol tolerance I'm concerned about. I'm worried you'll get too sloshed and mess up our chances of winning."
Cam snickers, completely unfazed by my comment. I let out a sigh, knowing this argument is going nowhere, and turn back to the TV. But my mind is elsewhere—on Milli. Why hasn't she responded to my texts since yesterday? I was only joking about showing up at her dorm, but now I'm seriously considering it.
Miles, get a grip.
I know it sounds like I'm acting all overprotective, but it's not like that. It's just this instinct to make sure she's okay. Milli's been my rock.
When I had that hospital stay? She was at my door the moment I got back, asking about every detail.
After the surgery or whenever I felt low? She'd show up with my favorite gnocchi soup and suggest we binge-watch Goosebumps reruns together. She wasn't much into thrillers, more of a chick flick kind of person, but she knew it was my ultimate favorite.
During chemo? She stood right by me, helping pick out hats to cover my hair loss that week.
It feels like there wasn't a single moment during those tough childhood years when she wasn't there for me, and just reminiscing about it has my eyes welling up with tears.
Fuck. Get it together, Miles.
I close my eyes, rubbing the bridge of my nose as a headache starts to build. Fucking headaches have been a constant companion since childhood, ebbing and flowing, but never really going away. The what ifs linger in the back of my mind, especially since Dr. Reynolds has yet to call.
"You sure me drinking is really the reason for your irritation right now? It doesn't happen to have anything to do with Sutton's little sister?"