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rapunzel-withthegoodhair · 3 years

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Dating + Justin Davis

(playlist)

You’re nine when a boy lifts you for the first time. It’s just in the ballet studio above the rink; Dasha isn’t crazy enough to try this on the ice before you feel safe. Before some trust has been built up between yourself and your partner. After all, pairs is a whole new world to you.

Hungry to know if you can really do this, you channel the fear into sheer drive and run right at him. Leaping makes your stomach flop like the dizzy feeling you get if an elevator drops fast. Then suddenly you’re being held safely in place. It’s terrifying, laying all your dreams in someone else’s hands.

But even at twelve, Justin’s hands are strong. His grip is confidently steadfast, though gentle enough not to bruise your ribs. His laughter spills over to meet your own and you beg to try again.

That first day was magic. And if you’re honest, pairs itself was never really the problem. Skating with Justin always felt like waking up on Christmas morning. The way he pushed boundaries never scared you, because you knew he’d always catch you. All you had to do was trust him.

No, what drove you away from pairs was the way people talked about it. Suddenly, you weren’t being praised for the moves you could accomplish. You were told how cute you looked next to Justin. How beautifully your costumes matched. How you skated together so perfectly in sync. How much chemistry you two had. How adorable your program was. And you knew no one meant anything by it. Not really. But your ambition growls at the back of your mind, anxious to remind everyone that you don’t need a boy to reach the podium and that there’s nothing cute about how many falls you’ve taken to the ribs just to land that double axel.

Still, you bite the inside of your cheek and keep quiet, all too aware of how it would come off if you gave your frustration a voice. Selfish, narcissistic, self obsessed. Even at nine, you don’t want to be that person. You’d rather tie the words up in your throat and swallow them down whole. Keeping the resentment held down in a ball of tension knotted up in your stomach feels easier somehow than anyone accusing you of being a brat. Easier than making Justin feel unwanted.

Especially now, when the light seems to fall out of his eyes every time his father walks into the rink. He never says a word, but you hear his parents yelling in whispers after nearly every practice. You follow his lead, pretending not to hear them either. But still, your tiny hand squeezes his in solidarity as you stay by his side until your mom finishes talking to her friends.

~~~

You’re ten when you go to a funeral for the first time. Standing by your father, you learn what Justin looks like as he cries. Your fingernails dig into your palms to keep your own tears at bay while a priest reads vague passages out of Psalms. Even though you don’t skate with him any longer, the instinct to stay strong for him still vibrates clear through your every cell.

There’s always been such a light in this boy, and it breaks you to see that snuffed out. To see him shattered into pieces of himself. After the service, you try to push through the crowd to hug him. But he’s surrounded by aunts and cousins and coaches and all of his father’s friends. Your family tugs you away, but later that week your mother brings you with her to drop off a lasagna.

Justin is in his room, sitting on the floor, looking numb. Looking like an empty shell. Like a little old person folded neatly inside a boy’s body. Without an invitation you sit next to him. Hold his hand. You don’t speak. There’s nothing to say. But he grips your fingers with the same sure touch he always gripped your waist with when catching your jumps.

You don’t leave him until your mother pulls you away and takes you home. She doesn’t speak to you the whole way, still seething that you embarrassed her so badly by first refusing to skate with Justin Davis just a month before and now walking through his castle of a mansion as if you owned it.

But you couldn’t care less what she thinks. She doesn’t see Justin like you do. She sees his father’s checkbook. His expensive Italian leather shoes and their four car garage. She sees the way James is carefully expanding his empire in Pine Crest. Knows he’s well on his way to owning this entire valley.

She doesn’t see all the light that breaks through his son. Doesn’t see the talent that blossoms like spring fighting back winter in his veins. But she doesn’t have to.

From that night on, Justin Davis is your very best friend in the whole world. And you are his.

~~~

You’re twelve when you’re jealous for the first time. He’s fifteen and still skating pairs. The boy goes through partners like his father goes through bottles of whiskey. You catch him kissing Katie Ellis, his ‘partner of the month’ behind the rink. He’s taller than the other boys his age and he must lean down to kiss her. Your eyes trace the way his fingers thread slowly through her sugar brown hair, cradling her head. It’s the softest you’ve seen him in over a year.

His anger over his mother’s death still burns colder than winter wind and it can be dangerous on the ice. The girls he skates with tend to leave with broken hearts or broken ankles. After Katie quits three weeks later, Dasha forces him to take a break. Or tries.

~~~

You’re thirteen when you sneak out for the first time. It’s Justin’s sixteenth birthday, and he’s stolen his father’s Escalade just to come and pick you up.

Of course, your family had been invited to the big cook out Mandy threw over the weekend at the Davis estate. But tonight was more of a ‘don’t ask don’t tell’ kegs and edibles situation Justin had put together himself up at the family’s personal chalet. You had asked to go, but were hardly surprised when your mother’s only response was to laugh in your face. After all, you weren’t going to party your way to nationals.

But ‘no’ isn’t something Justin is used to accepting. So when you don’t show up at the party, he shows up under your window. Pebbles thrown against the glass wake you easily and when you push the sill up, his smile is there to greet you. Shining brighter than the moon.

It doesn’t take much convincing. You’ve been on a rigid scheduled, set on a path to the Olympics since you were six years old. At thirteen, you can feel the blood in your veins screaming for freedom so loud you’re sure you might just burst open. Pulling on a pair of jeans and a sweater, you slip out onto the roof. Sitting on the ledge, your eyes meet his and you ask silently if he’s ready to catch you. That gleaming smile sparkles back as he nods and steps closer until he’s right under you.

You fall into his arms as easily as ever and he carries you through the cold autumn moonlight to the Escalade.

“Wait, isn’t this your dad’s car?” You can’t help but giggle, already drunk on adrenaline as you pull your seatbelt on.

Climbing in on the driver’s side, Justin pulls the car into gear and starts to back out of your long driveway.

“Not tonight.”

You already know you’re going to be grounded for at least a month after this. But you don’t have much of a social life to take away in the first place. And the smile on Justin’s face is more than worth it.

The party plays like a movie. And even though you’re younger than most of the kids there, Justin never lets you feel stuck on the outside of anything. The room spins as music shakes through the walls, thrumming happily in your chest. The alcohol in your system makes walking sort of feel like swimming and dancing feel like floating.

Justin only leaves your side once the whole night, disappearing with a pretty redhead girl into an upstairs bathroom for fifteen minutes. Your insides burn with tequila and jealousy. Slipping away from the party, you stand outside in the freezing cold air and close your eyes. It’s hard to picture what might be going on in that bathroom. You’re only thirteen. But you imagine being there with him instead of her. You imagine his fingers in your hair, cradling your head just the way he’d held Katie Ellis’. Imagine the way he’d have to lean down to reach your shorter frame. Imagine his hands on your waist, fitting perfectly into the curve there just like before, like they were made for holding you only.

Suddenly one of those familiar hands is on you shoulder. The warmth of his skin shocks you, your small body practically turned to ice in the October air.

“You’re freezing...” Justin’s features crumple with concern as he pulls you close. His sweater radiates heat, body burning as if he’s just skated through a full routine. Nuzzling into the creamy cable-knit material, you drink in the scent of cologne and sweat mixed together. “Let’s go lay down, hmm? I’ll keep you warm.”

He’s not flirting with you. It’s not a line. You can see the weight of fatigue in his eyes and hear the sincere desire to leave the party in his voice. The bedrooms in the chalet are all taken, but only Justin has a key to the attic loft. Moonlight falls into the room in thick, blue-white shafts. You have to laugh at how gigantic his boots look next to yours as they’re set by the door.

Cuddled up with Justin in the queen sized bed, you sleep better than you have in years. You can hear his heart beat as you lay your head on his chest. And his arm around you seems to fit just right, even though he’s so much bigger and gangly than you.

‘I knew you were made for holding me.’ You think as you drift into a deep sleep.

For the first time in your life, everything is perfect.

Until you wake up to 17 missed calls and 36 missed text messages in the morning. All from your mother. Justin tries to take the blame, but you’re grounded for a year anyway, phone taken away for three whole months.

Things at home couldn’t be more tense and you’re walking on eggshells for what feels like a lifetime. But when you ask to skate with Justin again, your mother doesn’t hesitate. She knows it’s your only real shot at the Olympics. And hell, if you don’t go for gold, what the fuck has the last six years of driving you to five am practices been for anyway?

~~~

You’re sixteen when a boy kisses you for the first time.

Justin is nineteen and finally looks like the boy you knew once upon a time as he holds your hand up high on the winner’s podium at Nationals.

You didn’t just place, you clinched first. By a mile.

The outpouring of cheers and flower bouquets and congratulations is endless. But all you can see through the confetti is Justin’s big, puppy eyes. The whole stadium melts into the background. And even the roar of the crowd seems miles away as Justin’s soft mouth finds yours.

Vertigo is no stranger between your ears. Spinning around until you finally don’t fall for the past thirteen years has made the two of you good friends. But kissing Justin puts that room-tilting, stomach-flipping feeling to shame.

It takes you a moment to even realize what’s happening. To process more than just the cherry bombs exploding inside of you. Finally, your arms slide around his neck and you kiss him back.

~~~

You’re seventeen when you know for the first time that you’re really and truly in love.

You’ve always known you loved him. But this is different. Trusting him to catch you off of the ice, to catch you with more than just his hands, is a whole new adventure.

There’s a calm inside your whole body that’s never been there before. All the roiling anxiety over reaching perfection just seems to fade away. Like you’ve been tuned into the wrong radio frequency your whole life and finally found the right channel.

You realize, as much as you love skating and as much as you want the past eight years to add up to something truly meaningful... maybe that meaningful thing isn’t a medal. Maybe it’s this with him.

~~~

You’re eighteen when you win an Olympic medal for the first time.

Laughter bubbles up between your sobs when the score is called out. You’d needed to beat the French by 3 points to edge them out for gold. You’re seventeen points ahead.

And you fall to your knees. And the tears won’t stop and you’re just so fucking happy. Because you know you left everything you had out on the ice; not for some stupid hunk of metal. But for Justin and Dasha and yourself. How hard the three of you have worked together.

As you kiss him, you realize that the relief you feel doesn’t actually have anything to do with winning. It’s the knowing that you can close this chapter and be proud of what you accomplished together and move on into something that doesn’t belong to the rest of the nation. Something that’s just for the two of you.

#god I can finally publish this because sasha finally started #spinning out #justin davis #justin davis imagine #evan roderick #eroderickedit #my edit.#my graphics.#my writing.#c: pierce brockton

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