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Lately, Nyma had run into a bit of a problem.
Most people wouldn't see it as much of a problem but considering the amount of space it was taking up in her mind, Nyma was quite troubled.
On the outside, everything was normal - there were no glaring issues at all. Work was great, stellar even. The club was full every night, tips were rolling in beautifully and she'd never sounded or moved better. Her voice wasn't overworked, she woke up rested every morning, her body barely hurt even with the amount of dancing she did, she always had something to look forward to...
She always had someone to look forward to.
The problem was related, but not entirely, to a certain patron of hers. Nyma was reluctant to admit that perhaps there was a reason she rested more to give a little extra energy to her performances some nights.
Her manager had chalked it up to her continuing rise in popularity, and Nyma herself had said it was in the best interests of the club - "When one of us looks good, we all look good". But deep down, she knew she ran her solo routines twice more in rehearsals - at least in part - for him.
But it's not as if she didn't know him! Dancing a little harder and adding extra melismas to a song for a complete stranger would be odd to Nyma to say the least. Zhen was a friend. He was helpful and considerate. And a surprisingly loyal supporter.
Most people in her life who weren't performers themselves would watch her twice, maybe thrice, before deciding they'd seen all they needed to see. She couldn't blame them though, the club was limited in terms of performance variety to maintain a strong image and a loyal base of clientele. Seeing the same routines more than once would be dull for most. But clearly not for Zhen.
Performing was always a little addictive for Nyma. The way the lights shone on her in the darkened room, catching on all the jewelry draped over her vibrant costume, the deafening sound of the applause over the band's familiar tunes and rhythms when she belted and danced to the chorus of every song - it was electric, a high that few other things could give.
Most of all, it was the look she saw on everyone's faces. That stare that told her she'd enraptured them, the plain joy and excitement, the admiration. It felt rewarding and powerful. Seeing that look - the look - on Zhen's face was something different though. Imagining having that power over him made Nyma feel...strange.
She wasn't oblivious to the way he looked at her in general. It was obvious that he'd taken a liking to her - something that she'd only recently begun to realise was mutual. But he was oddly reserved about it, keeping her at arms length (sometimes literally) to avoid becoming too familiar. He was polite, a little flirty, but guarded.
And yet he showed up without fail, thrice a week, to see her. Not sit with her - she'd only managed to entertain him once in that way, persuading him to stay with a bottle of wine before he'd made his swift escape - but see her. Watch her.
O Spirits, how she loved to be watched by him.
Part of it was the way Zhen always seemed to be enjoying himself, something he was guarding poorly if at all. His cocky smirk turned into a real smile, and there was a little shine in his eyes that Nyma found sickeningly endearing.
But there was also something else. Whenever she rolled her body and kicked her hips to the drums, or sang down a complicated run, Nyma looked at him to catch it. Zhen's face would quickly shift from a smile to an expression of wonder slightly laced with something dark.
Something like yearning or need. Like hunger.
And then like fire given fuel, she'd give more and more until the last note, leaving the stage to cheers and chants with the heat of his stare burned into her mind as she tried to catch her breath. And every time she readied herself to host tables and thank patrons, he'd already have vanished.
Recently while removing her makeup and hair pieces, she'd begun to imagine what it might be like if he were waiting for her when she left the club. She was rarely a romantic (it was foreign to her at most times), but lately she'd been having a startling amount of thoughts like this about Zhen. Her little problem.
In her mind, he'd congratulate her and compliment her improvements (something she didn't have to work too hard to imagine since he'd do so in any case when he saw her), and place a strong arm around her shoulders as he walked her home. At her door, she'd tug on his sleeve and try to tempt him inside - but he'd refuse her, saying the time was not right, before reverently kissing her hand and bidding her goodnight.
Ironically, when she’d leave the club, it was there her thoughts lingered. She'd bite her lip, thinking about the time she'd convinced him to sit with her, how he leaned in to speak into her ear when it was loud and she felt his sideburn brush her jaw. Crossing her arms tight, she'd scoff at herself and the heat in her face and stomach. But trying to push the thoughts away only made them more problematic.
When she'd arrive home and settle in for the night, she'd be cursed by the memory of his voice and the hunger in his eyes. She'd imagine what would happen if she could make him stay again, what he might say into her ear - if he'd confess to thinking about her too, to wanting her as badly as she did him. Maybe he'd let her take his hand, let her lead him to her dressing room and shut the door behind them so they could be away from the other patrons who they'd surely made jealous.
Nyma would always fidget as she thought of what Zhen might do then. Would he be reserved again? Push her away and tell her why they couldn't possibly…? Or would he…
That part was always when Nyma would give in, signing heavily and letting her hands do as they pleased. She'd convinced herself that she was only using it as stress relief, as a sleep aid at most. After all, nothing had changed other than the subject of her thoughts.
But her impassioned cries of his name said otherwise, only seeming to get louder and more desperate the more she allowed herself to think of him.
She thought of Zhen pressing her up against the closed door of her dressing room, caging her in with his arms and ravaging her - mouth on hers as she'd deliriously cling to his shoulders. She imagined the scratch of those sideburns on her neck as he'd leave marks on her skin, calloused hands pulling at her costume to reveal more of her body and gripping at her hips.
When she felt herself getting close to the peak, Nyma would think of how he'd sound - breathless and rough, rambling endlessly about how much he needed her. He'd press his forehead to hers and she'd stare up into his amber eyes, and he'd beg for everything she already wanted to give him. And at her “yes”, he would take and take and take and take. Her hips would be bruised with his fingerprints and she'd scream his name at the feeling of him buried inside her, so full she'd be able to feel him in her belly.
Thinking of him gasping her name and biting into her shoulder always sent her over the edge, a loud and embarrassing sob of “Zhen” reminding her how fortunate she was to live alone. After a few moments to allow her breathing and heart rate to settle, she'd do her utmost to ignore any creeping feelings and allow the fatigue to take her.
And while she may not allow herself to confront those feelings today, Nyma definitely won't allow either of them to run from them forever…