III

The first sensation I have upon my arrival at the Valentine's Day Dance, besides nausea, is an unbearable chill. The importance of the cold in this place is something I can't possibly exaggerate. I'm standing in the darkest corner I can find, wearing a suit I likely can't afford, with Valentine, who's wearing a specially-tailored tux I most certainly can't afford. Still I bought it for him. Remember that, as this story progresses. Remember I loved him better than I loved myself.

Every guy in black and white. Every girl in pale blue or pink, dark mauve or evergreen. The colors in this room are chilling. Even the little white lights strung everywhere, which I guess are supposed to resemble stars, are more reminiscent of snowflakes to me. I can't stand the cold. I hunch over in my corner and shiver.

Then I see a fire.

It's Esmeralda. She's dressed in orange and red and gold. She's burning with color and warmth. It's the warmth that draws me from my corner and forces me closer to her. I can't help it. She's dancing alone, and it's unlike any dance I've ever seen. While every other couple clings to each other, bouncing or swaying together depending on the music, she twirls alone. Her arms are in the air. Her hands move like birds over her head. She's spinning and laughing, and after a while, everyone stops to watch. The guys let go of their dates and stare at her. Even the girls can't help watching. And I feel myself tense at the sight of that many eyes on her.

She's so warm. I know I'm drawing closer to her than anyone else dares. I know it, but I can't stop myself. Valentine tugs on my sleeve, but God help me, I brush him aside. I can hear Peter behind me, calling my name. All I can do is mutter, "Just… Just let me…" though I doubt he can hear me over the pounding music. I don't care. I want, just once in my life, to know what it's like to tremble with something other than cold.

And that's when I see Phoebus staring at her from across the dance floor. He's a lion watching a gazelle: determined, planning, hungry. He's spotted his prey, and soon he'll move in for the kill. I'm sick with worry and useless anger. I can't stand it. How dare anyone watch her they way he does, the way all of them are watching her, the way I am… I shake the thought from my head.

This won't do. She probably doesn't even realize she's attracting this kind of attention. She wouldn't continue dancing if she did. So, thinking I will give her a quick word of caution, I reach out and touch her. And that is the first of many, many mistakes. If I were to choose a point at which everything begins to fall apart, this would be it. Because, as everyone knows, touching a fire only gets you burned.

Esmeralda stops dancing, which is exactly what I want, right? Only she's giving me a look that makes me shrink back from her. She folds her arms and waits to hear what I have to say. Good, I tell myself. Talk to her. Explain yourself, so she doesn't think you're just some pervert who wanted to touch her.

"I… I…" I'm such a fool. "You should just… stop." Idiot. "People are staring at you." What people? People like you, Claude? Is that what you mean? You're staring at her, and you don't like how that makes you look? Or maybe you don't like how that makes you feel. That must be it, Claude. You don't like knowing you're no better than Phoebus. He's the lion and you're the jackal, just waiting for a taste of his kill.

Her response to my intrusion is kinder than my own. "Leave me alone," she says. But it scorches me far worse than any of the terrible things I said to myself.