It had been over a week and the 'good morning' texts had stopped five days after they started. A wave of bittersweetness washed over Amila the morning it occurred. She shed some tears in the shower and was a little mopey throughout her stretching routine. After spending the last three months having his name light up her phone she was going to miss it; being tantalized by the naughty things he sent or the sweet comments he made while he was gone. But none of those things were actually factual, he was just playing the part of a good boyfriend. She didn't want to act anymore.

Once Savion began teaching her the routine the bitterness seeped from her pores and rolled down her back like the sweat she emitted from dancing around the practice studio. Sweetness flooded her system as her body became one with the music. The plies, pirouettes, and fouettes came back to her; it wasn't like riding a bike but it was close to it. With every turn, she took she started to believe in herself again and with every leap, she completed exactly who she was. She was Amila Johnson. The ballerina that brought tears of joy to the audience, the dancer that two companies had on their watch-list during her first semester at Juilliard, and the personification of grace and elegance.

She deserved more than what Dominic was willing to give; she deserved a man that would love her and not just her sex.

"You didn't have to do this," Deja said peering at the email on her iPad.

"I know," Amila said, strutting from the kitchen with a pair of half-filled wine glasses. There was no fighting the bounce in her walk. It felt like she was back to being herself. Ballet was the missing piece that helped her regain a portion of her identity. The portion she didn't think she could reclaim. "But you were there for me when I needed you so...I'm paying you back."

"You don't have to pay me back." Deja accepted the glass from her and placed the device face down on the chaise she sat on. "I did what a friend does. Be there."

Amila lowered her body onto the floor and ignored the soreness of her abs. "And I'm doing the same. You provided for me when I couldn't."

"I let you sleep on my couch." Deja swirled the wine around the glass. "Not pay your rent up for a year."

Amila shook her head. "You did more than loan me your couch, Deja Vu. You were my strength when I was weak. My joy when I was depressed and my tour guide when I was lost. I wouldn't be here..." She gestured around her new digs; a condo she finished moving into five days ago. "If it wasn't for you because I realized that I lost my parents, my twin but ...I still have a sister."

Her eyes were misting but she winked anyway. "I've got you."

"Bitch..." Deja dabbed at her eyes with the base of her hands. "You're gonna make me cry. But I love your crazy ass, too."

"How am I crazy?"

Deja gestured to the coffee table covered with containers of food. "You know you could eat one of these a night instead of bingeing on all of them in one night."

"But where's the fun in that?" She asked turning her sight to the table covered with all of her favorites that she had to abstain from since ballet was back in her life and so was the no-fat, no-sugar, no-carb diet.

She gave herself one day a week to cut loose. A day she looked forward to. A day that made smoothies for breakfast, salad for lunch, and one protein and two servings of veggies sans butter worth it. Not to mention only drinking water. Savion told her she didn't need to lose any weight but if she could turn five pounds of fat into muscle she would be satisfied.

 But would she be as satisfied as a slice from that pineapple-pepperoni pizza resting on the middle of the table, the verdict was still out. This was her first time having the pizza again after her two week experiment.

"We get to eat good food while binging on good TV." Amila pointed to the television the maintenance man mounted over her fireplace was that all ambiance and no heat.

"True." Deja nodded, plucking a boudin ball out of one of the containers. "It's like that time—" Deja's was interrupted by a rap of knocks on the front door. "Are you expecting someone?"

"No." Amila pushed herself off the floor with a faint sigh. Her barefoot steps weren't rushed as she went to the door.

Truth was, she wasn't completely clueless as to why someone was knocking on her door this Saturday evening. It was the same reason someone had knocked on her door around the same time every day for the last three days. The text had stopped but something else started. Dominic was taking the twelve days of Christmas literally and it was literally driving her insane. She was stubborn but he was on another level.

Amila's footfalls stopped in front of the door and she steeled her emotions; tucked them deep down before unlocking the door.

"Take it back." She immediately took the delivery woman that wasn't from UPS or FedEx unless they upped their game from uniforms to black shift dresses, pumps, and gold accessories.

The beautiful woman smiled, "Ms. Johnson, you know I can't take it back."

"Then give to someone down the hall." Amila gestured. " I don't want it. Tell him I don't want it. You know...this is harassment."

The woman took a quick glance down at the nicely wrapped box in her hands. "I'm just doing my job." She handed the box to her. "Here you go."

"Thanks." Amila accepted the gift, bid the woman a 'good evening', and closed the door.

"What's the gift of today?" Deja asked as she made her way back into the living room.

"I don't know." Amila gave the box to her before sitting back on the floor ignoring the nicely stacked pile of gifts in the corner he had already sent; Fendi sunglasses, Saint Laurent clutch, a Bulgari serpenti ring, and enough La Perla to fill a drawer in her closet. "This is your fault."

"Yes, I was weak but he looked like a sad puppy," Deja told as she ripped off the Christmas-theme wrapping paper. "I think he might actually...real deal love you."

Amila shook her head swallowing the lump in her throat. She remembered the way he looked at her in the kitchen; that wasn't the face of a man that was in love with her. That was the face of a man that was in love with someone else. She loved Jade and she was just a placeholder. He wanted his placeholder back and like Dominic's driver said, she was not the first girl. Amila knew this was just a phase and he'd get over it when he found the next placeholder.

Deja gasped once she lifted the lid of the box.

"What?" Amila asked. "What is it?"

"Hermes scarves. For. Every. Day. Of the. Week!" She pulled out seven scarves like it was a magic trick. "He cares about you about your hair, too. This man loves you."

"If he loved me he'd stop trying to buy me." Amila shook her head turning away from the box. "He'd be at my door and he'd tell me he loves me."

Her voice broke and she didn't move to brush the tears away.

"Aww, friend." Deja cooed as she joined her on the floor and wrapped her arm around her. "You fell for him didn't you."

Amila nodded. "I did. I was a fool."

"No, you're not." Deja squeezed her. "But if he doesn't bring his ass down here...he is." She leaned forward and grabbed a container off the table. "Cheesy beef taquitos will make it better."

Amila laughed through the tears as she grabbed one. "It will. Eventually."

Deja's chuckle matched her and they feasted while watching TV but Amila wondered if it wouldn't actually get better. Could she get over Dominic? Did she want to get over him? She knew the answer but wasn't ready to admit to it. Not yet. Not now.  She wasn't ready to have her heartbreak again...so soon.

Do you think Amila was a placeholder for Dominic?

Should Deja have given Dominic her address?

Do you think she wants to get over him?

What do you think they are watching?

Is Amila right, if he loved her he'd be there and he'd tell her?

Why do you think Dominic is sending her gifts?