Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or "Twisted Ballerina".
Note: My goodness, the reviews just keep coming in, don't they? To the readers who are wondering who "Da-" is, you'll find out soon enough. I have the next few chapters outlined and planned out, and let me tell you, some of them, I'm VERY excited to write. So, keep reading and reviewing, loyal fans!
It was Day 5 of the domestic violence awareness project in the Glee Club, and emotions were high. Kurt and Santana were the ones who were obviously the most moved, although Rachel had shown some strong emotion during her solo performance the other day. They were all walking on eggshells around the most emotionally fragile of the bunch, knowing that the smallest thing could set them off.
"Well," Mr. Schue said. "Again, after yesterday, I'm hesitant to ask if anyone has anything to contribute to this project."
Brittany raised her hand. "Mike and I have been working on something," she said.
"Yeah, it's a song-and-dance routine," Mike piped up.
"That sounds great," Mr. Schuester said. "Well, why don't you show us?"
"Show us what?" Brittany asked innocently.
Mike nudged her. "Oh, our routine," Brittany giggled. They stood up and took their positions in the front of the room. Brittany wore a ballerina's tutu and leotard, both pink, with her hair up in a ballerina bun. She'd even put on toe shoes for the occasion. The club looked at her with interest; the more fashionable ones (Kurt, Mercedes) knew that the "ballerina look" was "in" due to the popularity of Black Swan, but this was interesting. Mike stood behind Brittany, pretending to "wind" her up, as if she were a doll.
Little girl
Little twisted ballerina
Little steps
Little twisted ballerina pirouettes
Across the floor
To the window where her
Daddy watches from the corner of his eye
And her uncle watches her thighsKurt shuddered. Another child abuse song? He thought. That made the third one in a row. He couldn't help but to wonder if there was a reason why his classmates—and teacher, for that matter—were focusing on child abuse songs in particular. He watched as Brittany twirled around the floor, doing pirouettes and delicate jumps. Mike ran around her, acting as if he were controlling her every move.
Little girl
Little twisted ballerina
DanceThe classroom was in dead silence, for once that week. They were enchanted by this stirring performance; they'd thought Mike and Brittany's previous dance duets had been amazing, but this one was amazing in an entirely different way. It was utterly heartbreaking and poignant, but at the same time, haunting and chilling. This contributed to the fact that Brittany was all in pink, while Mike was all in black. It was a great juxtaposition that paid off well.
Well her Mom's at work down at the hospital today
and her Daddy decides to cash his paycheck today
and her uncle says "Sure, I'll watch your ballerina dance."
Well, she's heard those words beforeNo one dared to even breathe; this song was more explicit than both Concrete Angel and Alyssa Lies combined. There was something so sweetly innocent about the way Brittany was singing it. When combined with the way she was dancing, and the childlike quality of her outfit, it was powerful.
She's seen that look before
She's smelled his breath before
She's felt his weight on her before
This ballerina
Kurt shuddered again. The song was finally starting to hit him a little bit. Just replace the "she" with "he" in this verse, and it might as well be him. Of course, he was no ballerina—in fact, he could hardly dance at all—but he was as fragile as a ballerina in a music box, twirling around to the same, haunting song whenever you opened it.
And when her Daddy leaves
And when they're alone he says
"I just bought a ticket to your show."
Santana couldn't help but to stare at Brittany now. She just looked so beautiful, so heartbreakingly and utterly beautiful, and Santana couldn't stand it. She was loving how the leotard hugged every curve, how she moved so gracefully across the floor. She wished, just for a second, that she could be Mike, dancing with her right now. What Santana Lopez wouldn't have given to be Artie, and have Brittany on her arm!
Little girl
Little twisted ballerina
Dance
Mr. Schuester stole a glance at Santana, who was practically salivating over Brittany…or was it Mike? He watched Santana's eyes follow Brittany's every move, and came to know the truth: Santana had feelings for the pretty blonde. Perhaps, he thought, that's why Santana's been acting out of sorts lately.
Dance dance dance dance
Got to dance got to dance got to dance got to dance got to dance got to dance
DanceBrittany began to whirl around faster and faster, tumbling to the ground every so often as Mike continued to control and manipulate her. Kurt looked at Brittany in wonder; maybe he'd misjudged the sometimes clueless girl. Maybe Brittany was really very smart, and just didn't show it. Then again, Kurt thought, the girl still believed in Santa Claus.
And she dances out the bedroom
And she dances down the hall
And she dances down the steps
And out the front door
Brittany began backing up on her toes, as if walking out the front door. Mike grabbed her hand and pulled her back in, bringing her body close to his, clutching her tightly. She tried to pull away, but he only pulled her back in, making her dance a pas-de-deux with her. She gave in, knowing she had no other choice.
And she goes up to the clouds
that's where she find her stage
And she does the dance that's twice her ageBrittany pulled away from Mike at last, sending her spinning off in the other direction. She jumped around the length of the room, as if trying to fly away from the pain. Kurt couldn't help but to think of Black Swan; Brittany could have easily been an extra in that movie, he thought.
How did he get here?
Who let him in up here?
Who let him in down there?
I was dancing here
I was dancing hereKurt subconsciously crossed his legs as Brittany sang "who let him in down there?". He couldn't help but to do so, even though he didn't have a…you know. There was just something so powerful about that particular lyric that it was having a deeply rooted psychological effect on Kurt.
Little girl
Little twisted ballerina
Little steps
Little twisted ballerina pirouettes
Little twisted ballerina pirouettes
Brittany whirled around a few more times, doing some flashy double and triple pirouettes. She finally crashed to the floor after singing the last line as Mike hovered over her menacingly. The club burst into applause, and the two took their bows.
"That may just have been the best dance performance in this club so far," Mr. Schuester said. The rest of the club nodded in agreement. "Well, I'll see you all tomorrow." They got up to leave. Artie began fawning over Brittany, and Tina over Mike. Santana couldn't bear to watch it; she ran to her car immediately.
Kurt went straight outside to the familiar dumpster. He dug around in his bag, searching for what he wanted: a picture of himself. He scurried to find a match, procuring one from his jacket pocket. He quickly struck it against his shoe, something he'd seen in old movies, and set fire to the picture. He held it and watched himself burn, watched his face turn to ashes. When only a little remained, he put it to the ground, dousing the fire. He fixed himself up, and went on his way home.
Finn Hudson happened to be parked next to the dumpster, and arrived just moments after Kurt had left. He smelled something burning, and looked around to see what it was. He noticed a smoldering, smoking thing on the ground, and stooped to pick it up. It was a picture, he saw. He squinted in the bright sunlight, trying to see what it was of. All he could make out was a pair of eyes staring back at him. Finn recognized those eyes. He ran back into the school, hoping to catch up with Mr. Schue before he left.
"Finn, what's up?" Mr. Schue asked, surprised to see the tall teenage boy standing in his office door, out of breath.
"I was out by the dumpster, going to my car, and I found this on the ground," Finn panted, handing Mr. Schuester the charred remains of the photo.
"What's this?" Mr. Schue questioned, taking the object. "Looks like a picture…but all you can see are the eyes?"
"Do you recognize the eyes?" Finn pressed.
"I think so…those look familiar…where have I seen them before?"
"Kurt," Finn said. "They're Kurt's eyes. I should know, I live with him. This is a picture of Kurt, Mr. Schue, and someone's burned it."
"But who would burn a picture of Kurt?" Mr. Schue shook his head confusedly.
"Karofksy," Finn growled.
"Ah, Finn, let's not jump to conclusions here," Mr. Schuester said slowly. "Look, I'll just keep this with me for now, and we can talk to him tomorrow."
"Fine," Finn muttered. "But if he did this, I'll kill him." He stalked out of the office and back to his car, where he drove home, mind clouded up with possibilities of who could possibly want to burn a picture of his stepbrother, and why.
When he got home, he went straight upstairs and knocked on Kurt's door. Hearing no immediate answer, he opened the door and walked on in. He found the lights off, and Kurt sitting in the middle of the floor, cross-legged, surrounded by a circle of lit candles. He was chanting something in a language Finn didn't recognize.
"Kurt?" He carefully asked the brunette soprano, in case Kurt was practicing some sort of witchcraft (because, hey, you never know, Finn thought).
"Yeeeeeesssss?" Kurt intoned in a deep voice.
"…what are you doing?"
"Meditating," he said in that same deep, slow voice.
"Surrounded by candles?"
"I happen to like candles. And they help with the atmosphere."
"…right," Finn said, still not sure what exactly he was seeing.
"Now do you mind leaving?" Kurt asked politely. "I'd like to transcend back into my meditative state until dinnertime."
"Yeah, sure, whatever," Finn said, quickly backing out the door and shutting it, still convinced that Kurt was a closet Wiccan.
As soon as Kurt was sure Finn was gone, he waved his hands over the flames, feeling their heat. "Hello, beautiful," he said to one of them. "Hello, love," to another. He went around the circle that encompassed him, touching each one in turn, caressing them as if they were all his lovers.
Because, after all, they were. The flames were Kurt's lover.
