The venue is gargantuan enough to hold probably around a University worth of people. I stand there, taking in the gorgeous Victorian architecture. The double doors hold open to the groups of people filing in politely with their lovely formal attire. It's unlike anything I've ever seen in my life; I never thought a place so heavenly could actually exist in this world, but here I stand.
Fakir nudges my arm. I jump a bit and look back up at him, my face rushing with blood. He motions inside, bowing down to see me a little better. I nod and follow his lead, my hand holding onto his very gently as we practically float into the building. Handing off our tickets, we are told our according seats. Fakir must have gotten the tickets early, since we have seats almost directly in front of the stage. Fakir seats me before sitting beside me, handing over a small notebook and pen.
"While I would love for this to be a purely entertaining experience, I do need you to study the moves they use and how they carry themselves." Fakir leans into my ear, his hand brushing lightly against mine, sending a shiver up my back. I nod my head, our eyes focusing on each other, until a familiar cracking voice breaks Fakir from me.
"So, Ducky, maybe tomorrow, we could-" Wayland finds his way towards the front, and begins fidgeting with his fingers before Fakir interrupts him again, even more scolding and authoritarian than before.
"This is a lesson, Wayland. Not an invitation to a date. If you would like to pursue a relationship, please feel free to do so outside of lesson plans, and once you have either flunked studies, or graduated," A frustrated scowl lines Fakir's pink lips. Wayland cowers a bit, but goes to the back of the theatre, to his seat I presume. The lights begin to dim down, and every voice hushes to the smallest whisper. I stare up into the stage and watch as the characters begin playing onto the stage.
"La Sylphide," Fakirs voice murmurs into my ear, his finger gently rapping against my page. I swiftly jot it down on the top of the page. I continue to watch the graceful movements as they prance about the stage. Throughout the full duration of the first act of the ballet, I manage to write down so much, only mildly disturbed by the feeling of Wayland's eyes on me from so far in the back. Mytho and Rue are, very obviously, the leads.
I watch them as they intertwine and act as one, their eyes locking together each time. No smiles fall on their lips though, like they're stoic gods. I try to write down as much as I can, though my eyes always seem to drift to Mytho. I imagine dancing alongside him. Fakir nudges my arm, pointing at the page. My pen was just scribbling against the page, mindless nonsense filling the lines. Fakir rolls his eyes and mouths to me 'focus'. I shrink down and nod again. I watch as the characters flow onto the stage with such graceful ease. By the time the curtains fall, I have around 3 pages filled with questions and observations. Intermission is only about fifteen minutes, so I try to run over as much as I possibly can with him.
"What was the step where they hopped from one foot to the other, with one leg in the air?" I ask with trepidation. I know he hasn't told us what that is, but I can't help but hold back my hand tremors. He thinks for a moment, his eyes not shifting from the stage. He looks back at my page, turning it towards him so he can read my full description. With a mindful 'oh', he confesses, turning back my journal and resuming his eye contact with the red curtain.
"Temps levé arabesque. We'll be learning that next week, if everything goes right. Any others you don't know?" He turns back to the stage, avoiding my gaze entirely. Flipping through the rest of my pages, I find nothing extra to add. He pats my hand, asking one more question, though there's a definitive tone change, as though the answer I give will change his mood entirely.
"Do you enjoy the show so far?" I have to think for a moment, despite knowing my answer. It is strange to see Mytho and Rue as professionals now, but they dance so perfectly with each other. After a long moment, I respond as cheerfully as I can to him.
"Yeah, it's gorgeous. Thank you for taking me here, Fakir. I know it's a bit of a burden on you, but I appreciate it!" His eyes match with mine again briefly, and there is a visible melancholy. Why would he be melancholic? There's something I said wrong, but I can't for the life of me figure it out. He's still the enigma and that's endlessly frustrating. His eyes are still somber, but his lips curl into a soft grin. He nudges my shoulder, motioning his hand towards the rustling behind the curtains.
"You like it because Mytho is the lead, don't you?" He jokes with me. I laugh, mocking his own.
'No. It's a good story and I like the dancers."
"Especially Mytho."
"Not just Mytho! The other dancers are good too." He might be right, but I don't want him to know that.
"Oh sure. I like the dancer who portrays the cat." He gives way, sitting back in his chair, arms crossed and eyes back on the stage.
"There's no cat, you dingus" I retort, smiling at the curtains as they rise. He lets loose a final chuckle, admitting defeat.
"You're much less gullible now that you're almost an adult. I'm impressed." Fakir stands, telling me he'll be back soon. I nod and smile, as I continue staring at the long red curtains. I hearn Waylands voice as he loudly begins speaking, though I can't tell what about. I just stare at my notes, starting to doodle little ducks all over the pages. This goes on for a few minutes before Fakir comes back, less amused than earlier as he sits down without another word and arms folded over his chest.
People begin filing into the seats again, and the lights start to dim down. There is a wave of silence that drifts over everyone. The last of the people trickle in, the only sound being the clicking of peoples shoes and the wheezing of the old satin chairs.
The red curtain starts to rise to reveal the last act of the play. I watch the dancers for a moment, but then return my gaze to Fakir. He's cross armed, still, but he looks like he is physically pained to watch this. He notices me and I shift my eyes back to ballet, but I know that look. He had the same look when we were in the field, back when we were in school together. My empathy can't help but kick in, and I desperately want to ask, but I don't think he wants to talk it over. Not right now.
I write a few more notes down, doodling some of the poses they hold, but my mind is continuously racing about Fakir. As the final act ends and the audience applauds, the dancers bow and give their thanks to the director and the people in front, my eyes drift once more to Fakir. He is still emotionless, still stoic, still cold. His arms are still crossed, his eyes narrow as he huffs a displeasured sigh. As the final curtain falls, he takes hold of my free hand and leads us out of the seats.
"Wait, shouldn't we wait for-" He pulls me so hard air is forced from my lungs.
"No, we aren't waiting for him. He knows how to get home. You're unsafe around him." Fakir forces his way through the crowd, almost pulling my arm from my socket as we make our way through the forest of towering people. As soon as the cold night air hits my body I can feel our pace become faster. Fakir stays silent, though I can feel his heartbeat though his slick fingers. It's unnaturally fast, almost like he's scared of something. I try to halt, pulling against his force and almost ripping my hand from his grip.
"Fakir, let go of me!" Finally, my hand slips from his and I fall hard on my ass, definitely leaving a bruise for the morning. My entire body shaking, I gaze up at him, a disparaging scowl running across his lips making him even more disturbing in the pale yellow moonlight. He, in lieu of explaining his actions, scoops me off the ground and begins jogging back to the boarding school. My body freezes as I recognize this situation. I know what's about to happen, and begin whimpering and crying to myself, begging him to put me down and let me go. He sets me down in a dark, urban alleyway pressing my back against the cold wall. I notice small tears in the corners of his eyes as he tries to keep composure.
"If you stop struggling for one second, I will explain." His voice is suddenly soft and gentle, like when we were alone. He tries to wipe away the tears that stain my cheeks, but I jerk my head back. He lets his head bow, and heaving out a long and shaky sigh towards the ground.
"What… What are you going to do to me..?" My voice cracks, my throat is sore from crying for so long that I can't even manage a normal volume. He looks back up at me, his face almost exactly how I remember from when we sat together; almost a sort of affectionate look, like my mother used to give to me before my father would come home. I feel my heart drop to my intestines, beating furiously as I am so confused and conflicted. His eyes are no longer narrow, his frown no longer frustrated, his eyebrows no longer furrowed. He looks almost like he's worried about me.
"You didn't hear Wayland, did you? During the intermission?" His hand removes itself from his face as he bites his lower lip and crosses his arms. I reluctantly shake my head as my tremors begin to halt.
"N-no… why?" He stands straight, turning his head back to the sound of stray people roaming the streets home. He grabs my arm in a fluster and we begin walking again, this time slower and where people can see us. He pulls me next to him, his arm wrapping around my shoulder instead of just gripping my hand. I still feel weak, but I trust him a bit more as I rationalize his character. Fakir is a cold, cynical, brutish man, but he's not one of those guys. He leans in close to my hair again, speaking with a flickering hint of urgency.
"He was talking about how much he wished you were the sylph and how she wouldn't be such a tease." His warm breath makes the top of my head hot. As we swerve hard into the school, and my tear stained cheeks flush back to their porcelain. He thrusts us both into the teachers dorms, leading me towards a door labeled "Fakir Andor." I pull back once more, my hands becoming slick. This time he didn't bother holding on, he just opens his door and enters, barking at me to stay right there. I fidget aimlessly, obeying his word without question. I trust him, even if it's only because he scares me and he could probably kill me if he wanted to. The rational part of me knows that is insane and would never legitimately happen, but my anxiety is still on high alert after what just concluded.
I find myself incessantly shifting in place for what seems like hours, but the clock close to the exit shows it has only been around three minutes, before he comes back out with a blanket, a pillow, and, what I assume to be, his pajamas. He walks in silence directly past me to an empty door. He glances over to me, motioning me to the door. I jolt from my place and sprint towards him, standing behind the closed and dusty door. Its wood is darker than everything else in the hall, giving it the most vintage look in the whole building. I stare at it before Fakir barks for me to open the door.
I push open the creaking door and stare inside, floating into the aged room. The smell of oak and dust ages the room all the more as I stare at the canopy bed, vanity, and two doors on either side of the bed. Fakir places all the things he had gathered onto the large bed. He closes the door and sits down on the bed, flopping himself on the bed, and staring up to the ceiling. I hesitate to sit next to him, but somehow I find myself beside him again. I look over at him, his eyes still drifting into the obsolete infinity of the ceiling.
"I hate that kid… I'm so glad you have no idea what he talks about in the boys classes," he pauses, his eyes gripping onto me. I furrow my brows, and Fakir continues with a long sigh.
"I guess it's only appropriate to elaborate. Just understand it's a bit vulgar; locker room speak and the like." He sits upright, undoing his hair and ruffling the top, showing the soft waves of a dark strands falling to the nape of his neck, glowing with orange tinges against the lights in the room. "He talks about how much he likes the way you look and the way you're..." He begins motioning towards my body and continues. "You. He tries to walk into the female classes to get exercises that he already has. I let it slide the first two times, but as soon as I noticed he was just staring at girls, I began locking the doors."
"So, he'd just try to… see us practicing?" I guess that's kind of weird, but not harmful. Fakir shakes his head again.
"Not just practicing. Look, you have to sleep. I know I'm the one who started this, but you just need to stay here. You need to sleep. I'll escort you personally to lessons and your room in the morning." Fakir stands, brushing off my comment. I huff, grabbing hold of his hand. He is going to listen to me and he is going to listen now.
"I want to know, and you can't avoid this forever Fakir. I'm an adult, I can hear whatever he says." My entire body is shaking and tears start forming in my eyes. Why did I even try to be assertive? I immediately regret my decision and let his hand go. My head points down and I can feel the tears starting to drip. My face is burning and my throat hurts from how insanely tight it feels. I choke down my anxious pain and shuffle myself into a door I correctly assume is a bathroom. I lock myself inside, still sobbing into my hands. He raps on my door, though I refuse to open the door.
"Ahiru, please open the door!" Another rap on the door, this time more firm. Not malicious, but immediately I feel my heart sink as though something malicious holds my brain hostage. Another rap on the door, hard enough to move me. Immediately I skitter back towards the bath, and hold my head in my hands. My blood begins to beat into my fingers and I can't hear anything except my own heart destroying the inside of my chest. I tremble as I hear the door creak open, only imagining him as he stands, fist unclenched and ready to drag me by my hair. Halting my crying, I instead stare up into the lifeless blue eyes of my father, his stoic and thin lipped smile reveal everything I need to know. He opens his mouth and a voice not his comes out.
It's a worrisome and almost loving voice that rings into my ears, reassuring words skitter all around me as someone sits beside me, their arm wrapping around my torso. Their voice isn't raspy from smoking and isn't heavy with cynicism, like my fathers. Instead a cool and gentle voice hushes me, reminding me that I am safe and not alone. I'm not able to calm down, though the body next to me is comforting, albeit feeling like something is wrong. I begin snuggling into them more, still whimpering and sobbing. They run their hands through my hair, continuing to tell me I am safe and okay. I shudder further, my tears ceasing and eventually becoming salty stains on my face. I feel my terror drip away, even if only when my eyes are totally shut, as I drift into what feels like the bed I sat on earlier.
Another dream about Fakir. The room is glittering white, and he stands there with his hand outstretched to me. I feel the need to take it, without much hesitation or care for what happens next. He pulls me close, and begins dancing. He holds his hand against my waist and keeps our bodies firm together, as we waltz throughout the ivory room. I feel almost like a princess as he presses his lips against my hair, because it's not a character in this world. He actually cares for me here. I can feel his hands graze up my back as I become one with him. Our feet halt and the break in our dance isn't the least bit jarring. His hands run over my cheek, pulling away stray hairs as he sits me down on a loveseat that wasn't there before. Fakir kisses me once more as though we are meant to be there together.
My eyes flutter open, cold sweat beading down my body as I tug the blanket further over me. My dreams are getting much stranger, and I can't place why… I don't have feelings for Fakir. No matter how much I try to convince myself of that, I can still feel my heart beating in my chest as the feeling of his lips pressed against mine still overwhelms my senses. Maybe I do have feelings, but they should be fleeting; at least that's the hope…
I stare back around the room before me. Confused at first I remember the happenings of last night. Somehow I had oversized pajamas on, though I don't remember how they got on my frail body. I think for a second about last night, before my entire body tenses up, realizing that Fakir probably had to clean pajamas over my faint and horrified body. I thrust my face into the soft and heavy comforter, trying to hide my shame as the fact he probably saw me nude is an embarrassment to me, and a death wish if anyone were to find out.
I sit straight in the bed, lifting the comforter from me as I toss my legs over the side of the bed. I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts as they continue to pile in. In a small lump on the end of the room, I notice stirring, causing me to project myself backwards, hiding under the heavy comforter. His voice slips out, barely awake.
"Don't worry… It's just me…" Fakir's morning voice rings clearly as he finally stirs upwards. His piney, sleep deprived eyes open and, while not glaring, are definitely not in anyway kind. He's sitting with his back pressed against the wall, wearing the same clothes from yesterday, but unbuttoned and looser. My eyes linger on him for a moment.
"Why are you still here..?" I ask, pulling the blanket closer to my chest, eyeing him over for any strange inconsistencies in his composure. He sneers at me and turns his head towards the door, his face still stony and hard as he speaks back.
"Couldn't very well leave you after an attack like that. Nothing moral in that." He's very straight to the point, as usual. How could he tell it was a panic attack? Cogs begin turning in my brain, though I just roll my eyes and crawl out from the comfortable bedding, holding my pants up so he doesn't see anything further than my underwear. I continue staring at him, getting closer and sitting in front of him. I stare at him, eye to eye, trying to figure out if he's actually being sincere. I cup my hands against his face and squish his cheeks.
"What do you think you're doing?" His voice lowers, gripping onto both of my hands and pulling them away from his face and places them back at my sides. There were no cracks in his face. Nothing shows that he's lying to me. I continue to stare at him, furrowing my brows and questioning his entire demeanor. Same evergreen eyes. Same expression. Same everything. I pull myself away from him and stand back at the bed, thinking it over for a moment.
"Sorry, I'm just… not used to that sort of treatment." I stare back at him as he stands tall, gazing down at me and giving another kind smile before walking out the door.
"Don't worry. You aren't going to get special treatment from me." He devilishly beams, closing the door behind him. I furrow my brows, knowing already that's a lie with how he has been treating me as of late. With Fakir it's a bit hard to tell, though this time he seemed sincere and kind. A true rarity with him. I look around, grabbing my uniform, which he must have grabbed from my dorm, and throw it on before stepping out of the room with Fakir, his donated pajamas in hand. I feel his hands brush against mine, before taking the pajamas under his arm.
"Come on, we have to be speedy. I already made sure that the other teachers would know you have the day off for a private remedial lesson, but the other students might think something else is happening. And trust me, we don't want any rumors spreading. You especially." His tone is back to being cold and brusk, as usual, gripping onto my wrist and leading me through the vacant hall, before finding my room at the end.
"Thanks, Fakir. I do appreciate it." I try to touch his hand again, though he pulls it away.
"Don't mention it. I'll be escorting you to your classes from now on. I'll inform the other teachers once you're in the mess hall. I expect you to adjust your schedule." He starts back down towards the dance hall, and before I can say anything more, he's gone. I'm old enough to take care of myself. There shouldn't be someone who escorts me everywhere.
I groan, exhausted from the long night, only barely motivated to open my window and stare at the blue sky. Miss Canary settles herself on the windowsill as she chirps at me, her little head moving every which way. Watching her little wings spread, I feel her land on top of my bedding, staring me over and nudging my forehead. I give her a little grin as I sit up, grabbing food from the little bag I have and feeding her with the palm of my hand.
"Here you go, girlie." I sit myself up, laying out the feed on the sill before laying back down, reflecting on the kindness Fakir had shown me. How strange, I think to myself. It feels like he actually cares about me. Something I hadn't experienced in such a long time.
I reflect, laying on my bed and listening to the soft tweets of the birds beside me. My mom was the last person to treat me so kindly. I curl against the sheets on my bed, pulling open the drawer to my nightside table. I shuffle through the exercises from years ago before fishing out a picture I had kept secret from administration and my friends. I stare at it, looking at the young girl and her parents. All of them have strawberry hair, pale complexion, and friendly looking smiles.
I grin, though a grim reminder stares over my mother and I. I bite my lip, just staring over the picture and every little detail it holds that should have been a red flag. His eyes weren't even looking into the camera.
"Where were you looking..?" I murmur quietly to myself, not really wanting an answer. Miss Canary hops onto my chest and snuggles between what little breasts I have like a kitten begging for affection, tweeting loudly. I smile and gently rub her little head. She's another one of my closest friends, right next to Pique and Lilie; thinking it over, it's a bit strange to have a bird as a friend. I turn over to stare at the other birds who flutter away, Miss Canary included. I sigh and wonder just how long I've been laying here.
Long enough for Lilie to creak open my door and call me out to dinner. I stare over for a moment, silently watching her and her beautiful doll-like face beam and chatter at me about how lucky I am to have missed today's lesson.
"Oh it was horrible! Pique twisted her poor little ankle! I had to carry her back to her room, like a princess. She didn't like that much, but I thought it was cute," Lilie smiles widely, continuing to talk about Pique. After a moment or so, she turns her head behind her, before stepping into my room and softly closing the door.
"Ducky… Can I confide something in you? And you can't think differently of me!" I look at her, smiling kindly as I know nothing could change my opinion of her.
"Of course, Lilie." I pat next to me on my bed, offering her a safer space.
"Well…" She sits down next to me, her feet awkwardly shifting against each other as she opens her mouth, nervously playing with her golden curls. "Would you hate me if I told you Pique and I are dating?" Her voice quivers a bit as her eyes finally shift up towards mine, anxiously darting from one to the other. I think on it for a moment before softly patting her shoulder, and giving a small grin.
"Not at all. It's pretty cute, in all honesty. Just maybe keep quiet about it to other students." I watch as she lets out a large sigh and wraps her arms around me, squeezing me into a large and loving embrace. I hesitate for a second, before returning the affection.
"Ahiru, you're such a sweet girl!" Lilie releases me from her hard grip, before kissing both of my cheeks with her soft and perky lips. I smile, and stand with her, leaving my room with Lilie chattering ad nauseum about their year long relationship, how it started and everything after.
"There's something about her Ducky, she's just so amazing!" Lilie rambles about it under her breath, her cheeks turning red as she continues thinking out loud.
As we make it into the cafeteria, we both notice Pique. She starts walking closer to us, before Lilie sprints forward, pulling her into another deep and squeezing embrace. I smile and sit down by myself at our usual table in the back corner of the room, twiddling my thumbs as even I anxiously wait for them to come back. I feel a long and drawn out breath against my neck as I whisk around, staring Wayland in the face, all color draining from mine as I grip onto the table.
"Hey Ahiru," His voice is skeevy, slithering from his upturned lips. My hands grip the table a bit harder, sweat starting to slick my hands. Gulping down the lump in my throat, I try to smile back.
"Hey Wayland, did you need something..?" I can hear my voice crack. I notice Lilie and Pique as they stand together, walking closer, giving me both ample time and reason to cut the conversation short. I stand up, though he swiftly pushes me back down into place. I never realized how strong he is, my face draining further.
"Don't be like that. I just wanted to talk to you for a minute." His voice is laced with slime I have never heard from him before. I notice behind him are buddies staring over and smiling, cheering him on. He continues.
"I wanted to tell you that you're the most beautiful girl here, and I want to take you out sometime. If you'll give me a chance, of course," I feel my throat tighten as I can't answer. My entire body stiffens as his leg starts prying my thighs apart. I feel helpless, like when I was a child, letting this happen all over again, as I squeeze my eyes shut tightly.
"Get off of her!" Pique's voice rings loud as I feel Wayland being forced off of me. I hear him crash to the floor before coming to my senses.
"Jesus, dude! Can you not tell when someone's uncomfortable or are you just that stupid?" Pique tugs me close against her chest, wrapping her arms tightly around me. Wayland is seemingly caught off guard, staring up at all of us as Lilie stares me over, making sure I'm okay and reassuring me. Wayland stands up, staring down at Pique, trying to intimidate her. His hand reaches down to grab me, but Pique twirls me back.
"Don't. Fucking. Try." Pique grips onto me, and saunters away, with Lilie in tow. Either from shock or pure instinct, I let them just carry me to the teaching hall, waiting outside Fakir's room. Pique finally lets me go, allowing me to stand between her and Lilie. Glancing over at them, they let out synchronized sighs of relief. Their hands intertwine and I smile, letting the question pop out to try to ease everyone's moods.
"So, cat's outta the bag now, huh?" I let my eyes dart between the two beautiful girls as they anxiously giggle. Pique blushes a bit as she nods, noticeably squeezing Lilie's hand as she starts tripping over her words. Then Fakir walked to the door.
He looks between the three of us, grimacing at us. He demands answers for interrupting his lesson planning. Lilie recounts, rather quickly, the last 15 minutes to him. Fakir seems unphased, though I can easily tell he's aggravated just from the sheer brevity and force in his voice. He thanks Lilie and Pique, urging them to leave the room.
"I would like to get Ahiru's direct recollection, but thank you girls for bringing her here." He waves them out as they leave. The door clicks shut, and he starts frisking me.
"Did he do anything to you? Anything serious?" His voice is suddenly frantic, cracking his façade again ever so slightly. His hands grip onto my shoulders as his eyes lock onto mine. Somehow he seems even more scared than before, as he finally lets me go, clearing his throat and desperately trying to resume his composure as he continues looking at me. I stare up, silent as I shake my head. Fakir nods, staring away from me at this point, his hands reaching his sides in clenched fists.
Silence is drowning both of us in this cold room. I step back, remembering situations similar to this, pressing my back against the wall in the hope that there's enough room for him to get angry at me. Enough room to not get caught in the carnage.
I must've let some of my own façade of strength fade, because Fakir starts towards me, and I hold my arms up, knowing what's to come. I squeeze my eyes shut tightly, putting my arms in front of my face. His hands grab onto mine, softly pulling them to my sides.
"Look at me. Ahiru." His voice is soft again. Something compels me to open my eyes, though it's less malicious and more compliance. My eyes open, staring up at him.
"I want you to walk with me, okay?" He lets go of my arms, though his hands linger against mine. I simply nod in response. He hastily scribbles on a piece of paper and leaves a note on his desk for the incoming teacher.