The day presses on, no matter how slow it may feel. I sit up from my moping session and gather enough courage to actually try and get stuff done. Through a tedious series of events, I manage to tidy up my extremely dirty room, wash my unitard, and take time to actually brush the knots out of my hair. It feels like a long few hours before the full mass of thick orange hair is sufficiently brushed out, and my arms feel like that of a bodybuilder afterwards. Looking outside, I notice there's still daylight to burn, surprisingly.
Managing to slink into an empty ballet room is much more difficult than I think, though I slip past Katt, Fakir, and Headmistress Samiel without them either noticing or caring. My unitard is still a bit damp, and clings a bit more to my body, but it's nothing I haven't had to deal with before. It's quiet enough to echo the soft padding of my ballet flats as I tiptoe in, watching from out the large floor to ceiling windows.
I lean against the bar, starting to stretch every small crook of my body. Something inside sears in my gut and my body starts moving with the rhythm inside my head. Sleeping Beauty, I remember. My feet and body carry me, as I hum the piano chords that play so loudly in my head. My eyes are closed as I keep dancing by myself. Princess Tutu is now in control of me, and I feel the world slipping about. As my eyes are still closed, I can feel a vague figure guiding me along. Firm hands sway with my waist, dancing me around the room. I feel soft lips graze against my neck, keeping me still, completely stable. There's something sensual about the dance we share, though I can't find a reason why. Then it hits me who is dancing with me.
Fluttering open my eyes, I stumble and my feet crack down from my state.
"Shit!" I mutter, my ankle having rolled from under me. It stings and sears, but it's nothing intensely painful. I glance around the room, hoping to see someone who had been dancing with me, though there was no one. Nothing. A ghost of my mind had been dancing with me, someone who had reminded me of him, the same person in all those dreams.
But it is no one. It is just me, by myself in a ballet room. The same one Fakir took me into when we danced alone. When he let loose my hair and brushed it with those gentle fingers of his, making me feel safe and at home. Making me feel loved. I sigh and keep practicing until my forehead begins to sweat and my muscles burn harder than ever before. Every little painful movement after is just a byproduct of my dedication to practice.
I'll show Fakir, I think, my flushed and sweating face twisting into an excited smile. I'll be able to skip the Pas De Deux and not have to work with Wayland. I feel my stomach stir, though I can't seem to find motivation to eat. It's queasy from some gut instinct that I can't place. As I'm walking back to my dorm, it's practically agonizing with each step as my muscles ache.
"Ducky!" I hear Wayland's voice crack as a large arm wraps around me. I freeze, almost toppling from the sheer force of him grabbing onto my frail and tired body. His breath is hot on the side of my head. I try to skitter away, though his hands hold onto me tightly, enough to make me freeze. Almost exactly like Victor did. He leans down and stares at me, beaming.
"I saw you dancing up there! You look way nicer when you dance. But I bet I'd be able to help you a lot more," his hand slithers down to my waist as he keeps us rooted by the Cork Board. I smile weakly at him and try to back away, inching towards my dorm. He still has his hand against my waist, keeping me close to him.
"Oh, well thank you, but I really need to get going! Have to practice my Pas De Deux, you know," I try to divert his attention and slip away, though I realize I might have just utterly ruined my chances of leaving. He just grips tighter and chimes to me, admitting he knows what Fakir said. His words twist in gross, sly ways that make my stomach turn more than it already was. I wriggle out from underneath him, and stare at him from below. There's a thick scent of cologne on him that nearly overpowers me to the point of passing out; it feels strong enough to be chloroform, as my already weak knees wobble even more. It reminds me of something primal.
"Come on, Fakir wants us to practice. We can't do it in private, no matter how much you want to." Wayland snaps me out of it, pulling me towards the ballet hall again as I catch a glimpse of Fakir gliding in through the doors. I tighten up, my entire body completely stiff as again Wayland just drags me inside.
Up the stairs, he drags us to the same room as Fakir. He's leaning against the wall in a standard long sleeved blue shirt and black pants, his hair pulled back into his standard long ponytail. He looks at us as we enter into the room, eyes locking with Wayand and me. Disgusted to be in the same room with either of us. He waves us off, asking us to do whatever we can with the time we have. I nod and Wayland and I begin practicing. We discuss for less than ten seconds as Wayland is set on La Sylphide. Of course he wants that one, out of every single Pas De Deux he could have chosen, it was that one.
Wayland and I have been practicing for four days at this point with Fakir chaperoning us. We get into position as we usually do, and begin dancing. I see Fakir in my peripheral, just watching us in silence. I turn my head to look at him and our eyes lock for a few seconds. I try and grin at him, though he keeps stern at me. Waylands hands were touchy before, but now it's even worse. His hands feeling me up as I'm pressed against him, his hands squeezing parts of me that make me shudder in fear. Wayland lifts me into the air, and I feel his hand grope and start stroking his fingers against my crotch, trying to pull my unitard away. He hadn't ever gone this far in the past days. I panic immediately, causing me to frantically squirm and wiggle, falling to the floor with a very hard thud. Fakir is going to yell at me for not putting up with it, and I feel the fear starting to fill my stomach like syrup.
Tears begin welling in my eyes, and I whimper, whether that be in fear or in pain, it's not clear to me. I feel violated as his hands still somehow linger around and on me. It hurts worse than the fall, and I can't help but try to not show weakness. Fakir kneels down beside me, looking me over.
"Are you hurt?" He hushes me, his voice still cold towards me. Wayland scoffs at him and folds his arms.
"She was squirming too much, I couldn't help but drop her, it's not my fault," Wayland huffs. "She needs to learn to be more still during practice, or else I won't be able to hold her. She always gets like this when we dance," His voice is bitter and I feel his venom sinking into my skin. Fakir stands, and I notice how red he is, scowling at Wayland, fists balled like he's about to punch him.
"You do not get to molest my students two weeks in a row and blame them for your disgusting behavior!" Fakir screams at him from the top of his lungs, tearing into the echoing ballet room. I turn to stare at them, watching Wayland leap back, white as a sheet, from the booming of Fakir's anger. I can feel it resonate off of him and I skitter back, terrified and panicked. "You do not have any right to assault and berate my pupil's, and act like you can get away with it."
Fakir grips onto Waylands shirt, staring down at me and demanding I don't move, dragging Wayland out by the collar and slamming shut the doors. I listen to Fakir, just anxiously holding my knees to my chest, whimpering and sniffling into my now tear stained white tights. It feels like half an hour before Fakir comes in, kneeling in front of me and pulling me into a very tight hug. The waterfalls are finally let loose. All of my emotions soak into Fakir's shirt as I tremble and weep into him. His hands hold tightly to my back as he doesn't say anything, just holding me comfortingly in our bubble. Something about his scent isn't overpowering or discomforting. It's peachy again, sweetly intoxicating. Safe and gentle.
Finally pulling back, I stare at him with red eyes and tear stained cheeks. He still looks stoic though less angry. I run my hand against his cheek, smiling nervously.
"I have to stop crying in front of you. It's embarrassing." I sheepishly whisper. He finally cracks a smile, rubbing his cheek back against me. He shrugs, leaning a bit closer to me, his head tilting ever so slightly.
"It's okay. You can't control your emotions." He almost hums with how sweet his voice is. My chest starts throbbing as I lean forward towards Fakir. I feel almost hypnotized as he pulls me into his orbit. He presses a finger against my lips, smiling at me and instead kissing my hand. He stands me up with him, wrapping his jacket over my shoulders. I lean against him as he walks me through the school grounds, tracking back to that room we spent together on that night. It still smells like dust and aging wood, but I feel comfortable. I lay down on the bed, snuggling into his jacket. It still smells like peaches, I realize. Fakir pats my head, walking out of the room without another word. Probably getting blankets or something. I try and wrap myself tighter in his jacket.
Was I violated? Was I really the one at fault? Questions start flooding into my mind, a locomotive crashing at top speed into a cement wall. I feel my thighs ache and my fingers feel numb. Something is wrong with me, isn't there? Wayland was weird, but he wouldn't have done that if I hadn't done something. I curl up further into Fakir's jacket, feeling at least a little safer. It's warm, and cozy, and I curl up into it, closing my eyes for just a second.
Fakir returns to the room with a spare set of female pajamas, setting them down on the bathroom counter. He rests in the armchair beside the window, pulling the blinds tighter than they already were. His expression is curt, seemingly angry with me. Unwrapping his jacket from myself, I hold it towards him, though he rejects it.
"Just keep this for right now," he groans at me, pulling out a journal I hadn't seen before and starting to scribble. I nod, not wanting to disturb him, laying back against the bed.
"So why are we here again?" I ask, my voice cracking, almost making me quack. "Nothing happened. I'm not in any danger, Wayland didn't do anything wro—" Fakir's hand covers my mouth. He's staring down at me as he holds my lips shut. I stare up at him, shaking myself away from him. His glare pushes daggers into my chest. We're silent for a couple moments before his hand moves away from my mouth, standing straight again.
"What that rat did was deplorable. I stood by for too long and watched you get uncomfortable for no reason, other than to console my own consciousness." He moves back to his chair. "What that was, was assault. And I'm sorry I let him continue on." He continues scribbling in the journal, his disposition deteriorating from his typical hardass nature, to what he was before. In the nature that surrounded us that warm spring morning. Sitting up on the bed, I notice Fakir shift his journal away from me. Furrowing my brows, I pull off the jacket and feel one of the clingy straps of my unitard fall to the side of my arm. He doesn't notice and I don't care.
"It's okay if I get hurt Fakir, it happens a lot more than you think." I rub the inside of my thigh, adjusting my tights. Fakirs head perks up for a moment, still scribbling. He seems phased by this, somehow. I keep going.
"Fakir, I know you're worried about me, but this is the least of my problems. It was my fault that I got dropped, even if Wayland was being gross, I shouldn't have squirmed." I watch Fakir stand, tilting my head up to face him. Those forests are welcoming again. He shakes his head at me.
"I hope you know, it's never your fault what others choose to do to you, Duckling." The words are soaked in sugar, they sound so sweet. I want to reach my arms up and kiss him, just to taste where they come from. My hands hesitate for a brief moment but I keep them clutched to the bed. I can't kiss him. I know he doesn't want me like that. He sits beside me, continuing to write in the journal that's practically overfull with his words. I want to ask, to pry a little into what he's writing. But I don't. I just watch the end of his pen twitching and running across the page, gracefully. I manage to get a quick glimpse of his page, though in my mind I can hear him say it, gently.
"There's nothing more I'd like to do than to simply hold you close, stroke your hair and tell you goodnight,"
I stare up at him, getting a bit closer, until our thighs touch. I feel his hand graze against my leg, pulling me close to him. I can't help but pull myself into his lap, watching him set down his journal. His hands glide up my back, feeling inches of me I've never known existed. He starts kissing my neck, hand dipping down my strap even further, exposing my chest.
"Do you know what you're getting yourself into, Aniela?" His lips graze against my snowy skin. I shiver as he says that, nodding my head. But I realize…
"How do you know my name?" I look at him, confused and nervous. His hands pull up to my hair, undoing my braid, mouth still kissing my breast. I twitch as he bites me, stroking his hair. I ask again, louder.
"How do you know my name is Aniela?" He tilts his head up, his smile no longer kind. No longer gentle. No longer what it was.
"I know more than you can ever truly imagine, Aniela," his teeth look sharp as he opens his mouth wide, ready to bite into me before my eyes flutter open.
I'm still wrapped in Fakir's jacket, but it's a bit darker now. Dusk was brushing up on the mountains, sending long and shimmering stripes of pink, purple, and orange bursting through the sky. As I gulp air into my lungs, I notice Fakir sleeping in the bed, still in his day clothes as his chest rises and falls slowly. I crawl closer to him, hoping not to cause a stir. He doesn't move as I lay beside him, listening to his heart. It's slow, methodical, peaceful and on time. His arm wraps over me, murmuring something as I'm pulled into his chest.
I pull my braid out, letting my hair flood my half of the bed in red cascades. I gently hum an old lullaby into Fakir's chest, hugging him closer to me. An hour or two must have passed with us just laying in the weaning dusk light. I feel as I almost fall asleep again, he finally wakes up.
I see his eyes creak open, staring at the tired little girl beside him. He's not angry or happy, he's just staring for a moment. I must look like a child to him, with my round face and bright blue eyes, my tiny frame doesn't help either. His hands stroke my cheeks and my hair, comforting me a little more from my nightmare. His hand quickly moves to my cheeks, squeezing them tightly and making my lips pucker to an extreme amount. He's back to normal now, I assume.
"I don't recall you falling asleep here. What are you doing?" Fakir grimaces at me, his eyes narrow as he sits up, fixing his ponytail and clothes. I huff, crossing my arms and turning around, tangling myself in my own threads of scarlet.
"You looked lonely and I was cold and I didn't think it was weird! It's just a hug and that's normal when you're friends with someone!" I shout into the waterfalls of red hair. I toss and turn just making it worse. I feel as Fakir pins my chest to the bed hard enough to keep me from moving, but not enough to completely immobilize me. Just enough to halt me on the bed from my frantic spasms.
"Stop wiggling. It's pathetic." I feel him start gently untangling me, his hands brushing against my thighs and chest as he mutters out rather aggressive sorry's, before I'm completely untangled. I thank him very hesitantly, though I still smile at him with kindness. He stares at me with those gentle forests, caught off guard by my smile it seems. "If you're just going to patronize me, I'm leaving you here." Though I feel my fear rising in my throat, watching him turn towards the door and grip the knob, starting to turn it. An immediate compulsion fills my stomach.
"Wait!" The words leap out. I feel my stomach burn, but he lets go of the doorknob and looks at me.
"What is it?" He demands, leaning against the door and watching me. A helpless little duck staring up at an angry hawk. Any wrong word and he would eat me alive, every little fiber of my being obliterated if he really wanted it to happen. I feel unbidden tears trying to brim in my eyes as I speak, though I manage to halt them.
"Why are you so mean to me all the time? You've been meaner than usual and it's really unfair! I know I haven't been doing my best but, I'm trying okay? I'm really, really trying my best and you've just been an asshole!" I watch as he stares down at me, still stoic and harsh looking. The tension between us starts rising, getting higher with each second. I try and stand my ground, trying not to flinch at him, though I know he can see my fear. He knows what happened last time I got scared enough to yell. He leans over to stare at me, sighing tiredly as his hand pushes back loose strands of my hair, causing my cheek to twitch in fear. His composure finally loosens completely, and he sits next to me, no longer the gruff teacher, the ruthless upperclassman, the bitter knight. Something about him seems completely different, like a switch has been flicked. The bags under his eyes seem far more obvious, and he seems very fatigued now that he's close to me.
"Is that so?" He sits beside me, his voice velvety and sweet, staring off into the wall, avoiding my eye contact. He doesn't want to see how pathetic and scared I am, and I don't really blame him. I slowly nod and sniffle a bit. My composure deteriorates just as fast as his does, my skewed emotions now affecting every small fiber of my shivering body.
"You've been nothing but a total meanie for the past couple days, and it really hurts." He wraps his arm over my shoulder, pulling me into his warm chest. His fingers run through my hair as he nods along to my voice, his mouth presses against the top of my head and I feel him press down. A kiss. A warm, loving kiss to the top of my head. Different from the one he gave me after the ballet. It was gentle and yet filled with this overwhelming feeling.
"I guess you're right in that aspect. I've been the world's biggest jackass to you," His words slur with how tired he is. He's almost drunk with sleep it seems. His facade is draped down even more and he feels real for once. "It's very hard for me to admit things that make me uncomfortable, especially when it comes to how I feel."
Something burns in my cheeks as he pulls me into his chest, embracing me tighter than anything I've ever felt. There's a nostalgic comfort in his arms, like it's something I've craved for years. He stands me up, starting to waltz with me as our feet glide around the room. I don't really understand what's flipped this switch in Fakir. He looks down at me mid waltz, smiling at me in his kind and giggling stupor. I hold my hands against his shoulder as the question finally pops out from my lips, no matter how much I wanted it to stay in my mind.
"Why are you always so much nicer when we're alone?" I lean my head against his chest again. His heartbeat is still slow and peaceful, but it's less methodical than before. It seems like he's more loose now, more comfortable with me in our little moment in history. I'm not entirely sure this isn't another dream, but I don't want it to be. I want this to be the fairy tale where the Knight and Princess Tutu fall in love.
"I thought that was kind of obvious," His hand leads my chin closer to his face. I feel my heart begin to pound as I realize what's happening. I don't understand why he would want me, but I don't have time to think. I don't really want to think right now.
His lips press against mine. They're soft, and gentle as we kiss a bit further into each other. Fakir holds me against him, one hand gently holding the back of my head closer to him. It's sweet getting to taste his lips as he pries my mouth up, and I can taste some of that sweet peach flavor. His tongue is soft and playful as it touches my more tentative and nervous tongue. When he pulls away and stares at me, I watch as he smiles. He kisses my forehead again and lays in the bed, slipping under the blankets in his sleep drunken state.
I stare into the ether for a long moment. It's so surreal to me. My first kiss was taken by Fakir. I feel like I should be angry at him, maybe even devastated that it wasn't Mytho. But those emotions don't come out at all, instead this feeling continues to be warm and jovial. I can hear as he has fallen asleep, and I slip into the bed beside him, confused though not opposed to these new feelings I suddenly have. Is this what romantic love is? I think about it for a moment. This isn't how I used to think about Mytho, so it can't be. I loved Mytho. I close my eyes again, hoping this time to have a better dream.
The bitter air pinches through my unitard, stripping me down to my bare, exposing everything. I try and cover myself from the cold, though it's rather fruitless. Two towering figures crane themselves over me, their jaws open like wolves, ready to pounce on me. I feel claws up my back, trying to tear me open. I scream as they start chanting for me to come out. To show them myself. As I finally am torn completely open, a small duck stands instead. I watch their jaws opening wide enough to swallow me whole, ready to swallow me in my pathetic entirety. But I watch the figures be slashed in half. A knight with a broadsword standing behind them as his blade is now coated in a thick layer of their black shadowy forms. The knight smiles and leans down picking me up and holding me to his chest.
In the dark and early morning, I find Fakir sleeping in a chair in the corner of the room. I sit up and yawn, looking at him as he sleeps. He looks so sweet and peaceful in that chair, kind of like he did in the ballet room with me. Flashes of last night start flooding into my mind and I instantly melt back into the bed. Something about that sweet taste of his lips is still on mine.
I stand up, walking into the bathroom and looking around for a spare set of clothing. Inside one of the dusty drawers, I see an old males uniform. Despite it being a medium sized boys uniform, I disrobe and pull on the two sizes too large white undershirt, as well as the surprisingly fitting pair of boys boxers, though when trying to pull on the pants, I realize the belt doesn't notch tightly enough to keep them up. I huff, continuing to try to fiddle with it to keep it all the way up, but unfortunately nothing manages to keep them, causing mental chaos as I now try and hold my pants in place. I let them fall down in defeat, too frustrated to even try anymore. My hair is still messy and unraveled, so I start rebraiding it. My hands glide through strands, much like when my mother used to do it, humming along to the lullaby she made for me.
"With an angel like Aniela,
It's a miracle there's sadness.
With a mommy just like Malandra,
It's perfect that we have this!
With two lovely birds,
Sitting in a window sill,
We can sing our birdy song.
And forever we will!"
I giggle as I finish braiding, the little melody finishing as well, flipping my hair around, making sure it won't fall out of the braid. I slip back out into the bedroom, trying not to be as loud as I realize I might have been. Though Fakir already seems awake, and I watch him staring at me from that armchair. He's less tired now, and I can feel his bitterness searing into me. His legs are spread apart, fist pressed to his cheek, and his dark hair wraps around his neck, shoulders, and over his eyes.
"Who is Aniela?" He asks; direct, firm, and to the point. "You said that name in your sleep as well." I flush as white as my shirt, unsure what to even say. I fumble with the bottom of the shirt, tugging it down a bit as I nervously try to lie.
"W-well I dunno really, I know it means angel and my mom always talked about angels and it was really just from that song she used to sing me and—" Fakir stands and cuts me off.
"Don't lie to me. If you don't want to say it, don't say it," he seems angry at me, and I bow my head a bit in shame.
"Yes Mr. Andor," I murmur under my breath. I watch his demeanor shift a bit more.
"You don't have to call me that in private, you know. We've known each other for years, moron," he sits down on the bed, finally observing my clothes. "Where did you find that dreaded old thing?" I shrug, pointing at the bathroom door.
"In there. I was looking for something other than my unitard since I had been wearing it for a while. It doesn't fit though. The only thing that does is this shirt and the boys underwear." I shuffle onto the bed sitting and talking to him. Red flourishes in his cheeks as I watch him look away from me, closing his eyes as well. I cock my head at him before looking down, noticing that one of the top buttons either came undone or broke off, leaving parts of my chest exposed. I wrap my arms over my chest swiftly, covering as much as I can. Looking away from him, I ask.
"You saw?" My voice squeaks a little, as he coldly responds.
"No. Why aren't you wearing the spare one I got for you?" He points towards the dresser, and I notice the girls uniform neatly folded on top of it. I look from him to the uniform, before strolling up and grabbing it.
"I was distracted last night and I didn't see it."
"Clearly, you were. You slept almost the whole time," Fakir stands and smirks at me. "What was it you said? 'I'm a meanie?'" I furrow my brow, huffing and resting my hands on my hips.
"What was it you said? 'It's very hard for me to admit things that make me uncomfortable'?" I mock him though I watch his face burn up as I realize he had almost certainly forgotten about last night as well. He sits back down in the chair, glaring at me again. There's a long silence between us before I finally break it with an apology.
"Don't apologize. You didn't do anything wrong," he pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, his eyes squeezed shut. I can't help but feel guilty, sitting on the bed, curling up my legs to my chest. He's going to yell at me now, isn't he? The sheer heaviness in the room builds before he stands again, my hands instinctively covering my face as he walks towards me.
"That was a fluke in a tired stupor. Don't take this as any admission of weakness." He glares at me, pulling back my hand as the moon starts to set over the hills, his voice brusque and mean as usual. The sun isn't even peeking out yet, but I feel a glowing warmth between us. He stands me up on my feet and leads me to the restroom, before closing the door. "Now get changed. You're being burdensome in those open clothes." His cheeks lessen their pink and I smile, starting to pull off my clothes and let the extra small girls uniform fit onto me like a glove. I step out and smile at Fakir, watching him try not to smirk at me.
Striding out into the soft glittering dawn light, we try and avoid the other students walking to their own early morning destinations. We don't need to get caught and have unwanted questions flood other students minds. Fakir leads me to my room, crossing his arms and huffing a sigh.
"You really get into a lot of trouble, don't you?" He chuckles and ruffles the hair on the top of my head. "Don't forget. You have another lesson at 4pm." He turns and walks out. Strangely, I'm less happy to watch him go, staring at his stride. I take in every last part of him; the movement of his hair, his hips, his body. I smile at him, just watching how pretty he is. But immediately, I remember that I love Mytho, not Fakir. I couldn't love someone as cold and brutish as him. I slam my door shut, pacing around my room and running my hands through my hair. That kiss wasn't anything more than him being tired, so it didn't mean anything to him. I groan as I watch the sun continue to peek up. At half past noon, I hear a calm knock on my door, peering out of my door as I watch Antoinette stand, arms crossed and brow furrowed.
"Oh, Anty!" I smile up at her, opening my door even more. She stamps her foot against the wooden floor, glaring at me.
"Hello, Ahiru." Her voice is somehow even colder than Fakir's.
"What did you need?" I invite her into my room, watching her sit down on the bed, crossing her ankles. Her school uniform fits her a lot better than her unitard, and I smile as I sit across from her on the windowsill. Her chocolate eyes grip onto me, to the point it feels like she's suffocating me.
"You and Fakir are not nearly as sneaky as you think, you know? I saw you two slipping away from the teachers dorm." She leans forward, smirking at me. "Is he any good in bed? Is it nice staying in the school because you're fucking a teacher?" The tips of my fingers feel numb as my face becomes white. I bolt up, appalled at her assumption.
"What?" I ask, confused by her question. She smiles wider, circling around me as she twirls the threads of loose hair from her bun.
"It's kind of obvious, you know? You and him always get along. You're always seen alone together. Even if he's haughty and totally out of your league, I think everyone can tell he's got the hots for you. Even if you're just using him for… what would that be?" She tugs on my braid, smiling. "Sex? Affection? Better grades?" I gulp, sweating. Why would she say these things? They were wrong, all wrong! I barely kissed him, and I didn't even initiate it. She tugs on my braid again, making sure I know I'm not in control in the slightest, that she is the one who can make me bend to her whim. She continues.
"Regardless what it is, your little secret is safe with me. So long as you listen to everything I say." She scratches my back with her long nails. It stings, almost feeling like she's going to draw blood. I manage to scramble back.
"It's payback. You must understand. You get my brother expelled, and I make you pay recompense for a couple weeks. And unless you want your relationship to be known by every other student and teacher in the school, you will listen. Consider it, Duck. Because I need your answer after class." Before I can really even respond, I watch as Antoinette leaves the room in her usual confident stride. Her offer (more of a demand, in honesty) stings in my mind. Who was her brother? How did I make him get expelled? What was she even talking about? Frozen in the streaming daylight, I feel my chest sink inward.
What have I done..? It's only been four months into the new semester, and the last month has been nothing but absolute chaos. I've made people hate me, and I've met people who want me to be hated. Something is completely wrong in this school. Something is filling it to the brim with darkness. The only thing that reminds me of kindness is Pique, Lilie, and Fakir, though only him in short bursts. I wish he would dance with me again, just once more. His hands wrapped around my waist, and our dance gentle and sporadic almost. It was never perfect, but it was fun, it was passionate, and it was just us. I begin dancing by myself, as though someone was there with me. Though it is sad, honestly. Sad being alone once again, dancing as I had when my mom was gone. It was a lot of slow movements, close to the floor, close to the grave I created in my mind, the one she deserved.
I lay on the floor for a long moment, just hugging my leg as it's left in the splits. My thighs still scream in fear. Waylands hands still drift over my underwear and I hug my leg tighter. He wasn't here. It's nothing. It's fine. It's going away, though. Almost like it's being forgotten, which is all I want.
I peer my head up and look up at the clock tower as it chimes. One, two, three times. I need to get ready for lessons. I pull over one of the unitards, and pull my hair into a bun, smiling widely as I try to hide the discomfort pulling my strings. Walking towards the ballet room, I watch as a crowd of girls comforts someone. Curiously, I wander over and try to find who's being comforted. I watch as Anty bellows and cries, talking about Wayland. Even more curious I hold my breath, listening closer.
"I can't believe they expelled my brother! He did nothing wrong, and they expelled him!" Antoinette wails again, her dramatics especially good today. Someone else muses, attempting to comfort her.
"Wayland was a good person, we know he wouldn't do anything like that!" I hear them say. I step back for a moment, no longer listening to their conversation as I lurch myself towards the ballet hall, slamming myself inside the ballet room. Mr. Katt looks at me, his voice hissing for a moment as he asks.
"You're early, Miss Arima. What's the occasion?" He crosses his arms, seemingly bemused as I pull myself onto the bar, starting to stretch.
"I just wanted to get a little extra practice in before class." I smile at him, starting to practice steps one through four. Katt smiles and lets me continue, just finishing up his own work, whatever that may be. As the room floods with more girls, I notice Antoinette still whimpering and sobbing as she's surrounded by the same group of friends. I feel my stomach drop, knowing now what her threat truly means. Mr. Katt claps his hands together and the lesson begins, not paying any mind to a distressed Anty. But I pay all my attention to her.