Chapter 5
Chapter Five
I’m running from him.
Well, not exactly.
It’s not as if he’s chasing after me or anything. He’s not.
In fact, if you look at him sauntering down the hallways, being worshipped by guys and girls alike, you’d think that Friday night never happened.
That I never went to his party. He never caught me while I was trying to duck out. And I never danced for him.
The only evidence of that night is that nasty split lip and the bruise on his jaw.
Even after four days, it looks just as angry and red as it must have when Ledger laid it on him.
Every time I see it, my heart twists in my chest.
My legs itch to go over to him and touch it. Touch him.
But I can’t.
That’s why I’m running.
The second I see him, I turn around and leave, which I usually did anyway, but these days I’m ruthless. If he comes in my line of vision, I duck my head. The second I start to think about him, I shut it the eff down.
Besides, it’s not as if he is thinking about me.
As I said, looking at him, you wouldn’t even know that Friday night happened.
Not to mention, there are girls taking care of his bruise. In fact, I saw a girl from junior year caressing it out in the courtyard today.
I think she even reached up and kissed it. I’m not sure. I didn’t wait to see what she would do once she’d gone up on her tiptoes.
So yeah, I need to move on and consider Friday night an anomaly and focus on what’s important.
The upcoming dance show in which I’m the lead.
Yes, I am.
I don’t even know how it happened. Because I’m a freshman and they never pick a freshman. They usually go for a junior or senior.
I’m actually very proud.
If only this wasn’t so hard.
I mean, it’s a fairly easy routine. The dance itself is a mix of classical ballet and contemporary choreography. There’s nothing here that I haven’t done before.
But.
I cannot nail down the last part of it. I’m having trouble with holding the positions, with my calves being steady, with my toes bearing my weight.
So I’m basically having trouble with everything and I just want to give up and cry.
I mean, what kind of a ballerina am I if I can’t get my toes to cooperate with me?
A sucky one.
School’s been done for hours but I’m in the auditorium, trying to get it right.
I can’t though.
Because I’m tired now. My limbs are exhausted and I want to go home and just soak in a bathtub for hours, clean up the scrapes on my toes, bandage my ankle and take a bucketful of painkillers.
So I pack up my things, unplug the stereo and bring it to the storage closet located backstage. Opening the door, I switch on the light and set the heavy equipment down on one of the shelves on the far end.
The moment I do though, I hear something, a creak and a footstep, a click, and I spin around already knowing — hoping — who it would be.
And I’m right.
It’s him.
He’s leaning against the now closed door of the storage closet, his gray eyes glued to me. And just at the sight of him, at the fact that my secret, dangerous wish has come true, I stop breathing.
I don’t need to breathe anyway because euphoria is bursting in my veins like firecrackers.
He’s here.
Here. Finally.
My heart races as if it’s been waiting and waiting for him to come find me.
Even though I’ve been making every effort to stay away from him and to run.
Even though the words that come out of my mouth are the exact opposite of what I’m feeling. “Y-you can’t be in here.”
Good.
Good, this is smart.
This is what I should be saying to him.
He’s a bad guy, remember?
It doesn’t matter what I feel.
It doesn’t even make sense that I feel these things.
In response, Reed shifts on his feet and settles even more against the door like he has no plans to go anywhere. “Yeah, why not?”
“Because Ledger is here,” I tell him, my own feet doing what they’ve been doing for the past few days, itching to go to him as soon as I see him.
But I dig my toes into the ground and stop them.
“So?”
God.
Why is this so appealing? His reckless, daredevil, rule-breaking attitude.
Maybe because I’ve never broken a rule myself.
Maybe because I’ve never seen anyone break a rule with so little care where the repercussions are so dire, AKA getting beaten up by my brothers.
I bring my arms back and grab hold of the shelf behind me. Just so I’ll stay put. Even though it’s getting harder and harder to do that.
“He’s at the library, waiting for me to finish up so he can take me home. And I can’t be late. Not after…” I trail off, glancing at the bruise, still so fresh looking and red, sitting on the left side of his jaw.
His jaw that is shadowed with a light stubble that he must hate.
Under my gaze, he thumbs it. “Friday night.”
He remembers…
Like a fool, I think of that first.
It doesn’t matter whether he remembers or not.
What matters is, he needs to leave.
Nodding, I whisper, “Yes.”
“So they’re keeping an eye on you.”
Not them.
As I said, my brothers have given me all the freedom. They’ve always trusted me.
This is me.
I’m trying to make up for last Friday.
After how they all came to apologize and bring me cupcakes, I’m doing this to make up for the lying.
It might be too much for some girls – teenagers lie, right? – and I get that.
But then those girls don’t have awesome brothers like mine. They don’t share a unique bond with their siblings like I do.
I shake my head. “It’s me. I lied to them.”
He hums thoughtfully. “And found yourself in the clutches of a villain.”
My heart skips a beat when he says it, the term I called him that night.
And it’s a perfect term too.
He does look like a villain. A gorgeous villain.
With beautiful wolf eyes and marble skin. A jaw so sharp and cheekbones so high. Broad shoulders and a massive chest that tapers into a slim waist.
Every part of his body looms large and threatening.
Even that bruise adds to his danger.
“You should go,” I tell him, breathless.
“But here you are, aren’t you? In my clutches again,” he murmurs, completely ignoring my statement.
I am.
I have no escape either. I glance at the door behind him, which believe it or not is difficult because he’s covering it all up with his towering body.
“Why’s the door locked?” I ask him.
“You’ve been running from me,” he says.
“I’m not,” I lie, wondering how he even knows when he’s been too busy with his awesome life.
“And I’m not letting you run from me again.”
His words hang in the air menacingly and I ask, “Letting me?”
“Yeah.”
I frown at him. “Isn’t that… criminal?”
“Is it?”
I exhale sharply. “Yes, it is. You can’t lock a girl in a closet against her will. Just because you don’t want her to run.”
Something like amusement passes over his features. “Right. I think I heard about something like that.”
“You –”
“But also, I don’t think I’m holding her against her will. Am I?”
I swallow and grab hold of the edge of the shelf tightly. “Why don’t I scream and you can find out if it’s against my will or not?”
It only makes him smirk. “Why don’t you? Let’s see if it reaches your brother and he comes to save you.” He flexes his fist by his side. “I’d love to give him a matching bruise for last Friday.”
My heart jumps. “You wouldn’t.”
“Wouldn’t I?”
“No. Because… Because you apologized to him that night,” I remind him, trying to tamp down shivers at the thought of him keeping that promise to me. “You kept your promise.”
“And that means what?”
“It means that maybe you’re not as bad as they say you are.”
“Yeah, no. I’m exactly as bad as they say I am.” He spreads his hands as if in a magnanimous gesture. “I’d be happy to show you if you like. All you have to do is scream.”
I study him for a long, careful moment before saying, “How did you even know that I was here?”
“I saw you dancing through the window,” he says.
“You did?” I ask, surprised.
“Uh-huh.” His eyes grow heated, and all my ire seems to be on the verge of melting. “You were spinning. So fast. And I stopped.”
“Why?”
He licks his lips and I’m reminded of how excited he looked that night when I danced for him.
When he called me a fairy.
God.
God.
He called me that, didn’t he?
I’ve been trying not to think about it. Not to think about his words, the words no one has ever said to me before.
Fairy.
“Because apparently when you spin, I stop. When you dance, I have to watch,” he says in a low, slightly rough voice.
And suddenly I feel the same way. As I did that night.
All hot and restless. My limbs buzzing.
“I sucked,” I say.
He frowns. “What?”
I’m not sure if I should tell him this. But I’m going to.
I don’t know why but I have to tell him the truth.
So swallowing, I whisper, “My routine. I can’t do it. I-I mean, I can. But I’m screwing it all up.”
His frown only grows. “Someone tell you that?”
I shake my head. “No. Everyone has been super kind so far. But I-I’m supposed to hold this pose, a developpé écarté devant, at the end for like eight counts before coming down on my knees, but I could only do it for like four or something.
And even then, my calves were shaking, and do you even know how big of a crime that is?
Not being able to hold straight and still. A very big crime. Huge.”
It is.
And if they don’t kick me out then I’ll just quit myself because this is a disgrace.
For some reason, his lips twitch. “I don’t think anyone would notice how long you stood on your toes.”
I narrow my eyes at him, at his amusement. “Why not?”
“Because they’ll be too distracted at the sight of you down on your knees.” He tips his chin at me. “Especially in that.”
All of a sudden it hits me that I’m in costume.
I’ve been wearing this for three hours now and I completely forgot. I completely forgot that this is the first time Reed is seeing me in this.
A white leotard and a light green tutu.
Not to mention, I also have wings.