Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
ALYX
Two years later
The bandages around my toes irritated me. One would think I’d be used to Band-Aids and bleeding feet after years of dancing. But judging by the throbbing pain at the tips of my toes and how I fidgeted with the bandages, obviously not.
I was only two weeks into my second year at Juilliard, and already the vigorous training was taking its toll. Hours and hours of grueling practice, the need for perfection fueling me to move past the point of pain, yet I still didn’t feel like I was able to accomplish anything.
The ache in my back made me lean over, rubbing my palm up and down my side. The bright neon lights shining in the reception area wasn’t helping the migraine that was starting to develop just above my eyes.
The sound of beads belting together drew my attention to the man emerging from the back of the studio, Red shortly on his heel.
“Make sure to keep that wrapping on for a few hours.” She opened the door and held it as the man with the wrapped forearm walked out with nothing but a nod.
“You’re welcome.” She closed the door behind him. “Asshole.”
I smiled. “Another friendly customer?”
She flipped her dyed, ruby red hair over her shoulder, and I caught sight of the row of earrings she had pierced all around her earlobe. “He’s not the friendliest, but at least he’s a regular. Comes here every month to get more ink done.” She shrugged. “I guess that’s thank you enough.”
With a half-smile, I slipped my shoes back on my feet and got up, grabbing my bag. “You’re the best artist in town, Red. He’d be dumb to get work done by anyone else.”
She nudged me with her elbow. “You’re just saying that because the best artist in town also happens to be your best friend for how long now?” She feigned a look of thought. “Seven years?”
“Six.”
“Nah.” She waved it off. “Who’s counting?” She placed her arm around my shoulder. “Have you decided what you want?”
I nodded.
Her face lit up. “And? What is it?”
I paused. “Do you promise not to ask questions?”
“Are you kidding me? I’ve been nagging your ass to get a tattoo for the last seven years—”
“Six.”
“Whatever. My point is, you’re finally getting a tattoo, and now you expect me to not ask questions? Are you insane?”
I pulled the rubber band from my wrist and tied my hair in a high ponytail. “I’m serious, Red. No questions.”
“Ugh,” she groaned. “Okay, fine. Let me see it?” She rolled her eyes and held out her hand.
I pulled a piece of paper out of my denim jacket, reluctantly placing it in her palm. No one knew Red the way I did, and I knew once she saw the drawing I wanted inked, her head was going to explode with a million questions.
Red folded it open, and I watched as a giant question mark formed right above her forehead. “Are you serious?”
“Very.”
“But wh—”
I held up a finger, silencing her. “Nah-ah. No questions.”
“Come on!” She stomped her wedge-heeled boot. “How can you expect me to not have questions now?”
“Oh, I don’t expect you to not have questions. I expect you not to ask them.” I winked at her, which only seemed to irk her more.
She pursed her red lips, green eyes swimming with curiosity. “Fine,” she conceded. “Now, go sit your ass down so I can torture you with a needle.”
I let out a laugh, trying to mask how nervous I was. This was my first tattoo, and I had no idea what to expect. Plus, I didn’t have a great relationship with needles. But who did?
I sat on the chair and eyed Red with suspicion. “You’re going to make this as painful as possible, aren’t you?”
“Can I ask a question?”
“No.”
“Then, yes. Yes, I am.”
Red busied herself tracing the image on a piece of stencil paper while I grew more nervous by the second.
“One,” I said, and Red slowly turned to face me. “You can ask one question.”
Red bit her lip, green eyes glancing all around the room while I heard the wheels turning in her head. “Okay, I do have one question.”
“Yeah?”
“And it’s by far the most important question I can ask right now.”
“Yes?”
Her eyes narrowed. “You better give me the truth.”
“Of course.”
Red scooted closer, her face hard with an immense amount of seriousness. “So, my question is…does your mom know you’re getting this tattoo?”
The heaviness of the moment lingered for a split second before I burst out laughing. “Are you serious? Is that your question?”
Red shrugged. “It’s a legit, important question, my friend.”
I snickered. “No, Red. My mom doesn’t know. And she won’t know either.”
Red threw her hands in the air. “Are you trying to fucking torture me?”
“You know she can’t find out.”
“Are you telling me your mom won’t know that her perfect little ballerina got her skin inked…permanently?”
“Geez, Red. You look disappointed.”
“Fuck, yeah, I am. This is like the best way ever to piss your mother off, yet you deny me the pleasure of seeing the look of shock and disgust on her face for the first time ever.”
I shimmied out of my tights, placed them on top of my bag, then slipped back onto the chair. “My mom would kill me if she finds out, which is why I want it here.” I pointed to my inner right thigh, and Red’s gaze followed.
She rolled her green eyes. “I’d much rather we tattoo this baby on your forehead so mommy-dearest won’t ever be able to miss it.”
“Shut up.” I chuckled. “Now, hurry up. I have an early class tomorrow.”
Red studied me with curious eyes. “You sure about this?”
“I’m sure. Now get a move on before I change mind.”
“Okay, then.”
It took Red about twenty minutes to trace the image on the stencil paper.
While I watched her work, I thought about what my mother would do if she ever found out.
Perfection was my mom’s religion, and she had spent my entire life making sure it was mine too.
Ever since I could remember, my mom had always talked about me following in her footsteps, becoming this perfect ballerina.
How I would perform around the world, be the star attraction as the beautiful Odette in Swan Lake.
Dancing was my mom’s life, and she had managed to make it my life as well.
“All right, let’s do this.” Red pulled on a pair of gloves and cleaned the area on my thigh. “I’m not gonna lie, it hurts like a bitch.”
I snorted. “Have you seen my toes lately?”
“Oh, God. Fucking masochist. I still don’t get why you torture yourself so willingly when it’s not even something you want to do.”
“It is.” My words didn’t come out as strong as they should have.
Red just cocked a brow at me as if to say, “Who are you kidding?”
It wasn’t that I didn’t like ballet. I did. As a little girl, I loved dancing around in the garden, letting my own music guide my steps. But my mom’s obsession with dancing took the music inside me away, and now it was merely the steps that remained.
The buzzing of the machine started, and without warning, Red grazed the needle across my skin, all along the traced image.
I cringed, the scratching pain burning my flesh. It was as if a thousand needles pierced my skin, pricks of torture marking me. But after a few seconds, the pain started to dissipate—or my skin got used to it. Either way, it wasn’t as bad as I expected it to be.
The more Red moved the needle over my skin, the more I started to like the burn. It wasn’t like the ache throbbing in my toes. Maybe because the pain was a result of a decision I had made, and not bleeding blisters because of something my mother wanted me to do.
I leaned back, lifting my gaze to the roof while Red continued inking my inner thigh.
Metal music played in the background, and I closed my eyes, imagining the steps if I had to dance to the rhythm of it.
My mom would die a slow, painful death if she had to witness me dancing to metal music.
Nothing but classical music was played in our house.
Even as a kid, my mom would let me listen to Mozart rather than nursey rhymes.
With a sigh, I placed my arms over my eyes, feeling just a little sorry for myself stuck in the gilded cage my mother had put her little swan in.
Good God. I was becoming that girl. The girl who would carry psychological scars because of her control-freak mother.
I was already living with a borderline eating disorder because I was taught how to count calories since I was eight.
“And that’s a wrap.”
I sat up abruptly. “Are you done already?”
“Dude, I’ve been working on this baby for the last two hours.”
I glanced from her to the bright purple clock on the wall. “Wow, who knew pain would make the time go by so fast?”
Red placed the protective wrapping over my freshly tattooed skin. “I’ve said this a million times, and I’ll say it again. You are a fucking weirdo who’s in need of a good old-fashioned fucking.” She pulled off her gloves with a snap, and I pulled on my tights.
“I tried that, remember? And look how that turned out.”
Red held out two painkillers in her palm, her gaze pinned on mine. “Don’t kid yourself, my friend. That wasn’t a good old-fashioned fuck.”
“Oh, that’s right.” I took the pills and tossed them back, swallowing them without water. “That was just one giant disaster when the guy I dated was all hot and heavy to take my virginity, yet when I finally said yes, he stood me up. What guy says no to getting laid?”
Red rubbed her forehead, deep in thought. “Will we ever know what the fuck happened that night?”
I grabbed my bag and pulled it over my shoulder. “It’s been a year, Red. I’m over it.”
“Yeah, but aren’t you curious, though? I mean, Terence stood you up, disappeared for a few days, only to return with a broken leg, avoiding you like the fucking plague.”
“Don’t care.” I walked to the front of the shop, spotting a couple looking at tattoo images on the wall.
The beads clattered behind me as Red followed. “I still think your father has something to do with it. And the fact that no guy has come near you since then screams conspiracy.”
I leaned my head to the side as I turned to face her. “You need help.”
“Ha,” she scoffed. “Says the one with ballet shoes and a fresh tattoo.”