Page 82 of Controlled

If only you weren’t such a problem child, then she’d love you.

I closed my eyes, becoming furious I’d thought about the past at a moment like this.

You’re just like him. Broken. Broken. Broken. Broken.

If you hadn’t been born, I’d still have him. He’d be with me!

Her hysteria and fury were always worse when she was sucking down vodka, but some nights were worse than others. They were the ones when I’d crawl under the covers, pretending I was a princess locked in a castle, just waiting for my handsome prince to take me away.

“I hate you,” she’d sobbed so many times. “I hate you for taking him from me.”

“I know, Mama. I know.”

I closed my eyes, a horrible chill drifting down my back. I couldn’t allow myself to relive the nightmare all over again. I just couldn’t.

Finally, the ugly little voice faded, but her nagging would leave enough unwanted thoughts to build a nightmare.

No, I couldn’t allow that to happen. I had to dance. I headed for the music system, finding exactly the kind of piece that could help take my personal demons away. As I tore off my sweatshirt and pants, tossing them onto one of two benches, I was already swaying to the music. Who in their right mind would perform a little disco number to Chopin or Prokofiev?

It didn’t take long before I was in a better mood, once again running my fingers down the side of the crimson satin. The toe shoes were beautiful, albeit not something usually worn in various ballets. Well, maybe Joffrey. They always matched the leotards and costumes to the point shoes.

I added all the necessities, holding my breath as I slipped my right foot into the first one, pressing the tip of my toe onto the floor. Yes, it was perfect. As I laced one then the other, I tried not to think about all the bad things that had occurred.

Including the loss of my friend.

Maybe staying in the haze I’d been in for three or four days was the best option, the only way I could handle the events and tragedies. But for right now, it was time to dance. Given it had been a few days, I moved to the bar, doing several pliés followed by a series of relevés. After bending over and stretching my hamstrings, I moved further away from the bar, straightening my back before shifting into a pique turn. I held the stance, lifting my arms in a perfect formation, my hands just so as I’d been taught to do my entire life.

I was supposed to be regal, royalty. At least that’s what my very first teacher, Mrs. Chamberlain had told the class of six-year-olds. She’d made dancing seem magical, which was why I’d fallen in love with the art in the first place.

Even though my mother had hated her, trying to get her fired.

I stopped, slumping over as another ugly memory threatened to derail my activity. I’d never thought of it this way, but my mother was so unhappy, I was surprised she never chased me around the house with a coat hanger in her hand.

At least I could giggle at my stupid reference to the old story about another famous actress in Hollywood. I sucked in my breath, moving to execute a series of sautés, leaping high into the air. As I split my legs, the feeling of flying taking over, I was suddenly lost in the beautiful music. It was piped through several unseen speakers, the quality one of the best I’d ever heard. Within a few seconds, I was completely absorbed in the moment, flying around the room, spinning almost out of control.

The moment was as freeing as any I’d had, my heart pounding from the exertion as well as a weight that continued to push down against my diaphragm. But I refused to allow the joy of the dance to be lost.

Another song began and I pushed myself even harder, spinning and twirling, leaping and flying. The beat was incredible, gothic and dark yet exactly what my psyche needed. I even closed my eyes several times, completely comfortable with my surroundings, using almost every inch of the room, including the glossy piano to lean against, lifting my leg higher than I’d ever had it.

I laughed softly, spinning one more time as the music slammed into a powerful crescendo. Everything was perfect. When I came down, crouching onto the floor in a dramatic finish, I was gasping for air from excitement.

And I felt a presence.

He was here.

Watching me.

Hungering for me.

As Creed began to applaud, a warm flush set down from my face and neck directly to my pussy. I was no longer shocked at my reaction to the man, only longing to feel this way forever.

“Bravo,” he came close to shouting. “Bravo. Magnifico.”

He continued clapping and I finally rose to my feet, our eyes locking together. He looked magnificent, a beacon of light in the very strange darkness. I was pulled into a similar vacuum as before and suddenly, we both were drawn to each other. Like flies to honey.

Like moths to a flame.

When he was only a foot away, he shook his head slowly. “My perfect dancer.”