Page 10 of Damaged Protector
Her eyes narrowed, and I gritted my teeth for what I knew was coming.
“In fact, get to your studio now. You can stay there until you decide to apologize.” She pointed up the stairway.
“I will never apologize to that old pervert.”
Her jaw tightened in a way that was all too familiar. “Then you can stay up there until you rot.”
“Daddy will be home in five weeks,” I shot back, and her jaw tightened. “Are you going to tell him you punish me by locking me up there?”
“You’ll stay there until he returns, and when he does, I expect you to be on your best behavior.”
With a resigned slump of my shoulders, I headed up the stairs. Surely she wouldn’t keep me up there for over a month. She’d locked me in the studio before for punishments, but it was usually only for a weekend. Four days at the most.
As I entered the room and flopped down on the twin bed in the corner, I heard the lock click in the door.
Something inside me broke at that tiny sound, and for the first time since I was two years old, I didn’t feel like dancing.
In fact, I was pretty sure I never wanted to dance again.
“Babe, you weren’t in class today.” The soft tenor of my boyfriend’s voice soothed my frayed edges, and I pressed the phone closer to my ear as I leaned back against my headboard.
“Hey, Curtis. Yeah, um, something kinda happened last night.”
“Oh crap. Did you injure yourself?”
“No, nothing like that. It happened at my private lesson.”
“That’s right. You had your first one-on-one with Professor Moreau.” Even the sound of that man’s name turned my stomach. “How did it go? Adriana said hers went great.”
My blinking slowed to tortoise speed. “I wasn’t aware you talked to her.”
Adriana Miller was my biggest rival in the dance program. I’d recognized her talent after the first ballet class we had together freshman year and sought to make friends with her. Our blossoming friendship had lasted until I won the role of Juliet in Romeo and Juliet our first year. Not getting the lead pissed her off, and she turned into a conniving bitch.
“You know… it’s a small department. We run into each other from time to time.” Curtis was in performing arts as well, but he was a concert pianist.
Putting aside my surprise at him speaking with Adriana—he always said he couldn’t stand her—I told him what happened in the studio last night.
“Wow, are you serious?”
“As a heart attack.”
“And Kotov kicked you out of the university?”
“He did. Wouldn’t even listen to me,” I said, my voice trembling a little.
“That sucks, babe. Are you sure you didn’t… you know… misunderstand?”
I was stunned on about fifty different levels, and my voice turned sharp.
“No, I didn’t misunderstand, Curtis. Why the hell would you ask me that?”
“I don’t know. Adriana said he was great to work with. We had lunch today, and she didn’t mention that he was inappropriate in any way.”
“What does that have to do with what happened to me?” I asked, my voice rising with indignation. Also, he had lunch with her?
“You know, Adriana’s really beau—” He seemed to think about what he was going to say before continuing. “She’s not ugly or anything. I’d think if Moreau was like what you’re saying, he’d definitely hit on her.”
If the top of my head had blown completely off, I wouldn’t have been surprised. Curtis didn’t believe me either because Adriana is beautiful? And if Moreau didn’t hit on her, then he certainly wouldn’t make advances toward me?