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“Aww,” I coo, “poor baby.”
“Watch it, princess.” My insides heat at that. “You’re about to get spanked.”
I smirk and peer at the boys. Ilya is hanging by a thread, I can tell. His eyes are sad and bloodshot, like he’s been crying them out. I know Leo killed his friend, one of his best friends, and I feel so guilty for whatever reason. Probably because I’m not doing what he wants so he tried to take matters into his own hands. It’s killing me not telling Nikolai the truth.
Leo feels guilty now; he’s basically been living with me for the past few days, and I can’t say no to him because he just lost his best friend. This only makes me feel even guiltier because Nik is sad too, and so are my friends—his friends—and I’ve been hanging out with them too. It feels like I have to pick sides, and I don’t want to.
Nikolai doesn’t accept that I’m done with him, even though I was never with him in the first place. I guess even though I told him we were done last time, sucking his cock and letting him fuck my mouth was giving mixed signals. I’m even giving myself mixed signals.
It’s kind of funny, his persistence. It’s getting harder and harder to say no to him, to stand my ground. I’m weak for him, and I can’t say no anymore. I just hope maybe one day my brother will forgive me because I don’t think I want to keep fighting this anymore. Maybe if I give in, this little infatuation will fade. Probably not though since it’s been years feeling this way. I’m so screwed.
I get up from the couch and hold out my hand, silently asking Nik to follow me. He does, immediately accepting, and we walk up the stairs and to his room. I jump on his bed, getting on my knees and bouncing on it, just being silly because I’m happy.
Happy.
An emotion I haven’t felt for the longest time.
I stop bouncing on the bed when he laughs, and I give him my most genuine grin. His eyes sparkle and he returns it. I love it, and him. God, I really do. “Thank you for playing with me.”
“Any time, princess.” He joins me on the bed and pulls me onto his lap. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Why is this game so important to you?” he asks quietly, his voice seemingly a little sadder. “How did you get so good at it?”
I clear my throat, debating even telling him. He seemed so sad and regretful the last time we talked about my brother. But I need to know. I need to see if he feels bad at all and if he will tell me he did it. He didn’t say the words outright last time.
“My brother and I used to play it.” My voice cracks on the last word, and he flinches. “It was our thing.”
Nikolai looks away, and there’s my answer. He won’t tell me shit. “He sounds like he was a really good person.”
“The best.”
An awkward silence descends on us and I look away from him, trying to keep the tears at bay. I had really high hopes he’d come clean and tell me what he did so I could forgive him. He is not only letting me down, but he’s also trying to keep me in the dark. He doesn’t know I know, most likely not the whole thing at least.
But I have to hear him say it, or we can’t do this.
No matter how much I feel for him.
* * *
I smooth my hands down my leotard, my fingers trembling with nerves, and step onto the stage. It’s muscle memory at this point after having practiced this same dance over and over and over, but I can’t help still being nervous at the prospect of not being picked for the part I want.
I want it all.
Odette. Odile.
Everything.
That’s probably my problem in life, that I want what I want. Maybe that’s why I’m being punished right now and I haven’t seen Nikolai in ten days. Did I do something wrong? Why is he not coming around? All I hear is silence in my head because there’s no answer to my questions, and I hate that. Maybe he hates me for being there for Leo. Maybe he doesn’t want me for himself anymore.
Whatever the case is, I still can’t blame Nik for it. I heard Leonardo killed his friend before Nikolai retaliated. I would’ve too if someone hurt Annie or Calypso or any of my friends really. I can’t hold it against him for defending his friends, his home. Leonardo was in the wrong for it, yet that also doesn’t mean he’s not suffering. So here I’ve been, nursing his heart wounds back to health with mylove. Yeah, apparently, he loves me. Which I don’t know if I necessarily believe. At the end of the day, I don’t even truly love him like a husband. I’m there for him like a wife should be, but there’s still much to discuss. For example, I do not want to play Nik anymore. He still won’t accept that. I have another day or two before he’s out of my hair again and I need to try to remind him that I’m done with the revenge plan. Knowing him, he’d probably try to tell Nikolai a lie or two, and my heart can’t afford that anymore.
I get on the stage and don’t look at the judges yet. Instead, I go through the routine I’ve been practicing at the studio. I focus on my arms again, making them look like wings. I go through the steps seamlessly. Demi plié, fifth position en face, then développé en pointe. Just the way I practiced. The problem is that everyone else’s is seamless too, so anyone could be picked. Who knows at this point.
I do a pirouette, my focal point being the furthest part of the audience that isn’t there, and then whip my leg forward and begin doing my thirty-two fouettés. I try the hardest I’ve ever tried in my life to be graceful. I tune out all the voices, the noises, every distraction around me—disappeared. Gone. All that matters right now is getting this part that I’ve busted my ass for. I want it so bad. More than I’ve ever wanted a lead in any ballet before.
Once finished with the fouettés I stop because they tell me to. I quickly catch my breath and bow, seeing the flash of a camera and being blinded by it.
