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I know now, of course, that it was a lie. That my life was only ever mine for a little while. That I had more of it to myself than most girls like me.
The dream stretches, shimmers, and the same stage is there, only it’s under my feet. The boxy toes of my pointe shoes press against it, my body stretching upwards, lithe, slender and graceful, ready to take flight. The music fills my ears, my partner’s hands touch my waist, and I’m free.
It all dissolves around me as I dance–everything that could ever hold me back, or frighten me, or make my world anything but whatI’vedecided it will be. I’m a butterfly, a bird, a winged thing free to go where I please, and I see nothing but the darkness out past the stage lights, without a single person there to tell me who I should be.
I hear my mother’s voice, whispering that I can be anything I want to be. That no one will ever force me off this stage, into a world I never wanted to be a part of.
That I can be free forever.
The dream changes, ripples, a series of dancers and music and shows, one after another, all of them precious to me, all of them one more buffer between me and the life I don’t want. I live for those moments on the stage, the ones where I don’t have to make small talk at galas or try to get benefactors for the ballet, where I’m not a Bratva princess or an asset to the ballet corps or anything but a living, breathing incarnation of whatever role I’ve fallen into, the music and the twist and flex of my body consuming me until there’s nothing else.
UntilIam nothing else.
The dream steadies, playing out like a movie in my mind, my dance partner reaching for me. His hands find my wrists instead of my waist, holding them above my head, holding me there in place as I hold my pose, staring at him in confusion. His mouth opens, but no sound comes out, and then suddenly he’s not my partner at all but a man with ice blue eyes and a cruel smile, a man who makes my heart stop in my chest with fear.
My eyes fly open, my heart pounding as hard as the ache in my head, and I see Mikhail above me, his hands on mine. He’s dressed now, more casually than I’ve seen him before except for the night when I showed up unexpectedly on his doorstop, in black joggers and a black t-shirt. His hair falls into his face as he starts to unlock one of the cuffs, and my mouth goes dry as I realize that I’m very close to a moment of freedom.
I should play nice. I should try to fight back, but not too much. I should entice him, so he wants to toy with me longer, long enough to find a way out.
But with just one click of the cuffs opening, my resolve falters and shatters, the panic crowding my throat as I forget all the plans I’d made. All I can think of is escape, the possibility of fleeing this place, of getting free before I have to endure any more of this. I feel the cuffs loosen, the blood rushing back to my fingers, and I can’t stop myself despite knowing it’s in my best interests to bide my time.
All I can feel is fight or flight–and right now, I’m down for either.
Natalia
Iwrench my hands away from the opened cuffs, flinging myself off of the bed towards Mikhail. I have one moment of surprise, one second where he won’t expect this, and I know I have to use it to my full advantage.
Fingers clawed, I rake at his face as I shriek, throwing the full weight of my body into him to knock him off balance. I feel my fingers find some purchase in his skin, and I tear at it, not caring what I’m clawing. All I want is to hurt him, to get away, to get free. I feel panicked, feral, like an animal out of a trap, and I react wholly on instinct.
His startled roar of pain is more satisfying than I would have expected. It spurs me on, and I feel him stumble backwards as I throw my weight into him. It might not be much, but it requires some strength to be a ballerina–and more than that to be a pole dancer. I’ve gained muscle since I started at theCat’sMeow, and while I still might not be a match for Mikhail on an even playing field, I’m not as delicate and fragile as he might think.
I have one chance, and I don’t plan to squander it.
My knee comes up as he stumbles back and I follow, hitting him in the gut and then lower still, in the balls. I hear his grunt of pain, and I rake my nails down his neck as I feel him start to go down.
Once he hits the floor, make a break for it.I can see the door on the other side of the room, and I’m poised to run–but I’m just a fraction of a second too slow.
His body hits the floor, and I leap past him, trying to make my escape–but just as I think I’m past him, I feel fingers close around my ankle, yanking so hard that my legs go out from under me, and I go down.
My chin hits the floor as I land on my belly, and tears fill my eyes as my teeth sink into my tongue, drawing blood. I can’t even cry out, it hurts so much, and all the air is knocked out of me.
Fuck!
I feel him dragging me backwards, and I kick out, trying to dislodge his grip. I hear him laugh, dark and threatening, his hand squeezing the delicate bones of my ankle.
“You fucking bitch,” he growls. “You think you could get away from me that easily? Not a fucking chance.”
I feel the weight of him leaning down over me, pressing against my ass, my back, his hand reaching for my throat. I twist to one side, biting at his fingers, and I feel my teeth sink into the flesh of his hand. I jerk backwards, tearing at it as I kick and heave in an effort to get him off of me, and I hear his cry of pain and taste blood. I have no idea if it’s his or mine, but I hope it’s his.
I kick again, hard, driving my heel back into his gut. It’s been ages since the martial arts classes I took,yearssince I trained with any regularity. My ballet teachers didn’t like it, thinking it would make me too muscular, but I found a symmetry with it and dance that I enjoyed immensely. I thought it made me stronger, quicker, more able to flow gracefully through the steps of the dance. It didn’t matter to me where the skill came from, only that I had it.
And, of course, it had the extra perk of making me feel as if I could defend myself without having to rely on either my father’s security, or my private bodyguards that I paid to keep an eye out while I was at my secret apartment.
Now, I struggle to remember the moves, the kicks, the blocks that might get me out of this. It’s more frantic than any training class ever was, more desperate, and the moment I feel his grip on my ankle loosen, I dart forward, crawling wildly towards the door until I can get my feet back under myself.
“Oh no you fucking don’t!” I hear him snarl behind me. I can hear the noises of him gathering himself, coming after me, but I don’t dare look back. I don’t dare do anything except try to get to the door, my only chance of getting out of this, my only–
He flips me onto my back so hard that my head bounces against the floor, taking some of the breath out of me again. His expression is wild and furious, his ice blue eyes glinting down at me as he grabs my arms, trying to pin me with his hands and his weight as he comes down atop me.
