Page 21 of Forged By Shadows

The choreography isn’t like the classical style I’m used to. It’s much more modern, combining tap and ballroom in some numbers. As unfamiliar as it may be, I find I’m able to shift between the styles without too much difficulty. Holding my arms out as if I were being led by a male, I spin back and forth, tracking the steps whilst on my tiptoes. My back arches as I dip backwards, tugging uncomfortably at my tattoo. It’s in the process of scabbing now.

My leg extends to where my partner should be holding my ankle to turn me in a slow pirouette. Stretching beyond my natural reach, my leg suddenly seizes, as if a clamp has snapped shut around my calf. I crash to the floor, hugging the limb tightly into my middle, my eyes scrunching shut. My hand with the small bandage stings against the pressure but I continue holding my leg, crying out in pain. The piano has halted but when a body crashes into my side, it’s not Theodore I find.

“I’ve got this, Tchaikovsky,” Axel is on his knees. Lying me flat, he whips off my ballet slippers, takes my ankle in his hands and slowly rocks my foot back and forth. Each time the pain becomes too much, he holds for a few seconds and relents. Then, he does the same again. The agony shooting through my calf is unbearable, but soon my screams lessen. I find I’m able to take more and more of the stretch until the cramp begins to subside. I roll my head, noting the concern in Theodore’s gaze as he collects up his sheet music.

“It’s okay Theo,” I wave him off, almost delirious myself. “Rain check until tomorrow?” He nods, not seeming comfortable in Axel’s presence, and bolts out of the door. Swallowing, my throat scratches uncomfortably from the screams torn from me. Axel continues working my ankle, moving on to massage my calf. “What are you doing here?” I breathe.

“You weren’t at your dorm. I didn’t want to miss our…appointment.” He’s hesitant. It’s only now I realize I’m lying on my tattoo. Pushing myself upright, I drag the sweater over my head. I’m too warm, my skin feeling too tight. Seeing myself in the mirror opposite, my hair has fallen free of its ponytail, my chest is flushed. But Axel’s hazel’s eyes look upon me as if I’m something better. Something precious.

“Axel, I don’t think we should do this anymore,” I lower my head. My foot is still in his hands, subconsciously being massaged. I don’t believe he even knows he’s doing it, a genuine need for physical contact controlling his actions. Sighing, resignation passes across his features.

“It’s okay if you don’t want me to be around anymore. I know I can be a lot.” My heart plummets.

“No, that’s not-” I start but it’s too late. Axel releases my foot and begins to move away, the walls shutting down behind his eyes. Now the pain has ebbed, I shift up onto my knees to put us at eye level, grabbing his nape before he can move too far. A shadow of stubble is visible against his jaw, his cheekbones high and sharp. Axel’s gaze shifts to mine, their coppery tint captivating me. He’s beautiful up close.

With the back of my injured but healing hand, I stroke my fingers over his cheek. He responds as I knew he would, leaning into me. Lost in a trance where only he and I exist, tracing my finger along his strong jawline, my lips part. The fantasies I’ve been having while he tended to my tattoo return in full force. I shiver, despite the inferno raging within. I can’t deny myself, nor can I let Axel think I don’t want him around.

Leaning in closer, my eyelids flutter closed. The delicate softness of his lips press against mine as a throat is cleared in the doorway. Jolting away from each other, an amused-looking Huxley is standing in the doorway. His messy hair falls loosely onto exposed shoulders, a workout vest straining to cover his wide chest and failing to hide the outline of his six-pack. Heat flares to life in my cheeks as I half hobble upright, attempting to look casual as I push my feet into my trainers and head for the exit. I can’t think when these boys are around.

“Avery, wait! Your bag,” Axel jogs to grab my backpack. I turn suddenly as he crashes into me, my body acting as an activator for the device inside. The loud whirring of vibrations burst to life in the otherwise silent room.

“Is that…” Huxley raises a brow. My mouth drops open but only a squeak comes out. Never have I wanted to die a quicker death. Shoving my hand into my backpack, I search blindly to knock the damn thing off.

“No! It’s my phone,” I argue. While the entire contents of my bag is rattling, it’s impossible to tell what’s the vibrator, my deodorant, my water bottle. Why is everything I own phallic shaped? Axel, still holding my bag, gestures to the side pocket.

“You mean that phone?” he indicates to my cell sitting behind the mesh. Closing my hand around the vibrator, I attempt to switch it off and only manage to activate one of the thirteen settings. The rhythm beats twice, pauses and then judders, pauses and repeats. I finally manage to turn the damn thing off, pressing my injured palm to the center of my forehead. No one says anything as I slowly shoulder my bag, so embarrassed I might just throw up. Deciding something good might as well come from the most humiliating moment of my life, I look up at Axel.

“You thought I didn’t want you around anymore, but there’s your truth. I want you around too much. I have to get myself off every time you touch me, so forget massaging my tattoo. You might as well just go down on me again.”

“Again?” Axel frowns. My gut plummets.

“Yeah? You know…like before, with Garrett,” I start to stutter. Huxley makes a strange sound in his throat, and it’s his turn to go scarlet red. I watch him rub the back of his neck and stare instantly at the ground. “You?” I breathe in shock. Huxley’s chocolate eyes raise to mine and he shrugs apologetically. “But…why?”

“Because Garrett’s a meddling bastard, that’s why,” he chokes on a laugh. Axel mutters something to the same effect. I swallow, my pulse ringing in my ears. Concluding that I can’t be here, sandwiched between these two gorgeous men, I blow out a harsh breath.

“Okay well. I’m going to go now. Let’s not talk about any of this ever again.” I take two steps when my backpack is tugged on. Huxley shoves his arm inside, a devilish smile on his face.

“You won’t be needing this anymore,” he retrieves the hot pink vibrator and pauses to appreciate the girth and vascularity of it. I lied before - this is the moment I could die the quickest death. “If you want to cum, you’ll have to find one of us,” he directs his smirk to Axel. I’ve run out of air, my head starting to spin with all this to and fro.

“Wyatt will go crazy. You were there when he told me to stay away from you all.” I don’t know why I’m cowering behind Wyatt’s rules. Maybe because I don’t want to be locked in a fucking closet again, or maybe because it’s an easy excuse. I can’t go around screwing my stepbrother’s basketball team within my first two weeks of school. Huxley doesn’t seem to have the same reservations he had the other night, now he’s feeling the weight of my vibrator in his hand and grinning as if seeing me in a whole different light.

“I know,” he lowers to my ear and places a quick kiss there, “and that might be why you taste so delicious.”

Chapter Fourteen

“Axel honey, come on in. Don’t be shy,” my mother giggles into the microphone. I step into the room, picking at my bottom lip. As always, she looks incredibly beautiful, dressed in a black dress with a matching feather in her dark hair. Pearls surround her neck and hang from her ears. “Ahh, there you are.” Her red lips smile over a champagne glass at me. Holding out her hand, I walk through the sea of women who gush and pawn at me as I pass.

An elevated stage has been fitted at the front of our ballroom for tonight, as it is every first Friday of the month. I shift my neck uncomfortably in the tight collar of the white shirt and navy tie that mother insisted I wore tonight. I’m bulkier than the average teenager, having been forced into a vigorous exercise routine and strict diet. Navy slacks cover my legs and my brown dress shoes are freshly polished. Mother likes me to look older than my age of fourteen.

Stepping up onto the podium, mother embraces me in a tight hug that is only for show. She smooths her hand over my hair, pushing it over to the side the way she likes. Her pale brown eyes twinkle as they assess me, before turning me to face the crowd. This is one of the rare times I see her face lit with happiness.

“Okay ladies, take a good look and get those purses ready. We will start the auction at one thousand dollars.” I try not to squirm under the intense lighting and cat calls of the thirstiest and richest women around. Like my mother, most of the women here are widowed. But I don’t think they have such financial strain as we do, which is exactly why mother forces me to ‘be the man of the house and earn my keep’. My eyes prick but I clench my jaw to fight back the tears, knowing any weakness would earn me a swift slap and the auction would continue regardless.

“Five thousand dollars!” A gloved hand shoots into the air, the plump woman who owns it licking her lips at me hungrily.

“Ten!”

“Fifteen!” The lights are burning my retinas, my head beginning to spin. I fight against myself to keep my breathing even, focusing on inhaling through my nose for three seconds and exhaling via my mouth for five. Shouts and whistles for my attention fill my ears, mother’s voice through the speakers saying the word I dread to hear each night in my nightmares.

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