Page 58 of Bound By Obsession

Placing the letters back onto her desk, I smile warmly and take a step back towards the door. “Thank you, Madam. I’m flattered you saw potential in me, but I’m happy where I am. I’d like to just stay here and dance for you.”

The shift in the senior dancer’s demeanor is sharp, bordering vicious. All joy is erased from her face, leaving only the stern lines and sharp stare behind. No longer floating around on air, Madam Nightingale stands painfully straight, her lips pursed tightly.

“Avery, listen to me. You’ve had the best private tutors, been given the best shot at making a name for yourself beyond just being a Hughes’ heiress. These are opportunities any other dancer would die for. Please don’t squander this because of some boys.”

I recoil another step towards the door. What does she know of my connection with the Shadowed Souls? Regardless, the protective streak within is quick to respond. They aren’t just some boys. They’re men. My beautifully damaged men who have seen the light in me. Not because I’m good at dancing or because of whatever claim to money I have. They’ve seen the version of me who was bursting to break free of her cage. And besides, they are no one’s business but mine.

“Like I said, I’m finally happy and settled here. I won’t be pushed out by any fancy offers, agents or otherwise. I just want to dance.” I leave the tiny, barely-used office with a deflated, yet aggravated sigh.

Why does no one get it? Ambition is the death of passion. As soon as I start giving my craft to the world, it will no longer belong to me. Endless hours of practice, of pain, of pushing myself to the next extreme height and taking no joy for myself. I might as well hand myself back to Fredrick if the people’s puppet is all I’m destined for.

Re-entering the studio, there’s a ball of nerves in my gut, festering into a physical stomachache. I don’t waste time with crowd control. Dropping down beside my bag, I pull on the compression socks and slippers, rolling my ankles until warmth seeps through the cotton. Standing at the barre, I fall into the same warmup that the others are leading, figuring the best way to tackle their jealousy is to show I’m not a threat. I’m not the enemy, trying to use them as steppingstones to a higher purpose. Especially Nikko, who’s eye I try to catch but is actively avoiding me.

The tension in my shoulders soon melts away as I move through pliés and tendus, my body remembering exactly what to do. Theo slips in last, setting up at the piano for today’s lesson. He fumbles with his sheet music, red cheeked as if he’s woken up late and ran here. Again, he refuses to acknowledge my presence, but that’s fine. I’m just another student amongst the masses.

Beginning a steady cadence over the piano keys, the soft brush of pointe shoes scrapes against the floor as Madam Nightingale appears. Having composed herself, she gives nothing away in her expression, but her voice cracks through the room like a whip. Oh, she’s pissed.

Snapping orders like a drill sergeant, we’re thrown into a vigorous workout that quickly burns through our muscles, and then some. I try to lose myself in the flow of the music, in the simple joy of moving again, but it’s near impossible when I’m greeted with looks of hatred on either side. They all seem to know this change in attitude is my fault, and I quickly realize I never could have won. Either I accept the offers I received and they despise me for it, or I upset Madam Nightingale and we all pay the price.

We’re forced to pirouette on the spot again and again while Madam hunts for imperfections. No one escapes her narrowed glare, but I seem to get the brunt of her shouting. We work through the combinations being barked our way, repeating the movements until everyone is in sync. She pushes me harder than any other, holding me to a higher standard.

“Miss Hughes!” she shouts, declaring us no longer on first name terms. “Keep up. Correct your posture, extend those hands. My God, what is happening with your alignment? Do put some effort in.” Sweat quickly beads across my forehead, my legs shaky from lack of practice.

I love ballet. I need ballet. I wanted this,I chant in my mind. It’s that mantra alone that sees me through to the end of the lesson. My entire body is aching as I drop down against the mirror, slowly tugging my slippers free of my sore feet. I’m definitely going to need one of Axel’s sport’s therapy massages tonight.

Madam Nightingale leaves first, throwing her hands up like she’s lost the will to live before disappearing out back. Most of the students barge out of the main door as soon as they can, but several remain, lingering around for something. I finish packing my bag when I hear the door open again, and my blond archangel enters. I smile up at Huxley, sighing sweetly at the sight of his handsome, chiseled face.

“Hey.” I reach up for him, wanting to feel his arms banded around me. A little dramatic, I must admit, but Huxley swoops down onto his knees to put my sneakers on. My very own Prince Charming. His basketball jersey and shorts are baggier on his frame than they used to be, although he’s never quite lost the fine definition to his muscle. I watch his arms flex now, as he ties my laces, lost in my own thoughts until a voice penetrates my mind.

“I told you,” a girl nearby, Jenna, scoffs, huddling in with her friends. They mutter amongst themselves but given that the studio has an echo, I catch every word of it. “She’s screwing all of them.”

“Whore, much? Save some for the rest of us,” another twitters back. Nikko leans in, only too happy to encourage the nasty giggling.

“Stacey said she saw her sneaking into the dressing room with Wyatt during the showcase interval. Surely that’s illegal, right?”

“That’s daddy issues for you,” Jenna tilts her head on a small laugh. All fight leaks from my shoulders, my face tinted red.I’m dumbstruck, my mind an empty space where no thoughts formulate. It wasn’t the offers that everyone was hung up on, it wasthis. This gossip that I can’t even deny.

Huxley’s hands have stilled on my sneaker. A moment of silence passes, thick with the weight of their rumors. I glance at Huxley, his jaw clenched tight, his normally calm demeanor cracking. He rises slowly, his height towering over me now, his brown eyes dark with a protective fire. The other dancers still loitering freeze as his gaze sweeps across the room, landing on Jenna and her whispering entourage.

“You’ve got something to say?” His voice is low, controlled, but there’s an unmistakable edge to it.

“Hux, just leave it,” I scramble to my feet. Tugging on his arm, he’s unmovable. Jenna’s friends shrink back, but she doesn’t. Instead, she smirks, stands and crosses her arms.

“Just calling it like we see it.”

“Like you think you see it,” he mumbles back, the veins in his throat strained. The rigidness in his back scares me. This isn’t some armed thug threatening to cause us harm, it’s a big-mouthed bitch sticking her nose in my business. I tug on his arm again.

“Come on, they’re not worth it.” I implore him with my eyes, although he’s not focusing on me. An hour ago, I was so hopeful that this was the right decision. Now I’m looking at Huxley, who’s contemplating getting himself thrown out of college and my nails dig into his forearm. I can’t handle the thought of us being separated, not for a day, not for weeks at a time. Eventually, Huxley allows me to drag him closer to the door, although his eyes don’t leave Jenna’s.

By the door, so close to freedom, he stops to address the entire studio. I shrink behind his back, not wanting to see their faces. “None of you know a damn thing about Avery. What she’s been through, what she means to us. But keep running yourmouths, and you’ll find out exactly what happens to people who disrespect her.”

My heart races and I finally manage to get him out into the cold air. Snapping back to full protective mode, he hastily tugs my cardigan higher up my shoulders and draws me into his side, despite not wearing a jacket himself. Our breaths puff in front of our faces as we hastily walk towards the SUV, parked on a nearby road. Once satisfied I’m safely in the passenger seat with my seat belt clicked in place, he closes the door and rounds to the back. I watch his silhouette in the rear view mirror, how he stalls to collect himself, rolling his neck to and fro. Once ready, he joins me in the driver’s seat.

“Don’t listen to them,” he murmurs, reaching across to tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear. His face is taut, pained somewhat, but there’s also an overriding glimmer of love there. “They don’t know you like we do.” Huxley’s tone sends a jolt of comfort through me. He captures my lips for a quick kiss before twisting the key in the ignition and speeding us down the road.

“Where are we going?” I ask as the campus grows smaller behind us and we turn into the long street of frat houses. I’ve only had one class so far and surely Huxley has places he needs to be. Hux shrugs one shoulder, his mouth finally tilting upwards.

“Garrett sent me to fetch and bring you to the gym. He was whining that he missed you and wanted his little mascot to watch our basketball drills.”

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