Page 10 of Paper Thin Love

Pick your battles. That’s what dad always says. Could I tell my father what Jared is doing? Yes. Would Jared be dead within the hour? Naturally.

I’m a Michelson, after all. Daughter to the lawyer who makes contracts for some of the scariest and most dangerous men on this earth. Dad has friends who would make the devil think twice.

I don’t want blood on my hands. I don’t want to be a part of my father’s world. I might be forced to live in it, but I won’t let it corrupt me. So I numb myself in hope that one day I might be able to escape.

I bite the inside of my cheek as Jared presses one more inch deeper into my skin.

Just do it already, Jared. Snap.

Sometimes, I wish Jared would just crack. I’m talking full-blown‘I’m Britney, bitch’mental breakdown, tossing me down, shaving his head bald, and beating a car with an umbrella. Is that too much to hope for?

Okay, let’s digress to a first-degree celebrity mental breakdown. Maybe something more gentle, like letting his grip slip so I could tumble down and be gifted with a break that would end my ballet career. Then it wouldn’t be my fault. I’d be free by someone else’s hands.

Does that make me a monster or just a silly girl who still has hopes?

You see, I attend Silverstone Preparatory, a boarding school for the elites—not rich, not wealthy, but elite. The wealthy work for us. That’s the difference. At Silverstone Preparatory, we flaunt our exclusive curriculum, where budding tycoons learn the dark arts of world domination. After all, they’re here to conquer, not just study.

In reality, it’s more like a posh survival camp. Our parents just needed a place to stash us until they needed us.

Every single student here has a future mapped out for them. There are no options, no choices. They have been made. Thus, there is a need to find a vice, an escape, before we are forced to become our parents.

Those who love danger find a way to escape here. It happens every weekend. I usually hide away in the dance studio, spinning on my pointe shoes. I figure the more I dance and spin, the less I’ll be tempted to stop and watch. So I try to exhaust myself, hoping I won’t have the energy to feed that darkness, that gnawing curiosity inside that wants to witness the acts students here partake in.

Jared, my partner, slowly drops his hand, his eyes fixed on the red mark he left behind. It’s a small taste of power for him. Jared doesn’t get to taste power like the other kids here do. Jared isn’t elite; he’s on scholarship. Silverstone Preparatory operates very differently than, well, every other school. They cater to their paying students.

When I enrolled here, they added an entire dance program, complete with a famous teacher and top aspiring ballerina dancers from around the world. Some of the top companies now recruit from Silverstone—all because I attend here.

If I had another hobby like swimming, they’d build a pool and find me the next Phelps to train with.

That’s why a lot of the scholarship dancers hate me. They think the roles I get in productions are because of my last name and the fact that I pay to attend here.

It’s not true. I may hate ballet, but if I’m forced to dance, then I’m going to dance and get every leading role I can.

One summer, I did the opposite; I was lazy and got a third-string role. Being bored while you arebeing tortured is even worse than being exhausted while doing something you hate. It gave me way too much time to think.

Now, I put everything I have into ballet so I can land the leading positions, so I don’t have to think.

Me? I’m a shrink’s retirement. I need so many sessions they could buy a private island after they fixed me.

“I said, what’s the matter?” Mr. LeBlanc hisses as he hits his bamboo cane against the studio floor, the sound making me flinch.

I could end it, end Mr. LeBlanc. One word to my father, and he’d be dead.

That’s a lot of power for a teenager to wield, so I choose not to use it.

I still like to think that makes me a good person.

However, the torture I endure from Mr. LeBlanc is nothing compared to what other kids extracurricular instructors do.

So I suck it up, both for myself, for Mr. LeBlanc’s life, and because I know at the end of the day I don’t have it the worst.

Jared licks his lips and hangs his head.“I lost the count.”

He lied. It was my fault.

Now I feel guilty and messy like an Italian gelato served to a tourist on a hot summer day. I melted into a mess before they got a taste. It kind of makes me think maybe I should give Jared a chance again. Just suck it up and keep allowing him to kiss me.

Maybe one day I’d feel… something.

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