Page 61 of Paper Thin Love

Ironic that he can’t survive without dance, yet I live each day craving I didn’t have to.

You have a favor from a King, one day you’ll be free.Maybe, when I can dance for me and not others, I’ll fall in love with ballet again.

I nod slowly,“I forgive you.” I couldn’t have danced the way I just did without having complete trust in him as my dance partner.

“You didn’t turn out!” Mr. Leblanc spits, his voice slicing through the studio’s silence.“How many times, Mila? How many times do I have to tell you to turn out?”

If I rotated my legs outward from the hips anymore, I’d dislocate them. My muscles scream in silent protest, but I push the pain aside, closing my eyes as my forced smile fades.

Mr. Leblanc taps his bamboo stick sharply against the floor, the sound echoing ominously. Then, with a swift motion, he swats my leg, this time hitting my bone.“Your calves are not aligned correctly,” he snaps.“And they look tenser than concrete. Do you understand the importance of proper alignment?”

Each word stings as much as the physical blow, but I nod, forcing myself to remain poised.

He swings the stick up.“Don’t get me started on your arms. You need to hold them higher, and stop looking so stiff.” He’s about to strike my biceps when Jared pivots, blocking his blow with a swift, protective movement.

Mr. Leblanc’s brown eyes darken with challenge.

“We wouldn’t want to hurt her, now would we?” Jared replies, his voice steady but full of defiance.“Her father might not like that,” he adds, the tension between them crackling like static electricity.

Mr. Leblanc moves suddenly and hits Jared in the back of the head with his stick. Crack! My cry gets stuck to my throat as I reach for Jared’s hand.“You’re right, but your father wouldn’t mind, would he?” Mr. Leblanc snickers cruelly.“Oh wait, where is your father, Jared?” He pauses.

I glance at Jared to see his eyes fixed on the ground. Mr. Leblanc leans closer to him.“If you interrupt me once more, you’ll witness what happens during her private lesson with me. You can’t always protect her, and neither can her father.”

Mr. Leblanc turns, then shouts,“Dismissed,” although the class remains frozen, the other dancers lingering on the sidelines.

“How long has he been using me against you?” I whisper.

Jared’s muscles tense.“It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me.”

Jared steps back, his eyes narrowing as he stares at me.“Are you going to tell your father how he hurts you? How he hurtsusso he can feel powerful?” He raises a brow, then grins robotically.“Of course not. You don’t want to get your hands dirty, Mila. I get it; really, I do. Our conscience can eat us alive.”

His voice is broken and faint, like scattered crumbs—the last vestiges of his conscience that seem to have survived.

I want to sweep him up and piece him back together like a Cake Pop. Once a whole cake, then shredded, even in crumbles, it could be turned into something worth tasting again.

If only life were as simple as baking a cake. But I know Jared. The line between friend and something more is too blurred for me to help.

“Jared,” I try to reach for him, but he pulls away.

“It’s fine, Mila. Us scholarship kids are strong; we have to be in order to survive.” He glances over my shoulder, his eyes narrowing into slits.“Oh look, your new friends are here.”

I turn to see Dash, Dante, and Cillian standing like kings on thrones, watching the spectacle unfold. Mr. LeBlanc walks past them. I don’t miss how Dash’s head follows Mr. LeBlanc before it swiftly turns back to face me.

I turn back to Jared.“You’re my friend too.”

“I know,” he responds with hurt in his voice.“We’rejustfriends. I meant what I said. I don’t want to lose you as a friend, but speaking of conscience, imagine how hurt mine is knowing you could do something to stop your abuse, my abuser, but choose not to. You have power, Mila; sometimes you have to get dirty in order to use it.”

Salty tears burn my eyes,“That would make me my father.”

Jared leans closer.“You are his daughter. When are you going to accept that?” Then he steps back and looks down at me, making me feel less than dirt.

“I’ll handle Mr. Leblanc,” I admit. Maybe I can convince my father not to kill him.

Jared snickers.“Just like you’re handling Dash? You’re not handling things, Mila; you’re folding under the pressure. Eventually, you’re going to have to get your hands dirty. Make sure you pick friends who are willing to help you clean them.” He says in a gentle warning before he turns, grabs his bag, and leaves the studio.

I feel like I keep failing people. No matter how hard I try, I can’t make everyone happy. Least of all myself.

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