by Lylah James
I smiled back at the show of his enthusiasm. “What news?”
“You are going to want to sit down for this,” he said, pointing at the bench behind me.
Mathew Easton was a middle-aged man, married with two kids and another one on the way. His father owned this theater before him, and now it was his.
To him, we weren’t his investments or just his dancers. We were more. He built us, made us who we were today. A perfect unit. The perfect dancers that everyone admired. Funnily, he liked to call us his little petals. His children. Together, we were a family built on the same ground—the same passion that lived in us.
Ballet.
“Sit down,” he ordered again. I did as I was told. Sitting down, I bent forward and started to unlace my ballet flats.
My feet were sore, but I smiled at the pain. Hours and hours of dancing, doing the one thing I loved the most in the world, had brought me beautiful pain.
“Now will you tell me what has gotten you so excited?” I questioned with a raised eyebrow.
“This is big, Valerie. I am almost sad that I will lose you after this. But Goddamn it, I am so happy for you,” he mumbled before taking a deep breath.
Confused, I only stared at him mutely. Mr. Easton sighed and handed me the portfolio he was holding. Taking it from his hands, I opened it and read the first paper.
I saw my name in bold letters, and my heart stuttered as I continued reading. No way! Impossible. I read the paper again. And again. Maybe three times.
“You are the best dancer I have, Valerie. At such a young age, you have come so far. Only eighteen—not a lot of dancers can do this,” he continued when I stayed silent.
“This…” I started but then broke off. Tears blinded my vision. “How…I don’t…”
I was in shock—my heart in tatters as I read the words again. My body trembled with the force of my happiness.
“Remember the last dance? That was our best performance. A few people from The Royal Opera House were our guests. They saw you, Valerie. They approached me after the performance. Their director wanted you as one of his dancers. Not just one of his—he wants you to play his female lead.” Matthew paused when I still hadn’t said a word.
I was…speechless. This was my dream. But it felt so surreal.
Mr. Easton sighed and placed a hand on my shoulders. I looked up at him through tearful eyes. He gave me a small gentle smile, his own happiness evident in his eyes. “He said he will send an official invitation. I didn’t believe him at first. I thought he was just being nice, and I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to get your hopes up. But then this arrived in the mail today. The real invitation. Your name in golden bold letters, Valerie.”
“He wants me to dance for The Royal Opera House in London? One of the most famous ballet theatres? As the female lead?” I finally choked out.
He nodded and touched the paper on my lap. “Yes. He is only asking for one performance. For now. But like the invitations says—if you want and like his theatre, he would like to hire you as his female lead. He’s asking for one dance for now—and I am sure if this is a success, which I know it will be, he might just rope you in as an official female lead dance. You might be able continue with The Royal Opera House.”
I closed the portfolio and jumped up. Mr. Easton staggered back when I wrapped my arms around his waist, hugging him tight.
He laughed and patted me on my back. “I guess that’s a yes?”
Instead of answering, the tears continued to fall down my cheeks. I sobbed into his chest, feeling too overwhelmed to do anything else.
“Are those happy tears, Val? You know very well that I jump right out of the window when a girl cries,” he joked lightly.
I pulled away, smiling, laughing while crying. “This is my dream, Mr. Easton! I…I don’t…oh my…God…” I broke off again, not being able to finish a sentence, let alone hold a conversation.
“I…am…going to dance for The. Royal. Opera. House!” I exclaimed.
Mr. Easton stepped away and looked over my shoulder. “That’s not all. There is another surprise. Turn the next page.” He pushed me back toward the bench.
Swiping my tears away, I opened the portfolio again and turned to the page he indicated.
My stomach flipped again, butterflies dancing merrily, and my heart burst for the second time.
“Congratulations,” he said from behind me.
“This is impossible,” I whispered, staring into the paper.
“Nothing is impossible when you believe in it.”
I closed the portfolio and shook my head. “I don’t think I deserve this, Mathew.”
He grasped my shoulders and turned me around to face him. His eyes hardened as he spoke, his tone filled with seriousness. “You deserve this and so much more, Val. Full scholarship to the Royal Ballet School of Dance, in London. An almost three-year program. Plus, a job as the female lead dancer at The Royal Opera House. This is the perfect opportunity. Both in the same place. You’re getting everything that you deserve. You worked your ass off for this, Val.”
My body pulled away from his hold as I slid to the ground. Sitting on my butt, I stared into space. Holy. Shit. Wake me up from this dream right now!
Wait, no—never wake me up. This was too beautiful to wake up from.
“I don’t think I can move. My body feels a little weak,” I muttered to Mr. Easton.
He laughed and then sat down beside me. “So what are you going to do?”
I swallowed against the lump in my throat. “If I say yes, then that means I leave you behind. This theater is a part of my life, Mathew. Everyone here, my friends, my family—I can’t imagine leaving you all behind.”
Mr. Easton smiled. “You are like a daughter to me, Val. You know that, right?”
When I nodded in response, he continued. “I am proud of you. Every day, when you complained why I would push you so hard…make you work harder than everyone else—this is the reason. I saw a potential in you, Valerie. My theater is small, and you deserve bigger than this. I knew one day you would leave all of us behind to chase this dream, and I purposely pushed you for it. You may not be my biological daughter, but I am a proud father today.”
I sniffled away my tears, but it was so hard when Mr. Easton was saying such things. It was true, out of all the dancers, I was the closest to him. For him to say he was proud of me, it was everything.
Today, I made my mentor proud.
Tomorrow, I would make him fly—for believing in me. The next time I danced on the stage of The Royal Opera House, I wanted him to be able to puff his chest out and proudly say, “This girl was one of my dancers.”
“Thank you, Mathew,” I whispered, returning his smile with one of my own.
“So?” he asked, raising an eyebrow in challenge.
I stared down at the portfolio before bringing it to my chest, hugging it tightly. “I will do it. My answer is yes. To all of it.”
“Good girl,” Mr. Easton said, standing on his feet again. “Time to give your parents the good news.”
I stood up, and my smile widened. “I can’t wait to tell them!”
“Hurry on home then, Val.”
We hugged again. He patted me on the head and nodded proudly before leaving. I quickly changed out of my dress and packed everything in my bag.
As I was leaving, I saw Mr. Easton waiting for me in front of the entrance. He was holding a box in his hand.
“This is for you. New ballet shoes. This is my gift to you,” he said, his voice a little rough with emotion.
Taking it from his hand, I held it to my chest. “Thank you, Mr. Easton. For everything.”
I waved at him as I walked out. “Goodbye!”
“Make me proud, Val!”
“I will!”
Promise, I thought to myself.
My mind was reeling as I walked to the bus stop. A mixture of nervousness, anticipation, and giddiness. I couldn’t wait until I could give my parents the news
.
They knew how much ballet meant to me. I remembered how at first, they didn’t approve, but this—this would make them proud of me.
Looking down at my watch, I saw that it would be another thirty minutes until the next bus. I had missed my usual one while speaking to Mr. Easton.
My feet kicked under me as I started running. No point in waiting for the bus. Running would take me home faster. My legs burned, but I didn’t care.
Thunderstorms wrecked through the sky, and a few minutes later, it started to pour. I wasn’t surprised with the change in weather. This was New York City, anyway. Expect the unexpected.
I continued running through the rain, laughing. I could already imagine my parents’ faces when I told them the good news. Best day ever!
By the time I reached home, I was soaked through my bones. Opening the door, I walked inside and called out, “Mom? Dad? I am home!”
The house was silent. Confused, I left my wet shoes at the front door and walked further inside, leaving water puddles behind me.
I froze when I saw what greeted me. We had guests, and everyone turned to stare at me. I almost felt like hitting my head into the wall.
I recognized two older men. I had seen them before, a few years ago. The elder one, probably in his late fifties, stared at my chest. He was the same one who had leered at me the first time we met.
Feeling self-conscious and uncomfortable, I took a step back. My skin crawled, and I shivered. I didn’t like the way he was looking at me.
My mother stood up, blocking my view of the man. Her expression was drawn in, and I saw tears in her eyes.
“Mom…”
She shook her head. “Go to your room, Val. And change your clothes.”
I nodded without saying anything. The air around us felt stale and dark. All the happiness I felt before dissolved because I knew something was terribly wrong.
I quickly went upstairs and straight in my bathroom. My lips parted in a silent gasp at the sight of me. My beige shirt and light pink skirt were so wet and stuck to my body. It almost looked inappropriate. I winced as I remembered that everyone downstairs had seen me like this.
After toweling myself off, I quickly dressed again, this time choosing black jeans and matching blouse.
I made sure I was presentable before walking downstairs again. Except my steps faltered on the top of the stairs.
“I told you I would come for her on her eighteenth birthday. You are lucky, I have come a week later.”
“Please,” I heard my father beg. He sounded so broken, so lost.
“Jacob, this is not the time to beg. You had years to repay the debt you took. You still can’t pay me back. I told you—my money or your daughter.”
My eyes widened, and I plastered myself against the wall, hiding myself from view. Oh God. No.
No. No. No.
This couldn’t be happening.
I covered my mouth with a hand, trying to hold in my shocked cry. My chest tightened, and it felt like I would suffocate.
“I need more time. Please,” my father said again. “I’ll find a way to pay you back. I promise. Just not my daughter.”
I heard my mother sobbing. “She is still so young. Please give us some more time.”
“You were supposed to pay me my debt three years ago!” the voice thundered, and I flinched. My stomach rolled, and I fought against the urge to throw up.
Three years ago—I was fifteen. That was when I met that man for the first time.
“I already gave you more years, you pathetic bastard. She was supposed to be mine three years ago. You asked for some time. You asked until she was eighteen. Guess what? She is eighteen now, and I am taking her with me, whether you like it or not. I don’t give a fuck if she screams her head off—I am going to drag her out of here.”
I choked back a cry, and bile rose in my throat. I gagged and closed my eyes tightly, listening to his words. The more he spoke, the most my heart cracked into pieces.
He laughed maniacally. “Don’t worry. I won’t take her in front of you. But I will warn you now. First and last warning. If you resist, maybe I’ll just fuck her right here, on your floor—take that little precious virginity she kept for so long. Would you like that, Jacob? Huh?”
I didn’t hear my father’s reply. Sinking to the floor, I gripped my head. Pushing my palms against my ears, I desperately tried to forget the words I just heard.
What is happening? Everything was perfect just moments ago.
My head swirled and my body shook with each silent sob.
“Do you want all her virgin blood on your floor?”
Stop!
I scratched at my ears and slapped a hand against my temple repeatedly.
Wake up, Valerie. This is a dream. Wake up. Wake up!
My throat closed up and my chest felt on fire as I fought for each breath.
And then I heard the words—the words that changed me—changed everything.
“A choice. I give you a choice. Valerie or Malory.”
My eyes snapped open, and I lurched forward on my knees.
No!
I almost cried out but quickly clamped a hand over my mouth. My teeth bit down on my lips viciously, and I tasted blood.
“But I won’t wait for Malory to turn eighteen. I will take her now. So, Jacob, the choice is yours.”
How could someone be so cruel and heartless?
Malory. My sweet little sister. My precious little doll. My little princess.
Her smile flashed in front of my eyes. I could almost hear her laughter when I would spin her around.
She was only thirteen.
And he would take her now…
My mind screamed, and I covered my face with my hands, silently wailing.
I tuned out everyone, refusing to accept this reality. When I tried to stand up again, my knees weakened and sank down on the floor again. With whatever strength was left inside of me, I crawled to my sister’s bedroom.
Opening the door, I found her sleeping peacefully on her bed. She looked so innocent and vulnerable.
The tears fell down my cheeks, and I hiccupped back another sob as I kissed her forehead. My lips lingered there, and I breathed in her sweet flowery smell.
“I love you, doll. Remember that. Always.” Goodbye, Malory.
My gaze stayed on my sister for one last time before I walked away and closed the door. Stepping into my room, I closed my door too. I swiped away my tears with the sleeves of my shirt.
A decision needed to be made. My father wouldn’t make it. I would.
The box that Mr. Easton gave me was still on my bed. The black portfolio was there too. My vision blurred with tears again.
There would be no new beginning.
The dreams I had—everything was lost.
Pacing the length of my room, I tried to breathe. Minutes probably turned into hours. Finally, I heard my door open.
I didn’t turn around. Instead, I faced my bed, still staring at the white box and the portfolio.
“Valerie…” my mother started.
I could hear her crying. I heard my father sniffling too—as if he were trying to keep his tears at bay.
Covering my face with my palms, I took a deep breath. My tears had dried, and I made sure to swipe away any wetness that was still there.
I turned around to see my parents standing in front of the door. They looked completely ruined. Now, I remembered. They had the same exact expression three years ago—when that man had visited us.
But they were given more time.
And now—we had run out of time.
“Valerie…your sister…” my mother cried. “You have…to save your sister. He will…hurt…”
My father opened his mouth to say something—maybe to explain his situation, his faults. But I shook my head.
“She is…so…young…” My mother continued to sob for my sister’s life.
My lips wobbled, and my nose tingled with the effort to not cry. My stom
ach twisted again, and my fingers curled into fists.
Instead of responding, I walked to my closet and took out a grey, glittery box. Inside, I found the pair of ballet flats that I wore during my last performance. The same performance where The Royal Opera House had decided to make me their female lead.
My favorite pair of ballet flats. My lucky charm.
My voice came out as a whisper when I finally spoke. “I heard…you talking.”
There was silence. A tear fell down my cheek, and I let it roll, sliding down my neck, leaving a wet, lonely trail.
“Can I take this box with me? That’s all I want.”
“Val,” my father started, but I cut him off.
“Will he let me take this box?”
“I think…”
Closing the box again, I held it to my chest as if it would give me protection. I turned around to see my father holding my mother, who looked pale and almost sick from crying.
I saw the shame in my father’s eyes before he looked down. “I am sorry,” he whispered. “I am so fucking sorry, Valerie. This is my fault…this is all my fault……my sweet girl…”
My throat felt tight, almost suffocating me. I opened my mouth to say something—anything—but no words came out.
“It’s okay.”
My mind screamed. Liar! It’s not okay!
I walked past my parents and out of my bedroom, still holding the box like it was my saving grace.
“Promise me you will never let anything happen to Malory,” I said, stopping at the stairs.
“I promise,” my father replied.
My body trembled in pain, and another tear fell down my cheek. This time, I lifted my chin up. And then I took a step forward—toward the man who sought to own me—to destroy me.
“Myshka.”
I silently gasped as pain assaulted my body. Viktor’s voice. So soft—and far, far away, almost like it was deep underwater. I could barely even hear it. Maybe I didn’t hear it. Maybe it was my dream.
Viktor’s hand tightened at the back of my neck. Not hard enough to hurt me, but there was a commanding pressure in his hold. My eyes snapped open, my gaze on his lips.
“Look at me, Valerie.” I stared up into his deep chocolate brown eyes.