The Darkest Swan

Chapter 11

𝓖𝓮𝓷𝓮𝓿𝓲𝓮𝓿𝓮

Something inside of me thought this would be awkward. A student being walked home by her teacher. It's bizarre. especially since I refuse to be his friend. I'm not getting sidetracked with the stupidity that is Christan Storm.

It's not like it's illegal to be friends with your dance teacher. It certainly isn't unheard of. But this unnatural crush I have on him is the problem. Besides, I'm not even sure if he's single, or if I'm even his type. The girl from the bar--the prima ballerina--seems like the kind of girl who would be with Christan. She was geographically perfect. Long legs, shiny hair, white smile. Hey, even I would drool over her. Who wouldn't? She's a kind of perfection I don't think I could ever achieve. Even if I gave it my all.

It does feel odd that our shared silence isn't at all awkward. There's no need to fill the space with useless small talk. There's no direction for the conversation. I find myself walking at a slow pace instead of rushing to get home like normal.

I always thought people needed to get to know each other to have a comfortable silence like this.

I wonder if he feels the same.

"How long have you been a teacher?" I quietly voice as we walk along the mildly empty sidewalk. Yellow cabs float mesurely down the road. He offered to pay for a cab; I told him I wouldn't take his money. Even if he went with me. So here we are, walking home together. My stubbornness perseveres.

I have to duck every time some creep comes flying down the sidewalk. My hands are full with my pointe's and my change of clothes I never got to change into. I'm wearing my sweatshirt that has my high school logo on it and the tights from rehearsal. It's embarrassing enough that I have the stupid reminder that I graduated just last year, now everyone and their moms can see the underwear-like leotard I'm prancing around in.

If I walked home like this every day, I would be able to see why Christans so bugged out about me walking home late. The stares I'm getting are not just stares of bemusement, their stares of hunger and lust.

If I was smart I would think Christan was glaring at the men who looked in my direction. But I remember how much I overthink things and I put those thoughts to rest.

Although it was weird how he demanded that I tell him who gave me the hickey. Maybe he sees me as a little girl he has to protect. Maybe he can tell I've had about zero father figures in my life to guide me in the right direction. Not that I'm in need of direction. I'm an adult. I can make decisions for myself without getting too crazy. I have self-control.

"This year makes three." Oh lord. How old is he? Something inside of me wants him to be close to my age. I have no idea what would compel that thought. Anyways, isn't it inappropriate asking someone's age? He's young so probably not. But better safe than sorry.

"What made you decide to become-"

"Ah, the inescapable question." He interrupts before I even finish my sentence. It looks like this question stresses him out.

Okay, so it's a common question. I agree, and if I were him I would hate that question too. So why did I ask?

It's my ability to blurt out everything I'm thinking. Fucking annoying.

"Sorry, you probably get asked that a million times." I apologize.

Tell me anyway. I wanna know the you no one else knows.

He smiles at me knowingly. "Maybe I'll tell you someday."

"It's a secret then." I decide.

"Not a secret. I just prefer a little mystery to my life." He chuckles. "Keeps you on your toes."