The Shadows We Dance With

Ch24: The Fall of an Angel

Trigger warning: This chapter is probably one of the darkest and most triggering chapters, please read at your own risk!

The lights of Pride flickered with a garish glow as Spencer, now seventeen, stood on the familiar stage, his body moving to the rhythm of the pounding bass. His makeup was heavier than ever, his skin glowing under layers of powder and shimmer, his lips painted a deep red that matched the tight bodysuit clinging to his frame. The once timid boy had vanished entirely, replaced by the persona Val had meticulously crafted over the past few years. Spencer was gone, buried deep beneath the surface, and in his place stood Angel, a hypersexualized, drug-fueled creation that catered to the whims of the audience and the ever-growing demands of Val.

Angel danced with an intoxicating mix of grace and abandon, his movements sharp and precise yet dripping with a seductive energy that left the crowd breathless. The transformation had been gradual, each performance pushing him further into the depths of this new identity. But what had started as a way to survive, a means to cope with the escalating demands and abuses of Val, had become a full-fledged persona, a shield that Spencer used to protect what little remained of his fractured psyche.

It had been a year and a half since Val's behavior had shifted from subtle manipulation to overt violence. The man who had once been a mentor, a guiding hand in Spencer's life, had grown increasingly volatile. When Spencer messed up a step during practice or on stage, Val's response was swift and brutal. A grip that left bruises, a shove that sent him stumbling, and, more recently, slaps that echoed through the empty studio after hours. Spencer had learned to dance perfectly not out of passion but out of fear—fear of what would happen if he didn't.

But no matter how flawless his performances became, it was never enough to satisfy Val. The praise was rare now, replaced by criticism, threats, and the occasional flash of violence that Spencer had learned to anticipate and avoid when possible. And still, he stayed. He stayed because he had nowhere else to go, because Val had isolated him from everyone who had once cared about him, because the persona of Angel was the only thing that made the pain bearable.

Val had always been driven by money and control, and over time, the seedy underbelly of Pride had become the perfect breeding ground for his ambitions. The nightclub was notorious for its decadent performances and its equally decadent clientele. The crowds were filled with those who had more money than morality, people who were willing to pay top dollar for a glimpse of something—or someone—out of the ordinary. Angel had become that someone.

Val kept a close eye on Spencer's interactions with the club's patrons, especially the wealthier ones who had taken an interest in the young dancer. The offers started subtly at first—compliments on his performance, drinks sent to the dressing room, propositions whispered in his ear after the show. Val had always turned them down, his greed tempered by a line he was unwilling to cross. But that line blurred when the right offer came along.

It happened one night after a particularly lucrative performance. A well-dressed man, older and reeking of expensive cologne, approached Val with a proposition. The man's gaze lingered on Angel as he made his offer, the amount of money enough to make even Val hesitate. Spencer, standing just out of earshot, watched the exchange with a numb detachment. He had seen this before, knew what these men wanted, but Val had always kept them at bay. Tonight was different.

The look in Val's eyes as he considered the offer sent a chill down Spencer's spine. The hesitation was brief, barely noticeable, but it was there. Val's eyes flicked to Spencer, then back to the man, and in that moment, Spencer knew—something had changed.

Val agreed.

The arrangement was made quickly, discreetly. Spencer was told to prepare himself, given instructions to meet the man in one of the private rooms after his next performance. Val's voice was cold, clinical, as he laid out the details, as if they were discussing nothing more than a business transaction. And in a way, that's exactly what it was. Spencer was no longer a person in Val's eyes; he was a commodity, something to be bought and sold.