Stalking the Dancer || 18+

Part Eleven - Fists

"You said your sister dances in the same company I did, right?" 

It's been a few days since my outburst, which I do not regret in the slightest. These guys seem genuinely nice, but sometimes they can be real buffoons. They're also very food-oriented, which I've taken full advantage of. They cook most meals but when they're too tired, they order out. I make a meal here and there, but Ray says he doesn't like the messes I make in his kitchen as much as he likes the Thai restaurant down the street.

This morning, I'm eating a breakfast burrito thanks to Billy, who's a much better cook than I would've ever guessed. I thought his skills began and ended with stalking unsuspecting women, but I was mistaken. The longer I'm in this house, the more normal he seems, which is unsettling, to put it simply. So I've settled on interrogating him— know thy enemy and all that jazz.

His mouth is full but it doesn't stop him from answering like an animal, "Ashlee," 

I can identify who he's talking about with just her first name, I've danced for her class a few times over the past two years. Could he have been watching me for that long? My stomach twists so I do my best to force the thought from my mind. I'll figure everything out in due time, but I can't get too eager before I get an escape plan together, so I focus on less serious topics, like his family. 

"You must love her, huh?" He nods his head without thought, which makes a smile tug at my lips. "Yeah, she's alright. I'm proud of her for turning out better than I did."

Ashlee did turn out well. She's at the top of her class and earned a scholarship both years I was a dancer there. The other girls love her, which is a reflection of her personality, because most girls despise whoever's at the top, but not her. "Your family should be proud, it's no small feat to get a scholarship there." His eyes linger on mine, he tends to do that a lot. "You were on scholarship, weren't you?" I nod my head as I take another bite of my burrito.

"Is that why you moved here?" I nod as I finish chewing.

"Yeah, I applied to a ton of different programs. I couldn't afford to go anywhere, so when I got my scholarship letter, I was mentally prepared to move wherever the opportunity arose. I just wanted to dance; it's all I've ever wanted." 

I can feel the pressure change in my chest as reality washes over me in a brutal wave, I can do nothing against the emotions flooding my chest. Tears sting my eyes and he's on me before I can blink them away, pulling me from my chair and taking it for himself. He settles me in his lap before saying "You could always teach, hm?" One of his hands rests on my leg and his other hand tucks some loose hair behind my ear as he watches me closely. I let his words sit in my head for a moment before I come up with the answer, "I'm not good enough to teach." 

His hand on my thigh squeezes and I can't stop my eyes from finding his. They're stern, almost angry, and it's terrifying. I don't like being on the receiving end of his intensity. 

"Doe, I've seen you dance. From what I could tell, you've got a lot of knowledge to share." The hand behind my ear moves to my chin, bringing my face back to his, "Who the fuck ever told you that you weren't good enough?" I can't help the snort that splits through me at his words, he clearly doesn't know as much about the dance world as he thinks he does. "Uh, every teacher I've ever had?" It comes out as a question even though it's a fact. Dancing requires a level of toughness that is developed. If you can't take the heat, you get burned. 

His face is incredulous for a second before it melts back to anger, "And how'd that make you feel?"

"Bad, I guess?" 

His hold on my chin tightens, "You're not the one asking the questions here, Doe. Don't make me ask again." A sigh of resignation escapes my lips before I admit it.