His Ballerina

Chapter Two

Annabeth's eyes fluttered open, slowly, she sat up and looked around the room. She could've sworn someone was watching her.

She climbed out of bed, dressing into her tracksuit. Her ballet stuff was packed in the corner of her room as it always was.

When she got out of her room, it was slung over her shoulder.

She remembered Brent.

Yawning, she tiptoed over to his room, pressing her ear softly against the door she heard running water from the shower.

She walked away to the kitchen, putting the kettle on.

She had a little under two hours before she had to leave for the studio.

Annabeth sat on her couch, a cup of coffee in hand, with cereal, chopped up banana pieces floating around in it.

She took out a book about some old queen and started to read, not really paying attention to the words on the page, more drifting away, it was her way of clearing her mind.

The sound of the words, "Good morning," made her jump.

She turned and saw Brent standing outside the door, his dark hair a damp mess.

He wore jeans and a tight shirt, she could see the outline of his chest against the fabric.

"Morning.' She greeted, turning back to her book.

"Would you mind checking the post downstairs?" He asked. "I have some phone calls to make."

Annabeth nodded, "Sure thing.' She set down the book and mug. "How'd you sleep?" She asked.

Brent turned to her. "Good, you've got a very nice place here, Ann."

"Thank you, do you need anything else from downstairs?"

Brent thought for a moment. "No thanks."

"Alrighty." She started out the door, just then, she swore she could feel his eyes on her, it wasn't weird though, it felt... comforting.

She shook it off and unlocked the door.

She heard him chuckle from behind, she suddenly turned to see why. She lost her footing and fell down the staircase, Annabeth screamed as there was a sudden searing pain from her ankle, shooting up her body, in another second, her head hit the bottom of a step.

In what seemed like an eternity, Brent was at her side, cradling her head, "What happened?" He crooned, a worried expression shocked Annabeth, there was fear in it...

"My ankle." She breathed, she couldn't bear to look at it, it seemed to be separated completely from her foot, twisting at the weirdest angle, sticking out like a branch on a tree.

Brent, slowly, carefully, moved his arms underneath her. One cradled her shoulders, the other snaked around her waist.

With the slowest movements, he lifted her up. 

Annabeth winced. He hesistated.

"It's okay." She reassured him.

He continued carrying her weak form up the stairs to the apartment.

He laid her down on her bed, she shivered as sleets of pain rushed through her body.

"Do you have any bandages? A first aid kit?" He asked, it sounded more like a demand.

Annabeth nodded. "Bathroom, the small cabinet. Red bag."

He returned moments later with the bag.

Gently, with extreme care, just a while later, the ankle was wrapped.

Annabeth stared.

"My father was a doctor." He explained.

"Thank you." Said Annabeth. She glanced at her watch.

"You can't go to the studio today." Brent told her.

Annabeth hung her head, sadly.

"I know."

Just then, Brent lit up.

"I don't start my classes until next week," he said, "you can hang with me until your ankle heals up."

Annabeth looked doubtful, but couldn't ignore the caring look on his face.

"Okay."