Stockholm {j.h.s}

Ballet

Rose's POV

I tightened the baby pink silk ribbons on my feet and ankles. My eyes glanced down at the pointe shoes that needed to be replaced, practically falling apart. I practiced so much that a replacement was needed at least every month. I suppose that's why we became poor.

The white stockings and black leotard became a second home to me. Outside of the dance world, I was self-conscious about myself and showing myself off to others. But once I had on my practice uniform or performance costume, I was more comfortable with myself that I could be.

My hand gripped the wooden bar that was attached to the wall in my practice room, my outside leg lifting to my knee, then out at my side.

"Point your toes more! Make your leg straighter!" My mother barked from the corner as she observed my every move. I sighed and tried to listen to my best efforts, not knowing how exactly I could point my toes anymore or straighten my leg even more than it already was.

It was a private practice with only my instructor and my mother. I had private instruction classes on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Sundays from six at night to nine, though it varied. My public classes were the other days, only leaving Mondays to rest.

I felt hands grip on my leg and I gasped in shock. I remembered my run in with that man and tensed up, my mind warping around the idea that he was grabbing at me now. My mom hissed in response.

"Loosen up but stay stiff!"

I sighed in annoyance but she slapped my arm to get me to listen and stop complaining. I twisted my head a bit to bite back the annoyance I felt and slowly lowered my leg to return to a resting pointe position to relax. In case I lost my balance only to get scolded once more.

Even with her scolding, I couldn't help but love the rush ballet gave me. Whether it was performing in front of large crowds, competing, and even late nights in the practice room. The best feeling in the world was practicing with nobody watching in an empty practice room.

"Now show me a grande jeté!" She ordered. She never let the teacher instruct in my private lessons. And when she did, it would only be for a few minutes here and there to give pointers on how I could improve. I felt bad for my teacher, she did care about my well being and saw the talent in me, but could never voice her opinion. She never spoke up about me getting scolded or hit a wrong move. I could see the pain in her eyes as she was forced to monitor for hours almost every other day.

I obeyed her orders and watched her back up so I could relax my muscles before hopping slightly with my run to stay graceful before leaping into the air, landing with only a mere stumble. Of course, she caught that. And of course, I got scolded at. I had been doing leaps since I was little, but when my mother was watching my every move, it put me on the edge, causing me to fail almost every landing if she was present.

This went on for hours. The leaping, forcing my body to morph into new positions, the scolding, the hitting, and the harsh tips. It wasn't new to me, but it made me question how good at ballet I actually was. For over a decade of ballet, and I figured it wasn't good enough for my mother. I wanted to make my mother proud, it's all I ever truly wanted in life.

My mother was a teen mom, so my father abandoned us while she was still pregnant. I didn't know who my dad was, let alone did I want to. I was just a mistake, and my mom had to give up her dream of becoming a dancer when I was born. After years of raising me, she had decided to make me a dancer so she could fulfill the dream by watching me gain trophies and medals, which now had their own separate trophy room.

I felt bad for my mother but at the same time, I felt bad for myself. I pushed myself to my limits and it still wasn't good enough. The hours in pointe shoes and the strenuous dancing and hitting took a toll on my frail body. I only would recover the next night, causing myself to look so tired and worn down during school hours.

The blisters on my feet and the soreness in my legs and arms always caused pain when I had to walk down the halls and still appear cheerful. I was, of course, the school's stuck up rich bitch, and had to maintain that title.

-

The next day, I got ready for school once more. This time I had worn jeans and a long sleeved blouse to cover up the bruises I had received the night before during practice. I tried my best to look presentable for school, knowing that it would be hard not to limp as I walked, so I decided not to hide it.

I had to walk to school on top of that, with a heavy backpack weighing down on my shoulder. Every step I took caused a small wince or exhale of air as I wobbled my way to the school. I stepped up the steps very slowly, holding the railing as I maneuvered my way to the front doors only to have them swing open and be face to face with the man I couldn't help but hate, Taehyung.

His boxy smile faded into a sneer as he saw me slowly make my way towards him and stop in front of him, staring up at him without emotion as if telling him to move. The intense staredown lasted for a few minutes before suddenly he grabbed my ponytail to yank me inside as if it was a leash and he was walking me down the hallway with me hissing and kicking next to him in pain.

He suddenly threw me against the lockers, making my back collide as it arched in pain. My eyes wandered up to him with fear as he slammed his hand next to my head and leaned down and close to my face. My eyes screwed shut and my lips sucked into my mouth in case he was doing what I thought he was. He only chuckled.

"Of course a romantic and truly perverted girl would think I was here to make out with you." He teased harshly before his other hand jabbed a finger at my stomach, causing me to move back away from it the best I could. I didn't speak so he just continued.

"You had your chance but you-" suddenly he stopped and I couldn't feel his breath anymore. I slowly opened my eyes hesitantly and returned my lips as I opened my mouth slightly agape at the sight of the strange man punching away at Taehyung. I gasped and quickly jumped to grab my bag. I didn't want to interfere so I ran as fast as I could while limping and tripping at my sore jelly legs to stumble up the staircase.

I didn't look back. I ran as fast as I could, confusing every one of the students that I passed, making them clear a path in case someone dangerous was chasing me and they didn't want to get hurt. I slowed down once I reached my class and set my things down. I caught my breath while I could.

I didn't want to think that he was in my class. I didn't want him to be. He saved me, but I didn't know why. I should thank him and feel lucky but I just felt weird. He had an odd aura to him that freaked me out to an extent that I had never felt before. I felt like a bad person for having such negative feelings towards a man that saved me from my abusive ex. He seemed to have different intentions in my mind. Though I was thankful that he saved me. If he didn't I don't know what would've happened to me and Taehyung.

My head snapped up once my eyes that were dazing off sensed movement in front of them. I looked up from my chair at the strange man, making me pull my hoodie against my small body in fear as I watched him take a seat next to me with a grin on his face. I opened my mouth to say thank you but nothing came out.

"My name is Hoseok. Jung Hoseok." He reached his hand out happily as I slowly grabbed it weakly to gently shake.

"Han Ro-"

"I know." He cut me off cheerfully as he faced the front while pulling his textbooks out, leaving me in shock as I just stared at him with wide eyes.

"Are you okay?" He asked with sincerity laced in his voice as he looked at me from the corner of my eye. All I could do was slowly nod.

He exhaled deeply in disbelief.