Dancing in the Dark

Prologue

Prologue

She spun on her feet, holding out her arms to steady herself. Sweat plastered her hair to her face, outraged frizzy strands of red hair spewing from her bun. Her chest was sore, her lips chapped as she sucked in the dry air. The room was putrid. The smell of cigars stained the walls and flooded her chest, the sounds of beer mugs clinking the only music being played.

"Look at that firm buttocks," one man growled behind her, and she quickly changed directions.

"Her chest is a little flat," someone remarked.

"Hazel!" a deep voice bellowed her name and she saw Henry coming through the middle of the crowd, splitting it in two.

Hazel stopped her ballet dancing, placing both feet beside each other at the end of the twirl.

"Yes," she whispered, out of breath. Her heartbeat thudded in her chest. This was the worst moment of the night. The sneers and ugly remarks from the mostly married men were plenty bad, but this was far worse. She stepped down from the platform, men whistling and calling out,

"Whore! Shake it for me!"

"Here's a halfpenny, come and give me a lap dance!" followed by a roar of laughter.

Hazel approached Henry, trying to keep her dignity intact. Henry's stomach bulged over his trousers. He was an ill thing to look at, his eyes small and beady like a rats, and his face flushed pink like the bottom of a baby's buttocks.

"Mr. Nightingale would like to see you upstairs," he said, then grabbed her shoulder and pushed her forward. She could still smell the strong scent of ale on his lips.

"He is a very fine customer," Henry said into her ear, wrapping his meaty fingers painfully around her elbow, "so take care of him."

Hazel shook her head, "Please Henry. Do not make me do this, I'll clean the stage, polish the stage! I swear. Anything but this," she begged, and tears fell from her eyes and down her purple dress.

In a quick flash, a pink hand rose up and smacked her across the face with such viciousness she stumbled back.

"Don not fucking play with me. Go up those stairs and do what I say," he hissed.

Hazel shook her head, "No. No, please," she begged.

Before she could move, Henry's fist was wrapped around her hair, snapping her neck back and dragging her forward.

Her ballet slippers tripped and slid over the wooden floor, she felt like a broken ragdoll, not a ballerina in the least. Henry never stopped pulling until they got upstairs. He knocked open the door to Mr. Nightingale.

"No!" she screamed, and yanked her head away, feeling a lump of hair detach from her head.

Hazel punched Henry in the face, but he recovered quickly. Just as she was going to dart down the stairs, he grabbed her by the neck and slammed her against the wall, stars appearing in front of her vision.

"Please," she whispered, but he slapped her again, this time harder, before shoving her into someone's large hands.

"She's young," Henry said, and Hazel felt the man nod. When her vision returned, she saw Mr. Nightingale standing before her. Tears started to slide down her face, her hands shaking, the word please being the only one she knew at the moment. Mr. Nightingale started to unbutton his pants.

Hazel stepped out of the room, running down the worn steps, past the drunk men who shouted remarks at her and knocked open the wooden door. Taking gulps of chilly air, she sobbed. Hazel clutched her chest, trying not to feel the man's fingers on her chest, down her shoulders. Tears blurring her vision, she stumbled into the cold London night. Hazel never felt so tainted, so broken in her life. A circus was playing in the town square, tears still fresh on her pale face, she rushed over. Sobs broke from her lips, her knees shaking. I'm too young, she thought, covering her face, I'm too young to have given my virtue to this many. Oh god I'm too young. She fell to her knees, watching the colorful event explode from her eyes. A stage full of acrobats jumped into the air. A man dressed in gold glitter leaped across the stage, sending sparkling stars in his wake. Hazel felt a smile on her face, something she hadn't felt in a long time. Another unwelcome sob tore its way through her. Someone was playing a melody in the background, no one paying any particular attention. She wondered if the tall boy who played the piano in the shadows was like her: always dancing in the dark.