A Gorgeous Villain

by Saffron A Kent

  It takes about thirty minutes to reach my destination.

  Back to my own town, Bardstown.

  My heart always flutters when we cross that line, from St. Mary’s to Bardstown, the town I grew up in and the town I adore.

  The town in which I fell in love for the first time.

  The town in which I fell from grace.

  When the bus pulls in at my stop, I thank the driver and get off.

  So far things have been okay, slightly risky but nothing illegal.

  This next part that I have to do is sort of a felony.

  I mean, it’s not as bad as say, stealing someone’s car and drowning it in the lake — which I have a little experience in — but it’s still pretty bad.

  Because as I said, I have no other choice, do I?

  I pull out a pin from my hair and jam it into the lock on the door, twisting it in a precise motion. When the door clicks open — which I knew it would, I enter.

  Into the Blue Madonna, my old ballet studio.

  The place where I spent years and years training to be a ballerina.

  Until they kicked me out.

  Honestly though, kicked out is a harsh term.

  They didn’t kick me out, per se. They gave me a choice to leave and I took it.

  By they I mean my teacher, Miss Petrova, who once upon a time was super proud of me and my talent.

  She looked very sad when she said, “Parents are worried, Callie. They think you’d be a bad influence on their kids. I’m really sorry. You’re one of my star students but girls are pulling out because they don’t feel safe around you and I don’t know what to do. I’m at a loss here.”

  So I told her that I’d leave.

  See? She gave me a choice and I took it.

  I left.

  Because the girls — some of whom I’d danced with for years – and the parents didn’t feel safe around me. Because of what I did.

  Because of what my broken heart made me do two years ago.

  I don’t want to dwell on what I did and what happened after and how I came to be at St. Mary’s instead of being sent to juvie.

  The time will come for me to remember.

  But for now, I’m here to dance and I will.

  I’m here to fulfill my dream, the only dream I’ve had since I was five years old. Of going to Juilliard and dancing for the New York City Ballet Company one day.

  When I left the Blue Madonna, my dream of Juilliard was sort of hanging in the balance. Miss Petrova’s a Juilliard alumna and she was going to give me a great recommendation letter when the time came. And getting in there is so difficult and competitive that I needed that letter.

  But after everything, I didn’t think she’d give that to me and so I stopped thinking about it. I’d stopped expecting to end up at Juilliard. In fact, I’d started to look into other dance programs, like the one they have here at Bardstown Community College.

  But then over the last summer, something changed.

  Something sprung back to life.

  I wanted that dream again. I wanted to at least try to have that dream.

  So I decided to make an audition video for Juilliard after all. The applications for next fall are due by November and I’m doing it. I’m going for it.

  That’s why I’m here. To try.

  I shed my dress in the bathroom to change into my leotard and my practice tights that I brought with me in my bag and get ready to practice.

  The main practice area has polished hardwood floors and mirrors running along one wall, plus a steel barre for barre exercises. I sit on the floor to tie up my pointe shoes before I begin.

  I do the warm-up exercises, stretching my legs, flexing my toes. I go through arm and leg positions one by one, checking my posture in the mirror, correcting the arch of my spine and the line of my shoulders.

  When I’m done, I grab the CD that I want from the collection and put on the song that I’ve been working on all summer.

  Well, I’ve been working on this song for the past two years actually.

  It’s the same one that I was going to perform at Bardstown High that night.

  The one where I had to wear the wings because I was a fairy who falls in love with a human who betrays me in the end.

  It’s the song that I never got to do.

  It’s the song that I want to remember, however.

  I want to remember the pain, the misery. The tears I’ve cried.

  I want to remember my heartbreak.

  So I never make the same mistake again.

  And so I wear the wings; these ones are borrowed from the storage closet. They are cheap and made of fake silk as opposed to my furry, custom-made, heavy wings.

  But it doesn’t matter.

  I’m not a fairy. I never was.

  I don’t need pretty wings. I can make do with these fake ones and as soon as I have them in place over my shoulders, I start the music and close my eyes.

  I let myself remember now.

  I let the beats drop into my body, my stomach and chest. I let them drop into my arms and my legs.

  When I’ve become sufficiently heavy with memories and light with the violins, I raise my arms and take my first spin.

  After that everything becomes easy.

  Everything becomes natural.

  Like I was born to do this song.

  Like I was born to fall in love one day and have my heart broken. Like I was born to be the girl who dances on those broken pieces of her heart.

  I jump and leap and spin and turn without my conscious volition.

  By the time the song ends and I fall to the floor on my knees, my feet are throbbing and my cheeks are wet from my tears.

  Oh yeah, that happens.

  I cry.

  I cry every time I let myself remember. I cry every time I dance to this song.

  It’s okay though. I’m used to the tears.

  But I should stop now.

  I’m here to dance, not waste whatever precious time I have on crying and…

  Wait.

  I feel something.

  Something on the back of my neck that makes me jerk my head up and look out the tall window.

  There’s nothing there except the view of a quiet, dark street, with a lamppost pouring down yellow light and a lone bus stop.

  But.

  But it felt like…

  It felt like I was being watched. Like someone was watching me.

  Like he…

  At the thought, I spring to my feet. I run to the back door, the door through which I got in, and go outside. It opens into a narrow brick alley and I round the corner to get to the front.

  To get to the spot directly outside the window of the practice room.

  Of course there’s nothing here.

  Of course.

  But for some reason, my body is buzzing.

  My legs feel restless, excited. My chest is filled with a rush.

  A rush, an eagerness that I used to feel two years ago.

  Back when… when he watched me.

  When he’d come to the school auditorium and sit in the third row.

  When he wanted me to dance for him and he couldn’t take his eyes off me when I did.

  Back when I was his fairy.

  I lie. That’s what I do…

  I shake my head when his voice, his words — some of the last ones that he spoke — flit through my brain, my fake wings brushing against my back.

  I’m being silly.

  No one’s here.

  Sighing, I go back and I’m about to enter the building to finish practicing when I hear a thud, a boot hitting the pavement, and I spin around once again to look.

  Okay, I did not imagine that, did I?

  I did not imagine that sound.

  Someone is here, and when a different possibility occurs to me, my heart leaps to my throat in fright.

  What if there’s an intruder?


  An actual villain.

  Not that he’s any less of a villain, but still. What if there’s some guy here, a thug, a thief. What if they’ve come to steal something from the Blue Madonna?

  Oh heck no.

  I’m never letting that happen. Never ever.

  This is my favorite place in the world and I already feel guilty for breaking and entering. I already feel guilty for taking advantage of the fact that my ex-teacher doesn’t have an updated alarm system and is super bad with security and technology.

  I’m not going to let any harm befall this place.

  So I fist my hands at my sides and widen my stance as I look around, glare around actually.

  “Hello? Is anyone there?”

  Seriously, Callie?

  Such a stupid question.

  Of course someone’s there. I heard a sound, and if someone is wanting to do me or this place any harm, he’s not going to tell me.

  So stepping closer to the door, I try a different approach. “Okay, don’t tell me. It’s fine. I’m not an idiot. I know you’re there. I heard you.”

  I narrow my eyes as I keep searching the darkness for the intruder but come up with nothing.

  “Yeah, that’s very mature and scary. Not talking.” I shake my head and take another step closer to the door. “But the thing is, you made a mistake. You picked the wrong girl to mess with. I don’t scare easily. Oh, and I know how to punch.” I nod as I keep looking around and moving closer to the door. “Yeah, I can do some real damage if I want to, buddy. And maybe right now you’re thinking, hey, this girl is tiny. She can’t hurt me. But know this, I have four brothers. Four. And they’re all tall and burly and muscular. They’re all athletes, actually. Ever heard of the Thorne brothers? Yeah? I’m their sister.”

  I’m super-duper close to the door now as I continue, “So if you think you can overpower me, remember that my brothers will come after you. I will make sure that they come after you. I will make sure that they hunt you down and make you pay, you got that? So either show yourself or leave. Right now!”

  I sort of flinch at the end but whatever.

  That should get the message across that I’m not to be messed with.

  Also, I’m one step away from the door and getting inside so if there ever was a time to dare him, this is it. So I wait for like three seconds before I jump inside and close the door with a bang.

  And then I’m packing up.

  I’m getting out of here.

  The next bus should be here any minute so I change into my dress and close up. I run out through the front door and as soon as I cross the street to get to the bus stop, the bus is pulling in.

  When we take off, I look out the window.

  I look at the studio, the dark road that still stands empty.

  I look at it and look at it, even as it grows smaller and smaller, and my breaths somehow both quicken and slow down. And my body is filled with both relief and a strange disappointment.

  But then I see something.

  A flash of white.

  Bright as the moon.

  Sparkling as a neon sign.

  White. His color.

  My mouth falls open and I press my nose to the window.

  But whatever I saw, a flash, a burst, is so far away and getting further by the second.

  Before I can confirm anything, we take a turn and the road disappears.

  ***

  It’s Friday.

  Which means we’re sneaking out, my friends and I.

  That’s the only thing I’m focusing on.

  The only thing.

  The other things — thing — is totally out of my mind. Because there’s just no point thinking about it, you know? Because what happened last night — what I thought happened last night — never really happened.

  It never did.

  I only thought that it happened. I only thought that I saw something. A flash of white.

  When in reality, I saw nothing.

  In reality, I snuck out to dance, and in the process saved the Blue Madonna from an intruder.

  I mean, if there was an intruder.

  Maybe that was my imagination too, but who knows?

  So yeah, I’m not going to think about what I felt last night or what I thought I saw. I’m only going to focus on tonight, on the fact that I’m sneaking out with my friends to go dancing and it’s going to be amazing.

  Every Friday — like Thursday, Miss Alvarez is on duty — we get low-key dressed up and sneak out to this bar called Ballad of the Bards to go dancing.

  It’s in Bardstown and one of the bartenders, Will, is Conrad’s friend.

  He lets us in as long as we don’t drink any actual liquor since we’re all underage. He’s also nice enough to keep our weekly sojourns a secret.

  Apart from Blue Madonna, it’s one of my favorite places in Bardstown.

  Even though it’s located in kind of a shady part of town and the neon sign over the door flickers and goes on and off, I always get a cozy feeling from this place.

  Not to mention, I love their music.

  So Ballad of the Bards, like any other dance bar, is famous for its music. But their choices are unconventional. Instead of playing dance beats, they play sad music.

  They put on songs about lost lovers and broken hearts, with deep violins and heavy, thick bass.

  Maybe it’s the fact that I’m one of them now, one of the brokenhearted, but I love it.

  I love the melancholy. I love the misery. I love the fact that I can slow dance to this music and if I spill a few tears, no one questions it.

  Because that’s what you do when you hear a sad love song. You cry.

  It’s like crying in the rain.

  And I cannot wait to get inside and lose myself in them.

  I cannot wait to remember.

  But as it turns out I’m not gonna need music to remember the mistake I made two years ago.

  Because the reason that I made those mistakes… is here.

  The reason why I did what I did and why I ended up at St. Mary’s is right here.

  He is here.

  And I see him as soon as I enter the bar.

  Actually, he’s all I see. He’s the only thing I see and the sight of him forces me to halt.

  The sight of Reed Roman Jackson.

  After two years.

  After two long, long years, it forces me to stop. It forces the earth to stop too.

  At least for me.

  For me, the earth has stopped spinning and all the people on it have stopped existing. For me, the music is no more and the stars have gone out.

  Because he’s here.

  Somehow.

  How is he here?

  Standing in the middle of the bar, he’s taller than everyone.

  He’s broader than everyone too. And he has a spotlight on him.

  Or maybe that’s just his marble-like, vampire skin. That glows.

  That still glows.

  That still absorbs all the light in the space, leaving nothing for the rest of us.

  Not even the choice of looking somewhere else.

  He is like gravity, see.

  If he’s in the room, you can’t help but stare at him. You can’t help but revolve around him.

  Even now, people are doing that.

  People are revolving around him, giving him all their attention.

  He’s surrounded by a bunch of guys, and a couple of girls who are hanging onto his arms, and God, it feels like two years ago.

  It feels like I’m standing in the corridor of my old school, Bardstown High, and I’m watching him work his dark magic on a girl.

  I’m watching him appear both aloof and interested.

  As he drives her crazy with desire. So much so that she raises her hand to brush her fingers along the ends of his hair.

  I’m watching him and watching him and my lips part as I exhale a breath.

 
; What is he doing here? Where did he come from?

  Why is he still so beautiful?

  The heartbreaker of Bardstown High. The Wild Mustang.

  The gorgeous villain.

  The guy who broke my heart. And whose car I stole and drowned in the lake for revenge.

  Who a second later looks away from the girl, his gaze landing on me.

  Just like that.

  Just like always.

  As if he knew I was standing here, in this exact spot. As if he knew that I was watching him.

  And so after two long years, on a random Friday night, standing in my favorite bar in Bardstown, I see him.

  I see the guy I haven’t seen in two years.

  The guy I never wanted to see after what he did to me.

  The last time I saw Reed Roman Jackson, it was my last day of school, my freshman year.

  I was walking over to the parking lot at the end of the day, to get to my brother, Ledger’s, truck so we could go home, when I saw him in his car.

  Well, not his car.

  His Mustang, from what I’d heard, was in the shop after what I did to it.

  I didn’t know what he was doing there because I was under the impression that he’d left for the day. That was why I was taking that route, where I knew he usually parked his car.

  But now that I’d seen him, I didn’t know what to do.

  I was frozen in my spot. Unable to move. Unable to look away.

  Maybe because he was alone and I hadn’t seen him alone since that night when everything happened.

  Since that night, he’d always been with a group of people. He’d always been busy and surrounded, unaware of my existence.

  That day though, he was alone.

  He had his eyes closed and he was sitting in the car with the music on and the windows down. I was too far away to know what he was listening to but I remember wondering if it was one of our songs.

  Songs that I danced to for him.

  It was silly of me to think that, to even entertain that thought after everything.

  But standing there, I couldn’t stop the rush of memories.

  The rush of those moments when he’d drive me around in his Mustang and take me to the woods. When he’d put on music, sit on the hood of his car and watch me dance.

  And the rush was so strong that my legs moved on their own.

  My legs wanted to go to him.