Watching Over Me: A Dreams Novel

by Kamery Solomon

  A settling sigh escaped me as I relaxed the rest of the way, allowing him to continue to rub me as my heart slowed. Putting my own scared emotions to the side, I tried to gauge the intentions coming from him, surprised to find that I didn’t really feel anything menacing.

  “Who are you?” I asked again, quietly. “Why do you want to help me?”

  “You can call me Sir.” His answer was gruff as he moved away from me, leaving my leg stretched out on the cold floor. “And I know what it’s like to want something and have it just out of reach. You work hard, but you’re missing some core fundamentals. I can help you, but there will be rules.”

  His response caught me off guard and my mouth popped open, my mind immediately filling with a number of questions.

  “I don’t understand. How—”

  “You must do whatever I say,” he interrupted me. “No questions. We will work in the dark every time we meet. And you are never to know who I am.”

  “That seems a bit ridiculous,” I argued, standing, but staying against the wall.

  “Those are my conditions,” he said simply. “If you don’t like them, you can leave now and never think about this again. Otherwise, refer to rule number one.”

  I stood there, mouth gaping, as his words sunk in. What on Earth was going on?! He’d been so gentle when he touched me and now he was ordering me around like he was a king. Some of my earlier reservations began to return and I pressed myself against the wall a little more, wishing I could at least get one look at him.

  “Why should I trust you?” The question couldn’t have been much more than a whisper, but I felt the air in the room move as he came closer to me again, my stomach clenching in confusion as I tried to decide if I liked his touch or not.

  He stopped right in front of me, his presence seeming to cover everything around me. Suddenly, I was struck with the impression that he was tall. When he spoke, he was quiet as well, but his tone held an authority that made me believe he knew what he was talking about. “Like I said, you’re working hard. But it isn’t enough and you know it. If you want to succeed, I am the only chance you have. Otherwise, you’ll keep practicing wrong and be stuck right where you are now. Or worse, you could snap that ankle with all the exertion you’ve been putting it through.”

  “And if I agree . . . Sir?” I asked hesitantly, hearing the wisdom in his words.

  “We’ll meet back here in a week, when your body can fully handle what I have in store for it.” That sent an uncomfortable shiver through me. “You’ll do only what is necessary in your classes to avoid further injury. No practicing on your own. Every night, you’ll wrap your ankle and sleep with it elevated. Most importantly, you will tell no one else of our meetings. Only your roommate can know, since you already told her.”

  Blinking in the dark, I felt the hairs on my arms rise again. He was watching me, that was certain, and much closer than I’d thought before. “How did you know I to—”

  “No questions,” he demanded, cutting me off again. “Do we have a deal or not?”

  I clamped my mouth shut, having the sneaking suspicion that I would get shot down again if I tried to ask anything else. What he said was true; he could be the only option for help I had left. He also seemed to know how to take care of my injury, so it would probably be wise to heed his words. But to let him boss me around in the dark? To let him refuse to reveal himself? I didn’t know if that was exactly what I wanted.

  It was then that a tiny silver lining appeared in my mind. If I agreed, maybe, over time, I could figure out who he really was. The more time we spent together, the more likely I was to reveal him. For whatever reason, that seemed hugely appealing to me at the moment. My gut was still saying that he was a nice guy as well, even here in the dark where he was as good as a ghost. There was still the uncomfortable feeling I got from him, the one that I couldn’t tell if I enjoyed or not, which was a whole separate issue in my mind. Was the feeling attraction? What person feels attracted to someone based off touch and nothing else? Thinking hard, I frowned. No, I didn’t like it when he touched me. It made my skin crawl and burn.

  “We have a deal, Sir,” I finally breathed out, feeling a blood rush of excitement and terror as the words left my mouth.

  “Very well,” he said. “Sit back down and I’ll rewrap your ankle before you leave.”

  I did as he ordered, no questions asked, and patiently waited as he worked his magic with my wound. When he was done, he helped me to my feet, staying close as he spoke, his fingers resting on my arm. The spot prickled and I swallowed hard, ignoring the warning flashing through my mind.

  “Exactly one week. Same time. Bring all of your dance attire, including non-ballet. Be ready to work. I would highly suggest stretching before you arrive.” He sounded a little cocky. Who did he think he was?

  Who did I think he was?

  “Yes, Sir,” I said, swallowing nervously.

  “You may leave.” His voice floated away from me.

  Staying where I was, waiting to see if he would say anything else, I heard the door on the other side of the room open and close. Suddenly, realizing I was alone, I darted through the door beside me, down the hall, and back outside into the light.

  After being in the dark, the lights and noise of the street almost over did it for me, especially in conjunction with what I had barely experienced. All at once, I felt the most panic I had the entire night.

  “Scar!” Meg called from down the street as she ran toward me. “Are you okay?”

  “I agreed to meet him again!” I blurted out. Shaking my hands vigorously, I tried to banish the memory of his touch on me. Even thinking about it made me itch.

  “What are you talking about? Who was it?” she asked breathlessly, stopping by my side.

  “I have absolutely no idea! He told me to leave the lights off and I was too afraid to not listen.”

  “Holy crap, Scar.” Meg looked at me in shock. “So you didn’t find out who he was?”

  “No. I thought if I came back, maybe I could figure it out then.” Saying it out loud made me sound like a head case. What was I thinking?

  “What happened while you were in there?”

  “He looked at my ankle and told me the ground rules for our meet ups,” I said offhandedly, trying to make it seem like I wasn’t freaking out while the world ended around me. “But now that I’m out here and can breathe again, I’m starting to think I might have done something a little nuts.”

  “Ya think?” Meg laughed humorlessly. “Meeting a strange man once to find out who he is, I can understand that. But agreeing to come back when you learned nothing about him? That’s crazy, Scarlet.”

  “I know,” I said in a panic, my nerves beginning to show again. “Now I feel like I have to come back, though, or he’ll hunt me down or something.”

  “Should we call the cops?” Pulling her phone out of her pocket, she swiped the screen, bringing up the emergency keypad.

  “No,” I rushed to say, covering her hand. “That was part of his rules. You’re the only person I’m allowed to talk to about it all.”

  “But I can tell whoever I want,” she argued.

  “No,” I said, finding a strand of calm emotions and latching onto them. “I can do this. I want to know who he is and why he wants to help me.” Biting my lip, I looked back at the dark building behind me, my heart still racing. Hesitantly, I spoke again, trying to calm her as much as myself. “I feel like he’s not a bad guy either. I was trying to pay attention to how he made me feel, like you said. It was . . . confusing, to say the least.” Blushing at the memory of his first touch and the way it had suddenly made me want more, I glanced back at her, clearing my throat. “But he seemed okay, if my intuition is to be trusted.”

  Staring at me, she pressed her lips together, her thoughts unreadable. “You’re crazy,” she finally said, breathing out a sigh. “Are you sure?”

  “I think so?”

  “Why does that sound like a question?” She gr
abbed my arm and started towing me across the street, placing her phone back in her pocket. “Is he still in there?”

  “No, he left before I did.”

  “Then let’s get inside. You may feel like he’s a good guy, but this is giving me the willies.”

  Chapter Six

  The air smelled of cement, tires, and the assortment of restaurants filling Times Square, all capturing my attention as I made my way toward the subway. Bright flashing and twinkling lights surrounded me, advertisements and videos playing for the public to see and enjoy. In a short while, the theatres would be emptying and people would flood out into the space, discussing their night’s adventures. It was a beautiful, thriving thing to see. Unfortunately for me, though, I was about to spend the night in darkness.

  My week of healing had passed uneventfully, unless you counted my ankle giving me no trouble at all for the last half of it. I’d done everything I was told, constantly trying to remind myself that going back to the strange man was a good idea in the long run. It didn’t help the nerves I was feeling right now though. A walk had helped to clear my head, but not by much. Now I was on my way to my first lesson, with no idea of what—or who—was really waiting for me.

  The subway ride seemed quiet, almost too quiet. Clutching my dance bag tightly against me, I focused on breathing and staring at the empty seat across the aisle. Perhaps I would merely turn on the lights as soon as I arrived. I could make it look like an accident.

  What if I felt the strange burning sensation when he touched me again? I still couldn’t decide if it was a pleasant feeling or not. I was leaning more toward not, to be honest. It made me uncomfortable, like I was overheating and couldn’t stop it.

  The train shortly arrived at my stop and I begrudgingly got off, crossing the platform and moving up the stairs at a normal pace. The memory of his fingers on my ankle flashed into my mind, their tenderness speaking words to me about him. He wanted to help. All he was asking was for me to let him. I could do that, couldn’t I?

  Surfacing from the tunnel below, my eyes immediately went to the UD buildings, as if they were laser pointing to the door I needed. Crossing the street, my pace slowed until I found myself standing right at the threshold, staring at the handle.

  This was it. Meg wouldn’t be waiting outside for me this time. I was all on my own.

  Taking a deep breath and holding it, I grabbed the knob and wrenched the entry open, hurrying to the practice room before I could lose my nerve. The space was open and waiting, the windows covered and lights dark, whispering that Sir was already in the building, waiting for me. Stepping gingerly onto the specially made dance floor, I swallowed hard as the black enveloped me, breathing deeply and hoping my eyes would adjust quickly.

  “You’re late,” the low voice said behind me.

  Jumping, I turned instinctively to look at him, and was instead greeted with a heavy, skinny piece of fabric pressed against my eyes. “What are you doing?” I cried, flailing as I moved away from him.

  “It’s a blindfold.”

  Apparently, I was supposed to know why the hell he wanted me to wear a blindfold.

  “For what?” I asked in a harsh tone.

  “No questions.” His voice moved in the darkness, and I caught a glimpse of his form in the small amount of light shining from the crack between the curtains in the window and the wall. He looked tall, as I’d suspected, but that was about all I could tell. He was wearing some type of jacket with a hood pulled up over his head.

  “Uh, yeah, questions,” I snapped back. “I’m not going to wear a blindfold and let some serial killer go all Fifty Shades of Grey on me!”

  He laughed, a friendly loud sound, seeming genuinely amused by what I’d said. “This isn’t Fifty Shades of Grey, Miss Redford, and I am not a serial killer. I have to turn the lights on so I can see how you’re moving. The blindfold is to keep you from seeing me. You promised to work in the dark, remember?”

  “I do,” I answered uncomfortably. “But I didn’t agree to a blindfold.”

  Was he a pervert? Would he be drooling over my body while I remained in the dark?

  “You will put it on or leave,” he answered meanly, all humor I’d heard from him a second before gone.

  Biting my lip, I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, silently noting that my ankle felt like I’d never even injured it in the first place. While I was annoyed that he hadn’t said anything about the blindfold to begin with, I had agreed to work in the dark. Everything he’d told me to do so far was right. And what good was my word to do something if I didn’t keep it?

  A bit of a reach to rationalize this, I thought to myself, grimacing.

  “Fine,” I sighed. “Where are you? I’ll wear the stupid blindfold.”

  “Here.” His voice answered from right beside me, almost in my ear, causing me to jump again.

  “Don’t do that,” I muttered, shaking myself to try and get rid of the jitters he caused.

  Fingers brushed across my face from behind, moving a stray hair out of the way before the blindfold covered my eyes again and I sucked in a breath, my skin tingling under him. He tied it tight, blocking everything out completely. I couldn’t see anything, even if I wanted to.

  “Now, as I was saying,” he started, sliding the strap of my dance bag off my shoulder and taking the parcel from me. “You are late. Don’t let it happen again.”

  “Yes, Sir.” It was only three minutes.

  “Over to the barre,” he said from the darkness, having left my side.

  “What about my shoes?”

  “Socks tonight,” he answered simply, a chair creaking as he sat down.

  Nodding slightly, I took another deep breath, imagining the surroundings I had become very familiar with. The barre and mirrors were to my right, the windows to the left. There wasn’t anything else in the room except for some cupboards and shelves along the far wall. Once I was certain of where I stood, I turned and went to my work space, feeling a massive amount of comfort as my fingers curled around the wooden beam. The heat from his touch had almost faded from my face, but my cheeks still burned as I thought of it, and silence stretched between us.

  “Your ankle looks much better,” he said casually.

  “You didn’t even look at it.” I laughed humorlessly, stretching out my feet.

  “You’re walking better. Last time you were trying to hide a limp.”

  “Are the lights on?” If they were, this blindfold must have been made of heavy duty stuff. Suddenly, I was struck with the urge to rip it off and stare at him.

  “We’re going to start from the beginning,” he began again, ignoring my question. “Barre work. It’s the foundation of everything in ballet, as well as a tool for improving balance and flexibility.”

  “I know what barre work is,” I sighed, not knowing why I was getting a lesson fit for a three year old.

  “Miss Redford,” he growled, the floor creaking as he crossed the space until he was right up in my face, his breath just as hot as the angered tone he spoke with. “You would do well to remember my rules and not interrupt me.”

  I stiffened, swallowing back the fearful cry brought on by his sudden ire. I’d forgotten the scary side of him somehow, expecting only the side that had doctored my ankle and displayed concern for me, the side that laughed about books.

  “Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Sir.” My reply was soft, obedient. Heart fluttering in sudden panic, I swallowed, my hand gripping the barre tighter as I waited for him to speak down to me again. I vaguely placed the smell of his breath with mint, like he’d recently brushed his teeth or chewed gum.

  “The barre is the most fundamental of all exercises,” he went on, moving away and acting like the small break hadn’t happened. “The work you do here affects every form of dance you participate in. That is why, for the time being, we will be focusing only on that.”

  I blew a frustrated puff of air out through my nose, causing him to pause for a secon
d in his lecture. When I didn’t say anything or make any other disturbances, he continued.

  “Both hands on the barre. Three pliés, followed by a grand plié, in all five positions. You will perform five elevé exercises between each position. When finished, you will do it all again in relevé.”

  The words came from all around me in the room as he moved from spot to spot, supposedly examining me from each angle. After he finished speaking, there was a soft click and classical piano music filled the room, the same kind that was usually played during any ballet warm up.

  “You may begin,” his low voice instructed.

  Exhaling slowly, I turned to face the mirror and placed both hands on the barre as he instructed. It wasn’t clear to me how any of what he wanted was going to help me, especially since I hadn’t fallen once now that my ankle was mostly healed.

  I started with the pliés in first position, my feet joined at the heels and pointed out in the shape of a v. Then began the three small squats, legs bending as far as they could without bringing any part of my feet off the ground. The grand plié was always much easier on me since I could squat down as far as I felt comfortable, lifting my heels and all.

  Suddenly, there was a stinging slap on one of my thighs and I cried out, a foot slipping out from underneath me. Regaining my balance as quickly as possible, I stood up, pressing my back against the barre and desperately wishing to see where he was.

  “What are you doing?” he demanded, hands grabbing my shoulders and turning me back around. “Five elevé practices and then on to second position! This time, tighten all of your muscles instead of letting them hang out and flap around like a wind sock, which, unfortunately, still would have had better form than you did!”

  I gripped the bar in fear and hurt, and quickly rose up onto the balls of my feet five times in a row.