His Gymnast (Dance For Me Book 3)

by Darcy Rose

  I narrow my eyes and stare at her, waiting for her to say something else, but she stays silent. “Fine. If you say so.”

  I drop my hold on her arm and turn, watching her hurry from the alley and on to the bus at the stop. If she doesn’t want to tell me, I’ll figure it out myself. I’m already too obsessed with her to walk away now.

  Annoyed, I race back across the street and slip into my car, wasting no time putting the key in the ignition, starting it, and peeling off.

  5

  Aria

  Dammit. Why did I do that? Why did I chicken out?

  Because he gave me time to think about it, to second-guess myself. Not only whether it was wrong to ask him for protection, but whether I can afford what Knox will ask me to pay.

  I’m not stupid. I know people like him don’t do things for nothing. What if I end up going from owing Dale every cent I earn to owing Knox? It’d be like exchanging one devil for another. And Knox isn’t exactly a sweet, nice guy. Who says he won’t end up being just as bad as my stepfather?

  It doesn’t help that he scared the hell out of me. How did he know where to find me? Maybe I don’t want to know the answer. Maybe I already do. After all, that’s probably what his family is best at—tracking people down, that sort of thing. He probably has all sorts of ways.

  None of it matters now. I turned him down. I doubt he’d be okay with me changing my mind again.

  Now that I’m on the way home and my stomach is in knots, I know I should’ve agreed to pay whatever Knox wanted. Nothing’s too much to escape the hell I’m about to walk into. What’ll it be tonight? I know better than to think I’ll escape to the basement without at least getting called every name in the book.

  That would be a relief, considering how much worse things can get.

  My feet are heavy as I walk the familiar street after getting off the bus. It’s always like this. When I leave, I feel light, free, even if that freedom can’t last long.

  Turns out, it’s not as bad as it could be. Dale’s car’s not in the driveway, so he hasn’t gotten home from work yet. Maybe I can manage to avoid him tonight.

  Mom’s already swaying on her feet when I walk through the door, holding a glass of something or other in one hand. It splashes over the rim and hits her shapeless T-shirt—more like one of those muumuu things. She doesn’t notice. From the looks of her clothes, this isn’t the first spill she’s had today. “What took you so long to get home?”

  I want to ask her what time it is but know better. “I always take the first bus that comes along. You know that.”

  “Don’t give me your smart-ass attitude.” I wasn’t trying to, but I’m not dumb enough to argue with her. I’ll end up with her drink in my face right before she slaps me. “You’ve got laundry to do. And look at this house! It’s a fucking pigsty.”

  Right, and she’s the one who made it that way. Tears of rage threaten to blind me, but I hold them back. I won’t let her see me cry. It’s easier and safer to get to work and try to avoid her. If I work fast enough, I might still be able to hide in the basement before Dale gets home.

  It wasn’t always like this. Sometimes, when I’m in the middle of cleaning the filthy bathroom I’m not even allowed to use except to shower, I go back to the old days. When life was normal. When I had hopes and dreams and a future ahead of me.

  I think back on gymnastics, too. How simple my life was in those days. There was nothing but schoolwork and training. That was it. I didn’t have to be afraid, always looking over my shoulder, worrying about where my next meal would come from, or whether I would be able to escape without getting beaten and demeaned.

  When I was healthy, I could fly. I miss that most of all. The feeling of taking off, defying gravity, twisting and turning my body through the air before landing with grace and precision. I was in control of every one of my muscles. Disciplined, focused. I could’ve been a champion.

  Instead, here I am, scrubbing toilets and fishing hair clogs out of drains while trying not to throw up and washing my stepfather’s stained underwear. He’s such a fucking pig. Sometimes I wonder if he doesn’t leave them this way on purpose. Like he gets off on knowing how disgusted I’ll be. It’s not like there’s anything I can do about it, and he knows that, too.

  I finish upstairs, then bring the mop and bucket and everything else downstairs. Mom’s in front of the television with yet another drink in her hand. Her head is nodding like she’s on the verge of passing out. I wish she would. Sometimes I wish she still smoked. That she would pass out with a lit cigarette while I’m not home, but Dale is. I wish he would already be in a drunken stupor and for neither of them to get out alive.

  I know that’s wrong, but it’s nothing compared to what they do to me. It’s probably better than they deserve. Dying of smoke inhalation is nothing when I consider the pain and humiliation they’ve made me suffer, and all because of one false move. One injury.

  She stirs when I enter the living room with a dust cloth in hand. “Oh. It’s you. I forgot you were even home.” She squints at me, then snarls, “You’re not finished yet?”

  “Not yet.” I move as fast as I can, dusting the tables, the television—she gets annoyed with me when I get in her way, of course—and the shelves. There used to be framed photos everywhere, ones where I wore a big smile, holding up the medals I won in competitions, that sort of thing. Now? There’s no hint that I even exist.

  I’ve finished running the vacuum when Mom snickers behind me. “Whoops.” I turn to find she’s poured the crumbs from her potato chip bag all over the floor next to her chair. “Sorry.” She doesn’t even bother to hide her smirk while I plug the vacuum in again and clean up her mess.

  It’s getting late. Dale will be home any minute. I can’t help but keep looking at the clock, like I’m racing against it. Mom’s bad enough when she’s alone, but when he shows up, it’s like she makes it her goal to make sure I’m as miserable as possible. I have to wonder why she gave birth in the first place if this was how she treats her kid.

  I’m about to finish the floor when I hear his car in the driveway. My insides turn to ice as always. The cleaning is done. He won’t have anything to complain about. I put away the mop and turn on the dishwasher, prepared to make my escape.

  He comes in through the kitchen door, and I swear, it’s like the lights in the kitchen go dimmer. I keep my head down since that’s the only way to get out of this without things getting worse. My hands tremble as I tuck my hair behind my ears.

  “Motherfucker.” He slams his fist against the kitchen table, making the salt and pepper shakers fall on the floor. I try not to jump when he startles me, but it isn’t easy to pretend I’m not affected by his arrival. “This place is a fucking wreck. What have you been doing since you got home, huh?” He sweeps an arm over the counter and knocks the flour and sugar canisters over.

  “I was cleaning.” I stare at the floor, willing myself not to cry. “I just finished when you came in. I was on my way downstairs.”

  “You were finished?” He barks out a laugh before shoving me into the fridge. Everything inside shakes and rattles, but I manage to stay on my feet. “You’re finished when I say you’re finished, you worthless piece of shit. Who the hell do you think you are? You think you set the rules around here? I’m the one who says when you’ve done well enough—and you haven’t. Not even close.”

  His hand cups the back of my head, twisting in my hair. Has he already been drinking? I wouldn’t be surprised. His breath reeks like beer. “You’re worthless. A waste of oxygen. You can’t do anything right.”

  He throws me to the floor. I bite my lip to keep from crying out because that’ll only make things worse. “Useless! A lazy, stupid bitch.”

  I try to crawl away, but it’s no use. He gets on one knee next to me and grabs me by the back of the neck. “You can’t even mop a fucking floor, you piece of shit. Look at it! Up close.” He holds my face close to the floor. I can still smell the cleaning solution t
hat’s barely dried.

  “Look how filthy you left it. You lazy, worthless bitch.” I grit my teeth as he pushes my face to the floor, managing to turn my head so he won’t break my nose. I can see my mom’s feet in the doorway as she stands and watches.

  And that’s all she does. She stands there and watches. Doesn’t try to help me. Doesn’t tell Dale to get his hands off me. Because she’s on his side, the way she always has been.

  She doesn’t even hate me, I realize as my thoughts race and my scalp screams from the way he’s pulling my hair. She doesn’t feel anything for me.

  “Lick it clean.” Dale leans down until his mouth is almost touching my ear. “You can’t learn to use a mop the right way? Then use your tongue. This floor is going to be clean one way or another before the night is over.”

  I’ll do a lot of things. I’ll put up with the worst humiliation and even let them starve me.

  I will not lick the floor. I will not let him win this time. If I let him do this to me, he won’t stop there. He will never stop.

  Which is why I grit my teeth and glare at him from the corner of my eye. “No.” My voice shakes, but not with fear. With rage. Fury.

  “Excuse me? The fuck did you just say?” His eyes narrow to slits, and I know I’ve done it. I’m outnumbered. Mom doesn’t care so long as there’s somebody to buy her booze. He could kill me here and now, and she wouldn’t do anything to stop him, and that hurts more than any punch to the face I’ve ever taken.

  I don’t know why she hates me so much. I didn’t do anything to deserve this. I didn’t even ask to be born, but I know I have to fight back or I’m going to die here.

  “I said no.” I press my palms against the floor and try to push myself up, but he shoves me down with an elbow in the middle of my back.

  “Who the fuck do you think—” It’s not completely out of his mouth when a knock on the front door cuts him off.

  Nobody moves. Even I’m frozen in place, waiting to see what they’ll do. The knocking turns into a pounding, and I think about calling out for help, something I’ve never done before because I don’t think anyone could help me anyway.

  Before I can make up my mind, the door flies inward with a loud crash as somebody kicks it in.

  No. Not somebody. Knox. It’s Knox who kicked it in. Knox who strides into the house with a murderous look in his eyes.

  6

  Knox

  I pull my car into the same spot across the street from her house that I sat in last night. Lucky for me, they haven’t closed the curtains yet. I watch her walk up the steps and slide inside slowly, closing the door behind her.

  For a minute, everything seems normal. The short fat guy from this morning is nowhere to be seen, but a woman who is equally large comes into view as Aria enters. The woman sways on her feet, wobbling but never falling, with a glass in her hand and starts talking to Aria.

  I can’t hear what she’s saying, but her body language and resting bitch face makes me want to go in there and tell her to shut the fuck up. I maintain my composure, though, and just watch. Wait.

  Aria nods, sets her bag down, and gets to work cleaning. I watch as she moves around the house, dusting, vacuuming, the works. When she finally finishes and rolls the cord to the vacuum back on its cradle, the bitch looks at her and pours chips on the floor. She doesn’t even try to hide the elation in her face as she does it, and it pisses me off. But I still wait. Aria doesn’t seem like the type of woman to take such bullshit, but maybe I’m wrong. She plugs the cord back in, vacuums for the second time, then puts it back in its spot as she grabs the mop.

  She moves around the kitchen, pushing the wet mop in front of her, completely lifeless. Even from here, I can see the gleam in her eyes has dimmed to nothing, and her shoulders slump with sadness.

  After a while, a car pulling in the driveway grabs my attention. I watch as the fat guy from this morning exits the vehicle and starts around the house. I already don’t like him just because I can practically see the arrogance surrounding him, but when I flick my gaze back to Aria, I realize I really don’t like him. She perks up when he walks inside, but not in the way you see when someone is excited. No, this is fear. She turns into herself, shoots her eyes to the floor, and crosses her arms over her body.

  It’s the same way people seem to look when I walk by.

  I study their interactions. The fat prick seems to know she’s scared of him too because his chin stays lifted high as he spits words at her. I zero in on the movement of his mouth and try to figure out what he’s saying, but when his hands land on Aria and he throws her against the fridge, I decide I fucking hate him.

  Anger rises inside me like lava in a fucking volcano as I rush out of my car and to the front door. I knock a few times, thinking they might answer, but they must be smarter than I thought. Instead of waiting another second, I raise my foot and kick the door with all my might. It flies off its hinges, the sound of splitting wood and smashing ringing out around me, then falls to the ground.

  My blood reaches a new boiling point when I see the guy is now on top of Aria, pressing her face to the floor, his elbow digging into her back as he keeps his weight on her.

  Something that sounds like a feral growl rips from my throat and the fucking coward he is, scurries backward, off her. With the fat guy’s attention now on me, Aria crawls away.

  Seeing she’s out of his reach, I take three long strides to him. “Who the fu—”

  I cut him off with my fist to his face. Normally, this would be the time I would grab my blade and just kill the pathetic piece of shit, but I want to make this slow. Drawn-out. Painful. I want to see the motherfucker bleed and hear him scream.

  I hit him again, sending his body crumpling to the floor. I hunch down and straddle him, sending fist after fist into his face, stomach, and groin. How dare he touch her and think he could get away with it?

  Blood splashes onto my face with every strike, and it fills me with pride. I’ve always been a hothead, but nothing like this has ever sent me over the edge. When I saw her thin, frail body on the floor, I got complete tunnel vision. Nothing else mattered. Only her and her safety. And killing the one who hurt her.

  He finally stops moving, and the only sound coming from him is muffled cries, but I can’t stop until he’s dead. His face resembles smashed cherry Jell-O—red and disfigured—but he’s still breathing, and it still doesn’t stop me.

  I rear my fist back again, ready to hear more bones crunching under its weight, but the sound of Aria’s sobs has me stopping in my tracks.

  Fist still raised, I look to my left where she crawled and see her knees pulled to her chest. Her hands cover her face as she cries, and for the first time in my life, it makes the supernova inside me burn down to a small, flickering flame.

  I drop my hand and stand from the woman beater under me, then step toward Aria. Only now do I hear the screams of Aria’s mother, begging me to leave, to let her husband live. I ignore her, drowning her annoying voice out while I focus my attention on the only person in the room who matters.

  Reaching down, I scoop Aria up and hold her to my chest. Her arms come around my neck, and she leans her tear-soaked face against my shoulder. When her body is nestled against mine, I look at the woman and point at the guy on the ground. “Let him know I’ll be back to finish what I started.”

  She shakes her head, her eyes filled with horror. “And you, don’t think you’re going to get off unscathed because you’re a woman. I know what you did, and you're going to pay for it just like him.”

  A trickling sound draws my eyes between her legs where a wet spot is forming. She is pissing herself from fear. Good, I want her scared. I want her to suffer, but not today. Right now, all that matters is Aria. Her fucked-up parents can wait.

  “Where is your bag?” I ask her before I head out. Aria points at a spot next to the door. “Are your phone and wallet in there?” When she nods, I bend over enough so she can grab the bag without me putting her d
own.

  I exit the house as Aria’s mother screams behind me, and I cross the street to my car. Placing Aria into the passenger seat, I close the door, then round the hood and slide into the driver’s seat. For me, this is just another day. Beating someone—or even killing them—is nothing new, so it’s easy for me to just act like nothing happened. Almost.

  I can still feel the rage simmering under my skin, begging to be released, but I’m more worried about Aria. She’s finally stopped sobbing and just stares out the window, a small hiccup escaping her every so often, but she doesn’t speak. She doesn’t even look at me.

  When I pull up to my house, I park in the drive and wait a moment to see if she’ll speak. My house isn’t too extravagant—just a small, simple brick structure where I like to spend my free time.

  “Where are we?” her voice squeaks out.

  “My place.”

  She nods slowly, studying the front that’s wrapped in white brick. “What do you want from me?” she asks, finally facing me.

  Her hazel eyes shine with more unshed tears as she worries her lip between her teeth. I get lost in her stare, and it takes me a minute to even register what she’s asking. She looks terrified, and it fucking kills me.

  One of the things that caught my attention about her was how fearless she was, but now, that’s gone. She’s seen the monster I really am, and it scares me that she’ll run and never want to see me again.

  I know I need to keep her talking or reassure her. Something to make her stay.

  I tip my head. “What do you mean?”

  “You saved me. So, what do you want in return?”