I didn't choose this last name, this legacy to uphold. An empire to help my family build and protect. To help my brother one day rule. But I have chosen Cassidy. The one thing that I'll keep for myself in amongst all this grit and shit.
I may not be able to give her the fairy-tale.
But she gives me a break from this nightmare.
And I'm a selfish bastard, so I'll fucking take it.
I climb onto the bed with her wrapped around me.
I fuck her slowly all night.
Cassidy
Seeingthat my studio is now a thirty-minute drive from my new home, I don't spend as much time within its mirror-covered walls. But when I finish early at ballet, I steal a few hours to dance in my own space and at my own pace.
Just for the love of it.
Mafioso.
I shake my head as if to physically prevent that word from settling for too long in one place. After having successfully drowned that thought with fatigue all day, I don't intend on stopping now.
Slinging my backpack to the floor, I begin to remove my shirt and shorts until I'm left in my leotard. Carter sits on a stool beside my little kitchen, looking strangely comfortable when any other man might feel awkward. He makes the spot he's sitting in his place. It's true confidence. A wonderful quality.
Mafioso. Was the missing boy confident? Wonderfully so?
"I'm glad you came inside today," I say to Carter, ignoring the slight spike in my pulse.
"I'm grateful to be here, Miss Slater," he states.
Maybe I'll dance something specifically for him. Maybe something with mystery and darkness and an epic battle scene. I put my ballet compilation on shuffle and move over to the barre to warm up. Aram Khachaturian sounds through the speakers, filling my heart with that freedom I feel when I dance. It pulls at me. Each note plucks at the threads that hold me together, unravelling me and revealing my soul. Much like my love for Max Butcher does. He bares me down and I think - I hope - I bare him down too.
The music suddenly consumes me. Smiling as a tear falls down my cheek, I place my hand gently on the barre and begin my exercises. Even though I am already warmed up and pretty exhausted, it is a routine I can't break.
After a thirty-minute barre session, I move into the centre of the room.
"Would you like me to dance something for you?"
"I would, yes. What would you suggest?"
Pondering on that, I peer around my studio for inspiration. My eyes land on an image of the Black Swan. That choreography would be suitable to a life lived hard.
It is haunting.
Much like the voice of that elderly Italian lady.
Mafioso.
My throat thickens with discomfort, causing me to force a swallow.
Force my mind back to the present. To ballet.
Hanging across the length of one wall are photos from my thirteen years of dancing. Cast photos. Accolades. Newspaper articles. In one of the black frames is the newspaper clip celebrating the first time I was cast as Clara - the youngest Clara in the history of my academy. Beside it is a new wooden frame. Curious, I wander over and stop before it. My dad must have had it framed and hung like he always does. More tears slide from my eyes. For some reason, my stomach sinks.
There I am, foot up on the barre, smiling widely. The article heading is:Golden Girl Cassidy Slater Our Sugar Plum Fairy.That feels like a lifetime ago. . .
"Miss Slater, are you okay? Have you eaten enough?"
I wipe my moist eyes and nose with my wrist. "Yes." I pull myself away from the frame. Walking back into the centre of the room, I'm determined to dance my little heart out. My emotions out.Mafiosoout. "I'm just hormonal. I'm not sad. I've been so lucky."