El Diablo

  I didn’t say a word. I could barely breathe. He pulled down the straps of my bra, and in one quick but sudden movement, it was off. My nipples hardened from the cold air, but my body was burning for him. I could feel his stare all over me. Yearning to touch me as much as I desired him to feel every last inch of my body.

  My soul.

  “Jesus Christ,” he breathed out.

  I immediately opened my eyes. Never imagining the man glaring back at me would look so torn. So conflicted, so sad. I was more blown away by the fact I got to witness some sort of emotion, and sentiment from him.

  “Alej—”

  “You’re so fucking beautiful, cariño.” He froze, his eyes widened, completely caught off guard with what he just called me.

  Cariño.

  He didn’t even try to hide the shock. It was plain as day, consuming his face. His body betrayed him. The pain and shame swallowed him alive in front of my very own eyes.

  “What does that mean? What did you—”

  He scowled, his demeanor rapidly changing into the man he’d always been. “Get the fuck out of my office,” he roared out of nowhere. “Now!” Grabbing my clothes off the floor and throwing them at me.

  I shuddered. “Wait… what? Why?” I asked, confused by the turn of events. “What just happened?”

  “Get fucking dressed! You look like a goddamn whore!”

  I couldn’t put my clothes on fast enough for him, barely having my tank over my head before he was over to me in two strides, grabbing my acceptance letter and taking ahold of my arm. Pulling me toward the door.

  “Let go! You’re hurting me. What the fuck, Martinez?”

  “If I wanted lip from you, I would unzip my fucking slacks,” he gritted through a clenched jaw, shoving me out of his office. Throwing my letter at my feet.

  “Why? We weren’t done talking. Please! What just happened? I don’t understand. I thought… I thought there was something here. You felt that, right? I know you felt that!”

  “I don’t hire little girls pretending to be women. I don’t fuck them either. Don’t waste my fucking time again. Do you understand me?”

  I jerked back, the blow of his words almost as effective as his fist would have been. I could feel the tears pooling in my eyes. Threatening to surface. I bent over grabbing my papers. They were the most valuable thing I owned and he was shitting all over them.

  “I need your help! Why are you being such a dick to me? Why are you being so cruel? What happened to you?”

  He took one last look at me with his once again dark, cold, soulless eyes, and rasped, “The Devil happened.”

  And with that, he slammed the door in my face.

  I stepped out onto the dark stage, taking a deep breath like I did before every performance. This show was different, it was personal, it was me.

  The Dance of the Dying Swan is a high point for any ballerina’s career but to me it held a different sentiment. Six years ago, I was supposed to be the white swan, but I never got my chance. This time around, I was both. The black and the white. I was finally in a place in my life where I was dancing…

  For me.

  This moment, I wasn’t yearning to dance for my mother, wanting to make her proud. Make her see there was more light in her life than darkness. None of it mattered anymore.

  This was my closure.

  I was the prima ballerina in Swan Lake at The American Ballet Theatre in New York. People from all over the world paid money to come see me perform. I was twenty-four years old and living my dream.

  What I had worked so hard for had finally come to fulfillment.

  The stage lights came up, and the sad, melodramatic music started. Instantly taking me away to a deep, dark and depressing place. A place I needed to be to pull off this routine.

  The performance of a lifetime was what they called it, and they were right. Not too many ballerinas got this chance, and for that, I was eternally grateful.

  I’d been rehearsing day and night for the last six months, barely stopping to eat or sleep. And even then, I was still going over the routines in my mind. This act was the closing scene. If I did it right, there wouldn’t be a dry eye in the sold-out Metropolitan Opera House. Almost four thousand people would feel the emotions I projected through my movements.

  I started to move, floating across the abundant stage with my back to the audience. My arms like swan wings, gliding up and down as I made my way to center stage. Turning ever so slightly to face the orchestra. Arching my back, my pointe shoes continued their assault on the Marley floor beneath me. The melody of the stringed instruments pulled at my heart, mimicking my own sadness, carrying me effortlessly from step to step.

  Piqué, arabesque into a beautiful bourrée. My torso leaned forward as my arms floated behind my back. Repeating the movements over and over again, each becoming more and more intense as the music heightened. Turning in tight circles, flapping my wings, letting the lights blur before me. The natural movements of my body instinctively taking me away to the only place I had ever felt comfort.

  Music and dance were my peace.

  They made me feel whole.

  I danced like it was my last show, as if my life, my happiness, my world depended on it. Gliding fluently around the stage from one corner to the other. Turning and twisting, leaping through the air as if I had been a swan in captivity all my life.

  Finally, free.

  The routine was over too soon. For the big finish, and the demise of the beautiful swan, I positioned myself into a pirouette turn with a dramatic landing. Easing down to my knee. Sitting back on my heel with my left leg stretched out in front of me. I lowered my upper body to my knee, bringing my wings above my head.

  Slowly falling.

  The music started to fade as my body rolled up one last time before gracefully dying.

  The stage went dark. Everything around me was black. Everything went quiet.

  Silence all over.

  The curtain dropped, separating me from the crowd. I stood up, taking a deep breath, preparing for my grande reverence. Standing in fifth position with my arms in demi-seconde.

  Waiting.

  The curtain lifted. The lights came on. A domino effect erupted from the rows of people, everyone stood. Applauding, whistling, cheering. I looked out at the audience, imagining all the beautiful tear-stained faces almost knocked the wind out of me.

  For the first time in my life.

  I felt at home.

  After a few minutes, I walked forward to center stage, and did a rond de jambe into a curtsey. Placing my hand over my heart, and bowing my head as the curtain came down again. The rest of the performers took the stage behind me. The curtain lifted one last time. The crowd once again went wild, and I loved every second of it. Even though there would be more performances, nothing would ever compare to my first. I didn’t want the night to end.

  We exited the stage, and I was bombarded by the staff of our company and the choreographers. It would be a matter of minutes before the happy patrons would make their way to my dressing room wanting pictures, signatures, everything under the sun, and I happily gave it to them. I was exhausted but I wouldn’t change a thing. My body ached, my feet throbbing in pain. I couldn’t wait to slip my pointe shoes off. I placed all the bouquets of roses on the table, shutting the door behind me, needing some privacy. A moment to myself to breathe.

  I sat down in my director-style chair, and unlaced my shoes. Kicking them off one by one, my toes relished the freedom. Flexing and rolling my stiff ankles. Standing, I slipped off my tutu, and placed it on the counter. Only leaving on my leotard and dance tights to go home in. I gazed in the mirror, getting ready to remove my caked on make-up.

  “Nikolai,” I shrieked, alarmed. Placing my hand over my chest. Looking at the man that appeared in the mirror. “Jesus, you scared the shit out of me.”

  He smiled, pushing off the wall. “Is that anyway for a prima ballerina to talk?” He pecked my lips, handing me another huge bo
uquet of red roses.

  I laughed.

  I had been seeing Nikolai on and off for the last year or so. I didn’t really keep track, too consumed with work in the theatre. Not that it mattered anyway, the relationship wasn’t going anywhere, and we weren’t serious. He was always traveling, something to do with his work or what not. At least that’s what he told me. I wouldn’t see him for weeks, and then out of nowhere he would just show up. Tonight, being the perfect example. He was a gentleman, sweet, attentive, caring. Buying me things I never asked for, taking me into fancy places I wouldn’t step foot in without him.

  He was like my very own Prince Charming.

  “How about we go back to your apartment? And you let me rub your sore muscles.” He kissed along my neck, down to the top of my exposed shoulders. Peering at me through the mirror.

  I smirked. “Oh yeah?”

  We hadn’t done anything more than kiss. He was very patient with me. I still hated to be touched. Kissing was even too much for me, sometimes. The only man I’d ever…

  It didn’t matter.

  I hadn’t seen Martinez since he kicked me out of his office all those years ago. I wish I could tell you I stopped thinking about him. I wish I could tell you I hated him. I wish I could tell you a lot of things. It was like he put a spell on me. Etching himself into my mind, making me think about him more often than not. Especially when I was alone. It was hard not to let my mind wander, but it always wandered to him. When a man had an effect on you like he did on me, you couldn’t help but ask yourself…

  Why?

  Nikolai always respected my boundaries. I knew he wanted more, of course he did, but I wasn’t ready. To be honest, I didn’t know if I ever would be. I thought about going to see a therapist a few times, though just the thought of talking to a complete stranger made me uncomfortable. Maybe it was because I hadn’t met another man like Martinez, another man that set me on fire like he did. Maybe I had daddy issues or abandonment problems… whatever it was, I guess I just didn’t care. I wasn’t looking for answers, because deep down I knew another man like him didn’t exist.

  “Come on, baby doll, let me take you home.” He grabbed my bag and hand before I could answer, leading the way out the door.

  He spent most of the limo ride back to my place, on the phone. Speaking Russian to someone on the other end, completely ignoring me. I didn’t mind though, I just gazed out the tinted window as the lights of Manhattan went by in a blur. Sitting in his limo always reminded me of Martinez. I almost expected to see him if I turned my head.

  Growing up, I didn’t think having a driver or a limo would be as common as it seemed to be. I had never been in a limo until Nikolai came along. I met him at the coffee shop by my apartment. I didn’t have enough cash for my espresso, and he swooped in and paid the barista.

  We’d been talking ever since.

  I continued to watch the city lights pass by, waiting for Nikolai to wrap up his conversation as we were a few blocks from my apartment. It was near NYU, at one of the most expensive and posh buildings in all of Manhattan. I moved in after I accepted the offer to attend Juilliard the fall semester. The school administration never brought up the fact that I was violating the housing policy by living off campus. Which I thought was odd, but I wasn’t about to question it. I’d been living there since. Looking back, I still remember how I panicked, dashing through the city that week, trying to get any strip club to hire me after Martinez pretty much told me to go fuck myself. Not one of them gave me a chance. I started to get paranoid, thinking they knew who I was before I even walked through the door.

  Smiling at the thought.

  I recalled walking out of the last establishment after being rejected again. I sat on the curb of the sidewalk and fell apart, not having a clue what I was going to do. After a few seconds of humiliating myself in public, and enduring awkward stares, I got up, brushed off the back of my legs and started walking toward the nearest ATM machine to pull money out of my account. I needed to take the six o’clock bus back to my foster parents’ house. That morning, they informed me I needed to find my own place since I turned eighteen and I had graduated from high school.

  Meaning they didn’t get assistance from the state any longer to take care of me so they wanted me out. I was no good to them anymore. I shook my head as I typed in my code, checking my balance before making a withdrawal. The balance flashed on the screen, almost knocking me on my ass by what I saw. I swear I was about to pass the fuck out.

  “This can’t be right,” I said to myself, looking at the quarter of a million dollars on the screen. I immediately peered around me, thinking someone was playing a practical joke. “This isn’t mine. There’s got to be some mistake.”

  I canceled the transaction, grabbed my card, and slid it into my back pocket as I made my way inside the bank. I sat, waiting on the white leather sofa for the older lady sitting behind the desk to finish up what she was doing. My legs bounced a mile a minute, anticipating what they were going to tell me.

  “What can I help you with, Miss…”

  “Lexi.”

  She nodded. “Lexi, what can I help you with?”

  “I think… no, I know there’s been some sort of mistake. I went to pull money out of my account, and there’s too much savings in there.”

  “I’m not following.”

  I nervously laughed. “I had like a couple grand in my account yesterday. I just looked, and there’s way more than that.”

  “Hmmm… let’s check it out.” Placing her glasses on her face, she looked down at the paper I filled out to be seen. She began typing a bunch of numbers on her keyboard in front of her. “The money was deposited this morning, dear. Looks like it came from an overseas account.”

  “An overseas account? I don’t know anyone overseas. Listen, there’s got to be some sort of mistake here. I don’t want this karma, I already have a black cloud following me around today, ma’am. I’m sure someone is panicking right now, wondering where the hell their money is.”

  “The account can’t be traced, Lexi. But it’s definitely your money. I have all the proof sitting right here.” She turned the screen so I could see what she was talking about.

  “Oh my God,” I breathed out, realizing she was right.

  She chuckled, “Looks like you have a guardian angel, sweetheart.” I made a withdrawal, thanked her for her help and left.

  I hailed a cab and went straight to my school. I walked into the financial support office and immediately paid off all my tuition. Within the next couple of days I paid off all my loans too. The search for an apartment when you have money is so much more fun and easy. A realtor scheduled a few showings and I found one of the most luxurious, fully furnished apartments that money could buy. The move was a breeze, I only had a suitcase of clothes and a few more things. I hadn’t spoken to my foster parents since the day I left. I could finally breathe, and I didn’t even know who to thank for the fortune. They say money doesn’t buy happiness but it sure as fuck buys comfort.

  “What are you thinking about over there?” Nikolai questioned as he shut my apartment door behind him and leaned up against it.

  “Huh?” I questioned as I placed my keys and phone on the foyer table.

  “You’ve seemed lost in thought all night.” He took off his suit jacket, tossing it over the back of the couch. Pulling off his tie, he strutted over to me with a predatory regard. A look I had never seen from him.

  “Oh,” I whispered, not knowing what else to say.

  He roughly grabbed my chin, angling my face to where he wanted it. “Do you have any idea what you do to me? How much I think about you?”

  I shyly smiled, looking up into his eyes.

  “This skintight leotard, accentuating all your subtle curves.” His other hand pushed aside the flaps of my coat, skimming his fingers up the front of my body.

  My stomach instantly dropped, instead of fluttering. An unsettling feeling coursed throughout my core, but I let him keep
going. Needing to push myself through the discomfort. I just wanted to be normal with a man, who had been nothing but kind to me.

  He released my chin. Walking around me, eyeing my body with the same predatory regard. Only stopping when he was behind me. He pulled off my coat, throwing it beside his on the couch. His lustful eyes peered up and down, tilting his head to get a better view.

  Bringing his lips to my ear, he whispered, “Your body is sinful. That’s all I kept thinking about while I watched you perform tonight, Lexi. It took all of my willpower not to reach into my slacks and stroke my cock right then and there.”

  My eyes widened, my breathing hitched. He never spoke to me this way before. Everything about him in this moment was so foreign to me. It was like I was with another man, not the same one I’d spent time with this last year.

  “I couldn’t take my eyes off you. No one could. My dick is hard right now just looking at you.”

  “Nikolai, I—”

  “Shhh… let me take care of you,” he murmured against my lips. Easing me down onto the couch, readily laying his muscular body on top of mine. Kissing me.

  At first it was soft, like he was testing my boundaries, taking my slightly parted lips as an open invitation to slowly slip his tongue into my mouth. He tasted of scotch and something else I couldn’t quite put my finger on. I was so confused and overwhelmed all at once, but I didn’t tell him to stop. He deepened our kiss, tightly gripping the back of my neck. Tangling his tongue with mine in an urgency I’d never experienced before. Showing me he’d been waiting for this moment for a long time.

  When he parted my legs with his, placing his hard cock right on top of my heat. I shuddered. His hand skimmed down from my neck to the side of my breast, leaving a trail of disgust in its wake. He groaned, loud and hard from deep within his chest, taking my trembling for something that it wasn’t. I shut my eyes tight, desperately trying to block out the memories of my stepdad.

  His touch.

  His scent.

  His sounds.

  I placed my hands on his chest, but again didn’t stop him. Thinking that maybe if I felt him, I would realize it wasn’t my stepdad, I was with him. The man I was supposed to be interested in, the one I should want to do these things with. Intimacy had always been hard for me. It was why I never dated.