Angelo Giovanni had several obsessions, one of which was a petite, dark-haired nymph of a woman named Ariel LaRusso. A Ballerina with a talent for acrobatics. He couldn't get enough of her; she was the most addictive drug his tongue had ever tasted...
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*One year and some months later*
The walk from the entrance of the club to the third floor office seemed longer than usual. I thought of the day, two weeks prior, when I climbed up these stairs in high heels with a troublesome flutter in my belly and a sweet ache between my legs. And my medicine on the other side of the door. And then more days and weeks before that, I ran up here with enthusiasm, desire and lust pouring out of my pores. But tonight I felt severely lethargic.
I don't know if it was because of the condition of my health right now or just the paranoia that has gripped me. It could be both. As a girl I've always hated confrontation. I was alright with things going the way that they were. And perhaps that is the reason why I found myself in this situation after one single rebellion when I was sixteen. Which is why I have been hiding in my little apartment for the last two weeks.
The door was not locked. As always. At this time of the evening, it's never locked. And so, as I opened the wooden door to the main office, I came face to face with the nightmare that would follow me for the rest of the story.
He sat on the large chair behind an equally large desk, exaggerated with wooden carvings adding more to the authentic native aesthetic of the office. Warm lights illuminated the space of the office room, the windows closed enhancing the silence of the room. He saw me the moment I entered soundlessly.
He took off his reading glasses and boxed them. Half a smile plastered to his beautiful mouth as he moved his fingers in a come hither motion. But my legs were frozen and my body became rigid.
"Angelo." I meant to speak clearly but my voice was lost somewhere in me. It barely came out in a whisper as I braced myself for the revelation that would maybe change everything for better or worse. Worse. I reassured myself with whatever courage I had left. Worse.
Men like him with women like me. That was an idea worth a good laugh or two. Men like him had models in their arms. Actresses. Trophies and I was- a dancer.
"What is it, tadpole?" He still had a smile as he got from the chair and walked to me in long strides. As gracefully as a tiger getting ready to pounce on its prey. "Had a tough couple of days?" He asked. Harsh, calloused hands moved up and down my covered arms, lathering my body in goose pimples. I shivered despite the warm enclosure of the office.
I informed the club about some made up medical emergencies. For which they cleared me out for the two week time I needed but this couldn't wait much longer. I had to tell him. He needs to know. Even if he doesn't want to do anything with it, he needs to know.
"I have to talk to you about something -'' I spoke with a little lump on my throat that has been permanently fixed since this afternoon. I didn't know any gentle way to break it to him. I didn't know any way to voice the news I should.
