The Dancer

7. The Frustration

Deadlines were closing in for practice. Sara worked hard day and night at the studio, dancing away her worries.

Malcolm's friend from the police department looked into the letter and ordered a patrol car to be placed outside Sara's dorm. Malcolm's worries became less and less present as there were no appearances by the stranger that sent Sara the letter. Even though the criminal was becoming less of a problem and more like a memory, Malcolm refused to let Sara back to her dorm since her roommate was constantly staying with her aunt.

Over the several days that past, Sara put herself into her dancing while Malcolm worked hard on his cases. After Sara was done with classes she would go to Malcolm's office and work on scholarship essays and read over the material for West Side Story.
Over time, however, Sara became more and more awkward with Malcolm's presence. Her dream had left her confused and ashamed. She acknowledged Malcolm's handsomeness and the appeal of his character, however, she was constantly reminded that this man was her father's friend and more than twice her age. Nevertheless, Sara caught glances at Malcolm at his desk as she sat on his office couch. She would constantly admire his chiseled features and tall muscular build but she would never stare long enough for him to notice.

Malcolm, on the other hand, was becoming a ticking time bomb. His appendage had been saluting his dreams every morning since his first dream of Sara. The dreams were growing longer, more vivid, and very explicit. He had pictured her naked several times, laying on his bed, legs spread open, ready for him to do as he pleased.

There were several mornings in which Malcolm had to take the cold shower but he absolutely refused to think of Sara, however, this led to several unsatisfied failed attempts.
He was growing hungry, for anything with breasts, two legs and a sweet vision in-between. He felt like a monster that was trapped in a cage and a sweet innocent girl was outside it, taunting him.

Sara had just finished practicing her routine at the studio but something in her did not want to go to Malcolm's office. While walking down the city street, she approached a crosswalk and waited patiently with all the other pedestrians. She pulled out her phone from her jacket pocket and texted Malcolm.

I need to grab some things at my dorm. I might stay there for the night. Don't wait up.

Malcolm was sitting at his desk, his head burning with dissatisfaction. He felt sick to his stomach almost, desperately needing something. His phone buzzed and he groaned. The text was clear but he didn't accept it, he felt a sense of frustration arise within him suddenly. He texted back sternly, grinding his molars.

Don't. I'll have Lucien pick you up in a half hour and bring you home. Just because a patrol car is there doesn't mean it's safe.

Her phone buzzed in her hand and when she read the text she ignored the order and rolled her eyes. She went to the dorm, getting her mail first then she went up to her room.

She grabbed a few more clothes, shoving them in a small bag then moving to her bathroom. She shoved a few extra girl things into a small makeup bag then tossed that into the other bag. Once done, she laid on her bed with a sigh.

She liked the idea of being in control. Her eyes closed and she relaxed into the comforter. Her muscles relaxing and her breaths became easy. She was in a zen state. Sadly, after several minutes, this zen state was taken away by a knock at the door. She stood up and opened the door, expecting to see the tall, dark-skinned, bald, very muscular, suit-wearing security agent who went by the name Lucien. She had met the man twice and she would never forget him, he was terrifying. When she opened the door a tall, thin, white man stood before her, he wore a suit, his blonde hair combed back, a scar was visible under his right eye. He gave a quick smile.