Victor
Many claimed that I created perfection, but those people were fools too blinded by beauty to ever identify the flaws. So long as the diamond sparkled beneath the naked eye then who were they to question the microscopic inclusions that clouded its perfection?
I stood in the doorway to studio 7 as I considered the differences between presumed flawlessness and true perfection. The dark haired young woman who had stopped to watch us the night before - Sophia Hawkins, I'd learned her name was - was completely absorbed in her own world, focused on the flow of music as it shifted around her.
I watched silently, assessing her skill and technique as she performed the choreography that I knew belonged to Madam Olliphant.
Olliphant had a reputation as a difficult instructor for those at an amatuer level. Many of her weaker willed students requested to change to more amenable teachers. However, those who stayed the course often ended up in the ballet corps much sooner than those who shied away from the challenge.
This young woman, her shorthairs tangled in sweat and her chest heaving as she darted across the room in perfect tempo with the music, didn't seem the type to give up easily. I liked that about her. It fell in line with what little else I knew about her.
I'd seen her watching us the night before, her eyes glued to my hands as I balanced the Cartwright girl as she allowed her en pointe to falter once again.
It had taken me a moment to remember where I'd seen our dark haired observer before. I had stared her down, taking in the soft black curls and porcelain skin made flush along the apple of her cheeks. She had stood in fifth position and seemed completely unaware of it despite how unnatural the criss cross of her feet would be to anyone unfamiliar with the rigors of dance.
Her eyes were wide, her mouth open in a small O of surprise, like she hadn't expected to be caught watching. Then, between one heartbeat and the next, she'd turned to leave. Watching her as she walked away, I'd recalled the lithe form of the young woman playing Odile in the amateur performance last spring.
The Odette of the night had paid me to come to the show and critique her performance. A waste of money, considering the way she stumbled around the stage like a newborn calf.
Yet, it was the dancer playing Odile - an understudy called in at the last minute no less - who had caught my attention. The dark haired woman moved with a kind of grace that few dancers could lay claim to.
Not that her performance had been flawless by any means, but there was clear effort there. Devotion to the role, and to the art.
A quick review of the studio reservation logs this morning had told me all I needed to know about her. Her name was Sophia Hawkins, and she ate, drank, and breathed ballet. She arrived to the studio at four o'clock every morning, and finding her here alone after 8pm was not out of the ordinary.
That kind of devotion was admirable.
Desirable.
In a student, that was.
The music came to a stop, and so did she. Breathing hard, she stared critically in the mirror, examining her stance and maintaining it long past when the curtains would have fallen if this were a true performance. She didn't falter for a second, but she did push her toes into a sharper point, flexing her calves and gaining another half inch of height in the process.
Perfection was so rare, but the young woman in front of me had something much better.
She had potential.
I clapped, three sharp smacks echoing off the walls. She jumped, whirling around to find me standing there. Her expression, which had been filled with fury at being interrupted and startled, quickly morphed into a look of shock and awe once more. Like she'd come face to face with royalty rather than a foul tempered man with unattainable expectations.
I forced myself to look away from her, ignoring the perfect circle of her lips.
"Monsieur Cantrell," she whispered with the kind of reverence that sent pleasant shivers down my spine and caused satisfaction to tug at the corners of my lips. "How can I help you?"
"I think you'll find that I am the one who may be able to help you," I replied, stepping into the room and closing the door behind me. It did nothing to block the view as each studio door was made of glass, but it gave us a semblance of privacy and that was all I needed - for now. Reaching into my bag, I pulled out a bottle of water and handed it to her. A peace offering. A first step towards something more. Something incredible. "I've had my eye on you for a while now, Ms. Hawkins, and I'd like to extend an invitation. I'm testing out a rigorous new training regiment and I'd like you to be the first to experience it."
"Oh," she said, taking a step back rather than taking the offered water. The blue of her eyes shined brightly beneath the studio lights, impossibly huge. "That's very flattering, and I'd be more than happy to accept but I don't know that I can afford something like that right now. Maybe once I've actually gotten into the corps I could save-"
"Breath, little gem," I said, cutting off her frantic rambling. I offered the bottle of water again and this time she took it, spinning the cap off to take a sip as she pulled herself together. Her cheeks were flushed with exertion from practice still, and it nearly detracted my attention from the set of her shoulders.
Slouched, uneven.
No one was truly perfect, of course. There was always room to grow, and I had the feeling that this particular young woman was more than willing to reach for the kind of perfection I knew she could achieve. All I had to do was convince her to say yes.
"I really do appreciate the offer," she said. Her voice was wistful and resigned. "How much would it cost?"
I shook my head, wondering just how far she would be willing to go to pay for an opportunity like this. I imagined her dropping to her knees, staring up at me with those wide blue eyes and perfect red lips. Offering to pay some other way for the honor of studying under my wing.
"The price is steep, I assure you, but not outside your grasp," I said, watching avidly as she took another sip of water. Enjoying the way her throat flexed as she swallowed. "And you seem like the kind of person dedicated enough to pay the toll. Tell me, Sophia, how much would you give up to become the best dancer in the world if you could?"
"Anything," she replied in a heartbeat, no hesitation. "I'd give everything if I had to."
"And you will," I promised her with a vicious smile. This was the one I'd been waiting for. This was the woman I would push to the absolute limit, and beyond that if necessary. If she had what it took I would craft her into a model of perfection the likes of which the world had never seen.
"Not that I have anything of value to give," she said, and she looked distraught. The sadness in her eyes only made her more attractive in mine.
"I think you have plenty left to offer," I assured her, noting the way she still stood in first position while we spoke. Completely at ease to remain that way for hours. Maybe even days. "Potential like yours should not go to waste. Let's see something from your repertoire, something you're proud of, and if I like it I'll consider offering you a full ride scholarship."
She froze, her eyes wide as she seemed to process both the opportunity and her entire repertoire in a short moment. Then she lifted the water a third time, and I grinned, thrilled at the determination I could see in her eyes.
Capping the water bottle and setting it down, she whirled around and scrolled through the music on her phone. Settling on a song, she moved to the center and stood in first position.
I grinned as I recognized the music as the Black Swan Solo.
My eyes were drawn to her feet as she moved, concerned that she wasn't wearing the correct shoes for this dance. There was a lot of en pointe work in the Black Swan's dance, and without pointe shoes she could seriously injure herself trying to impress me.
She must have had some preservation instinct though, because she modified the moves to demi-pointes and only moved to full pointe for a few brief moments.
Still, if she wasn't already guaranteed a spot in this exclusive training program, the decision to perform this dance without the correct shoes would have forced me to disqualify her.
As it was, I sat back and watched as she twirled about, allowing myself to enjoy the performance for what it was. Flawed and passionate. Nowhere near perfect. Not yet. Not without my help.
As the song came to an end, I clapped slowly and mentally compared this version of the dance to the one I'd seen her perform on stage. She'd worn pointe shoes then, and that had improved the technical aspects of the dance. Yet it was clear to me that she had practiced the choreography incessantly since the last time I'd seen it because she hadn't missed a single step.
Grinning, she returned to the side of the room and picked up the water bottle for another drink, but it did not reach her mouth. Instead, her hands shook and she stumbled a little as she turned back to me.. She looked like she was struggling not to drop it, like her arms had suddenly grown weak from overuse. She frowned down at her uncooperative limbs, perturbed and still so unsuspecting.
So innocent.
I reached out towards her as she stumbled, her perfect posture faltering for the first time. I could forgive her for that. She was going through quite a bit at the moment and there was still more yet to come.
"Sophia?" I asked, feigning concern even as I wrapped one protective arm around her and drew her in close.
"I don't feel good," she told me, her expression pinched in concentration, clearly trying to stop the world from spinning around her.
"Have you eaten today?" I asked, tightening my arms around her waist. She paused to actually think about it, which seemed like more effort than it should have been, before nodding her head.
"Had breakfast," she told me. I could feel the heat of her body splayed out along my right side and it took everything in me to keep from caressing her the way she so clearly deserved. Like a prized possession in need of polishing.
"Nothing since then?" I confirmed, hoping to keep her semi-conscious as I scooped up her belongings and began to guide her out of the room. She shook her head and I chided her as we walked down the hall. "Nutrition is an important part of the craft, Sophia."
"Food's expensive," she muttered, scowling down at her feet. They were uncoordinated, hardly following her lead as she tried to stumble off towards the changing rooms. I tutted and tightened my grip on her waist.
"Have you taken any drugs?" I asked her. It wasn't uncommon for dancers to use drugs as both performance enhancements and as a way to relax.
"Nuh," she replied, shaking her head and then groaning at the way it made her feel. "Nothin' today."
Well, that wasn't necessarily true, but she had no way of knowing that. And anything she took the day before should be out of her system, so the GHB in the water I'd given her wouldn't have anything to react to.
It had been a risk to give it to her without knowing for sure, but it was a risk I had to take.
"This way, my treasure," I told her. "You don't look so good. I think you should eat something before you pass out."
"Need to-" she started to say, but whatever she felt she needed was lost in the slur of her words. She leaned further into me, succumbing to my directions as I led both of us out of the studio and off towards the black SUV that I'd left idling on the street.
"Don't worry, little gem," I whispered as I tucked her away in the back seat and buckled her in. Her head lolled to the side, her blue eyes dull and void of intelligence as she watched me arrange her limbs. "I'll take care of you. I'll take care of everything. Do exactly what you're told and I'll make all of your dreams come true."
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Author's Note:
Oh no, our heroine has been drugged and abducted!
What do we think will happen to her next?
High Point is the quarterly dark romance project that updates twice a week and will last for 12 weeks as we follow Sophia and Victor in a dizzying dance of lust and obsession, obedience and endurance.
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