EroticReverie

Anastasia Adwell …..three months later ….

There were plenty of reasons I never told anyone what happened to me in the ballet studio that day.  The first being, that when I’d left that day, I’d asked MaryAnne in the lobby the name of the janitor. When I’d described him, she only looked at me puzzled and then explained that the studio only had female janitorial staff on the payroll currently.  So he didn’t work there. But how was he constantly just roaming the halls all the time? You had to be buzzed into the studio by MaryAnn. When I’d asked her if she let a man in fitting my description she’d just cocked her head and then shook it. 

“No dear, I haven’t. Are you feeling alright?” She’d asked. I left the studio with a nod. Looking over my shoulder that day , and everyday after for quite awhile. No sign of my rapist. No sign of the utter fucking psychopath that took my virginity in the showers. 

I didn’t tell anyone because I knew how I’d look. I’d look crazy. Nobody would believe me. I knew how it went when girls reported things like that. It would somehow be my fault. I’d go through the humiliation of others knowing what happened to me , and some of them not even believing me. Not even caring. 

The second reason I didn’t tell, was because I was afraid my parents would pull my from the studio. I’d worked too hard to let some crazy person disrupt my path I’d been working on for years. 

Months had gone by without the man showing his face again. Good , I thought. Fucking bastard. 

Then , on the night of a show put on by the studio, three months to the day of his attack. A little girl came up to me after the show with a large bouquet  and handed the flowers up towards me. 

“Are these for me?” I blinked with surprise and a smile. It wasn’t uncommon for younger girls with aspirations to become a ballerina to admire or give flowers and roses to their favorite ballerina in the show. 

“Yeah.” She said plainly and I cocked my head , because she wasn’t acting like she was an admirer or even remotely interested in me or the ballet. 

“Are they from you?” I asked in confusion. 

She shook her head and I screwed my lips to the side. 

“Who are they from?” I ask. 

She rolls her eyes and shrugs. 

“It’s probably on the card.” She says and I nod. Right. The card. I turn slightly and take the small envelope tucked inside and pull the little card out , still with a small smile on my face, a little bit of excitement coursing through me to figure out the mystery flowers. 

I suck in a breath and the first two words…..

“Little Ballerina,…”

I drop the flowers as I read the few sentences scrawled on the card. 

“You twirled beautifully for me tonight. You look as beautiful on stage as you did in the shower when I made love to you. I’ll be watching you, don’t forget that you’re mine Anastasia. You’ll see me soon , Little Ballerina”

I spin around , mouth open and poised to ask the young girl where the hell the man was that gave her these flowers. But she was gone. My eyes searching the empty hall. 

“Anastasia?” A male voice calls from behind me now and I spin , angry and ready to strike. But it’s not him. It’s a tall thin , well dressed man who is clearly taken aback my by aggressive facial features. I school my face to neutrality before forcing a smile. Trying not to shake. 

“Y-yes? I’m Anastasia” I say and he smiles and reaches out a hand. 

“I’m Miles. From the Joffrey Ballet School.” He says and I blink. Oh god. I didn’t even recognize him. 

“Oh. Oh!” I say and I cross my leg in front of the other and dip my head. I fucking bow. What the hell? He laughs as I stand back upright and he bends over and picks up the flowers. 

“These are yours?” He asks. 

“Oh.” I say. No. I don’t want those fucking flowers. “Yes, thank you” I say and politely take them and he smiles. 

“Parents , boyfriend or fan?” He asks and I blink.  

“I’m..I’m sorry , what?” I ask. Because I’m rattled. That fucking note. These flowers. That sick fucking bastard. 

“The flowers, are they from a boyfriend?” He asks eyeing them and I blink several times. I shake my head. 

“No …they’re, ah…just a fan I suppose” I say and he smiles. 

“I’d like to invite you to dinner to discuss an opportunity with the Joffrey Ballet School , are you interested?” He asks and my eyes go wide. 

“Yes. Definitely.” I nod several times and he smiles. 

“I’m only here for tonight. Can you manage to fit me in tonight?” He asks 

“Yes, yes of course. Of course” I repeat myself like an idiot. 

“Wonderful. I’ll pick you up at seven.” He says and I blink. 

“Okay.” I say and he smiles. 

“It’s a date.” He smirks slightly and I nod. Date? Okay, whatever. He couldn’t possibly be flirting he’s nearly forty years old so I just smile and nod again. 

“I look forward to it” I say and he smiles. 

“As do I , Anastasia.” He says with a nod and then tips his head. 

I stand there. Only briefly forgetting the note and flowers and the crazy fucker who sent them. Until I look down and scowl at the flowers and march over to the trash and throw them in right along with his fucking card. 

“Bastard” I mutter and then go backstage. 

—————-

Hours later…..

I’m laying in bed and In two weeks I’ll be laying in a bed in an apartment in New York City.  Working under Miles , as a student in at the Joffrey Ballet School. My early admission application had been denied months ago. Apparently there was a mishap, and he’d flown out to directly apologize and offer me a spot. 

I can’t stop the giddy racing feeling in my chest. I can’t stop the smile on my face. My happiness is muddied by the reminder of the flowers and the note from the psychopath. But I didn’t care. In two weeks. I’d be gone. He couldn’t creep on me then. I’d be gone to NYC. 

I’m unable to sleep due to the excitement of all my hard work paying off. But eventually I’m able to roll over and will myself to sleep. 

——

My eyes fly open in the dark , and I feel a breeze, and I shoot up in bed. Looking around in the dark. My heart pounding when I see my balcony curtain fluttering in the breeze, the door slightly ajar. 

I swallow and reach a shaky hand to my night stand. Fumbling for the light and finally turning it on. The room lighting up and my head and eyes darting around the room. I look everywhere and then, I look down at the carpet and nearly scream and clap a hand over my mouth. Footprints. Foot prints that walk right to my fucking bed and back to the door. Tears fill my eyes and I shake. 

He’s fucking out there. He was IN here. How? How did he even get in ? We have security, state of the fucking art. It’s a gated community with guards. He couldn’t even get in the neighborhood , let alone my house!

I’m frozen in shock for several minutes , holding my breath in , listening for the sound of  movement. But the only sound is the curtain flapping lightly. I tremble. Willing myself to get up out of bed.  I walk slowly over to the window. Praying. Hoping he’s gone. That he’s not going to jump out from behind the curtain or from the shadow of my balcony. 

When I reach the door. I throw it shut and then slap the lock closed and the light on by the wall that lights up my private balcony. My head pivots and I look from side to side. Panting. My heart racing as my fingers shake against the glass. When I throw the curtains shut. I look around my room again , I walk to my walk in closet. Throwing on the light, and looking around then turning again and going to the bathroom. 

I let out a scream as I turn on the light. 

On the counter of my sink. Is a crystal vase. With flowers. Not just any flowers. But the ones I’d thrown in the trash earlier tonight. Along with the crumpled little note from earlier. Along with a new one. 

I shake my head and drop to the floor with fear and curl up in a ball , much like the ball he’d left me in, inside those showers after raping me. 

“This isn’t happening , it can’t be happening”

I cry , peeking up at the counter. Hoping the flowers are gone and this is a nightmare. But they’re still there and I cry harder. 

After several minutes I stand on shaky legs. Still breathing too hard and my hands tremble as I pluck the new envelope from the flowers. 

I take it out , and I read the note. 

“Little Ballerina, are you trying to make me jealous? Don’t forget , that you are mine. You belong to me. If I see you with him again , I won’t be happy. 

Did you not like the flowers? I’ll buy you better ones next time. Sleep well Little Ballerina, you’re so beautiful when you sleep.”

My skin crawls and I rip up the card right along with the other. Throwing them in the toilet. I bury the flowers in the trash and stand in my bathroom shaking. 

I can’t tell anyone. I can’t tell my parents. They’ll think I’m crazy. Or they’ll believe me and not let me out of their sight. They’ll take back their agreement of letting me go to New York. Jealous? Was I trying to make him jealous?! This man was fucking insane. 

Two weeks. Two weeks was all I had to get through. Then I’d be across the fucking continent. From California to New York City, and I wouldn’t see him or get fucking flowers ever again. 

I don’t sleep at all the rest of the night.