Pretty Little Lies, page 8
“Well, yeah,” Whitney says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
But if that’s the case, that means my scholarship rides on their generosity. Anxiety pools in the pit of my stomach as something else hits me. Whitney says the Marchetti's come to watch the autumn showcase every year. With the history I have with Nicolo and his apparent new enjoyment of torturing me daily, I can’t possibly see how that’s going to work in my favor. If he sees me dance ballet, could he possibly realize who I am finally? And even if my performance doesn’t spark his memory, could I lose my scholarship if I perform poorly in front of his family? In an instant, I’m struck by the reality that I have just as much at stake in making this performance unbeatable as every other dancer–if not more so.
“You alright there, Anya?” Whitney asks as I freeze in my tracks. “You look a bit pale.”
“No, I’m–I’m fine,” I gasp, picking up my pace once more.
“Are you worried about the Marchetti's being there because Nicolo clearly hates your guts?” Whitney asks, her tone teasing.
I bite my lip as I glance nervously her way.
“Oh my gosh, I was kidding!” she says, giving my arm a squeeze. “I’m sure he wouldn’t be so big of an ass as to screw with your performance or anything in front of his family.”
My eyes widen in horror at the thought. I hadn’t even considered that he might sabotage me. Hell, if he messed with my performance, could I end up losing my scholarship entirely?
“Now I’m just giving you ideas, aren’t I? Listen, Anya, I’m sure it’ll be fine. After seeing you today, you have nothing to worry about. Your autumn showcase is going to go off without a hitch, and everyone will love you just as much as Professor Moriari.”
I nod silently as we reach my classroom door, my brain on too much of a downward spiral to think clearly. While my heart still pounds uncomfortably hard in my chest, I know that Whitney only means well, so I try to let her off the hook. But I can’t help feeling twice as nervous about the autumn showcase knowing Nicolo might be there.
“I’ll see you in music theory?” Whitney asks, her eyes watching me with concern.
“Yes, I’ll see you in music theory,” I agree, giving her my most reassuring smile.
I like how close Whitney and I have grown since the start of school. She’s probably my closest friend, and I fully appreciate her for her endless wealth of knowledge. Still, I can’t help the way my gut twists at this most recent big reveal. Taking a deep breath, I try to steel my nerves. No matter what obstacles come my way, I can overcome them. And I’ll be damned if I let Nicolo Marchetti get in my way.
10
ANYA
As the weeks roll by, my body and mind have started to grow accustomed to the rigorous program at Rosehill College. And while it’s taken more effort to find my way with Nicolo’s incessant bullying, I’ve learned that generally, refusing to engage in his cruelty helps end it more quickly. Thank God I only have one class with him and have learned how to avoid him otherwise.
Hoisting my bookbag higher on my shoulder, I make my way to my history class with the familiar sense of dread that comes with the anticipation of whatever new hell Nicolo will have in store for me today.
He’s leaning against the wall outside our class as I approach, looking for all intents and purposes like a king among men as he lounges nonchalantly. It reminds me of the way he sprawled on the club couch weeks ago now, the physical embodiment of the message that he owns everyone and everything in this town. His friends, Dom and Jay, I believe, stand with him, the blond one talking animatedly and bringing a smile to Nicolo’s face.
As if sensing my approach, Nicolo glances sideways at me, and as soon as he registers my face, he shoves off from the wall to intercept me before I can enter the classroom.
“Well, if it isn’t Miss Trailer Trash,” Nicolo says, cutting off Jay’s story as he walks toward me. “Nice outfit, New Girl. Where’d you get this one from, a TJ Maxx clearance sale?”
Nicolo’s friends follow, flanking him as they sneer down at me, the three tall frames imposing.
I can’t help myself as I glance down at my flowing, light, slightly transparent, plaid shirt that I’ve cinched at the waist, my plain white leotard beneath it, and my simple pair of black leggings. Not the fanciest outfit, but it’s definitely not out of fashion or disrepair. Keeping my mouth shut, I shift to pass Nicolo in the space between him and the wall. But apparently, Nicolo’s not willing to let me off that easily today. Slapping the wall with his palm, he bars me from passing.
“What are you even doing at my school anyway, Anya?” he asks scathingly. “It’s obvious you can’t afford to go here. So who’s paying for your education? The crusty old men you dance for at a strip club?”
Anger flares in me, and my eyes snap up to Nicolo’s proud, mocking gaze. I know I shouldn’t talk back, but I can’t help myself. “I earned my position here,” I state proudly. “I got a full-ride scholarship for ballet.” I don’t go so far as to rub it in his face that having a dance scholarship means it’s really his family providing my funding. I know if I push it that far in front of his friends, I’ll regret it. I already regret rising to his bait at all.
Nicolo leans closer, trapping me against the wall with his arms as his lips curl in disgust. “Well, that explains why you’re so anorexic,” he sneers. “Aren’t you bunheads supposed to starve yourselves or something?”
I press my lips closed, knowing that arguing with him won’t help me. Even so, the way he cages me with his strong arms, pinning me in place without quite touching me, reminds me of how he flirted with me back in high school. His face is a mere foot from mine, and the smell of his cologne makes my heart race.
“That’s why the new girl has no curves,” Nicolo explains to his friends, glancing back over his shoulder at them. “I don’t think she even needs a training bra for her nonexistent breasts. Do you? I mean, can you even find your breasts?” he asks me. “I can’t from just looking for them, but here, let me help.”
Nicolo takes his hands down from the wall to grope my chest, gripping my breasts and squeezing them firmly in his palms. While my breasts might not look impressive in my athletic bra, I still do, in fact, have a modest B-cup size, and his rough handling makes my nipples harden as he grips me painfully hard.
“Oh, would you look at that? I found a couple mosquito bites after all,” Nicolo mocks as he continues to cop a feel, his thumbs finding my hardening nubs and giving them a good pinch.
Hot embarrassment makes my cheeks burn, and I shove Nicolo roughly away. “You are such a fucking asshole,” I say before spinning and rushing back down the hall in the direction I came.
Nicolo’s laughter joins his friends, chasing my retreat as they revel in their mockery. Hot tears of shame pool in my eyes as I race toward the bathroom, determined not to let them see me cry. Bursting into the restroom, I find an empty stall and close myself in before I sit, burying my face in my hands.
I can’t believe Nicolo went so far as to grope me, touching me so intimately right there in the middle of the school hallway. I’m mortified and embarrassed at how self-conscious he can make me feel about my body. But worse than that is the horrible fact that having his hands all over me actually turned me on. I chastise my rebellious body for its reaction, the way my core tightened from Nicolo’s unwanted attention, the way my pulse pounded through my veins. Despite the humiliation of it all, I liked the way he touched me.
Once again, I’m brought to my night with Nicolo back in high school, the way he massaged my bare breasts as he teased my nipples. My clit throbs at the memory of his lips encasing one hard peak and rolling it with his tongue. He’d been so tender with me then, murmuring about how beautiful I was–like a goddess who he was prepared to properly worship.
I swallow hard as I recall the deeper connection I’d thought we had found. In my naivete, I’d pictured countless nights together where we both might enjoy each other’s bodies. But that connection had turned out to be a complete lie. He’d only ever said those things so he could fuck me. And now, it seems I’m not even worth the pretense. He can just take advantage of me right there in front of everybody. And no one did anything but laugh because Nicolo is a Marchetti, and he all but owns this fucking college, if not Chicago.
The sensation of his body heat surrounding me as he trapped me rises unbidden to my mind, the way his warm breath tickled my neck when he leaned in to insult me. I can feel the flood of arousal between my thighs as a deep throbbing pulses through me, making me feel sensitive and aching. Needing something I don’t totally understand. I don’t understand how I can still feel so intensely attracted to Nicolo when I know just how big of an asshole he is. But I can’t help the sudden need for release coursing through me.
Holding my breath, I listen for anyone else in the restroom, but I seem to be alone, so I slip my hand beneath the waistband of my leggings. A shiver of arousal runs up my spine as I start to touch myself and realize my panties are absolutely soaking. Biting my lip, I fight back my confusion and shame at knowing something so embarrassing could turn me on like this. But I haven’t slept with anyone since Nicolo in high school. I’ve been too focused on school and Clara to waste time being interested in anybody. That must be why I’m so aroused by someone–anyone–touching me. I have years of pent-up sexuality to account for, and my body finally found an outlet.
I stroke my fingers between my slick folds, stoking my excitement as I circle my clit. The image of Nicolo’s hazel eyes appears before my mind’s eyes and my pussy throbs. Despite my hatred of Nicolo, I can’t seem to get our night together out of my mind, and the memory of it turns me on even more.
I try to focus on something less masochistic, formulating the image of a random sexy celebrity in my mind’s eye, imagining him pulling me close to kiss me. Biting my lip to keep silent, I start to finger myself, searching for some relief after being groped so publicly. My clit swells, pulsing with rising arousal as I play with myself, amazed at how wet I am without any foreplay. I can feel my thighs tightening, my orgasm far too close for the source of my arousal.
But my image of some stranger is weak, and my mind fills it in with the details of Nicolo’s proud face, his strong, stubbled jaw, and his dark curly hair. My skin tingles with his phantom touch, reminding me of how his fingers explored my body.
In the dark bedroom of his family home at the high school party, he’d fingered me as he kissed me, and I mirror that same tantalizing touch that left me quivering. I can still remember the sensation of his hips spreading my legs as his soft naked flesh pressed against mine. That moment before he entered me, when his cockhead aligned with my entrance, had sent my heart racing.
The first thrust had been painful, making me cry out as my body tensed against the sharp, overwhelming sensation of his cock filling me so completely, but as he started to ease in and out of me, new excitement had taken over. He’d made me come twice as he fucked me, his lips and teeth caressing and biting all the most sensitive parts of my neck and face as he moved inside me.
I feel my body creeping toward release, and I finger myself more adamantly. Heart thrumming in my chest, I breathe more forcefully. Unable to stop the images of Nicolo’s perfect body on top of me as he pounded into my pussy, I give in to the lust driving me. A flood of sensations from that night consumes me–the salty tang of his sweat, the velvety softness of his chest brushing against my nipples with every thrust. The way he moaned as he got close to his own release.
The memory of him jerking forcefully from my pussy to shoot cum all over my breasts and face launches me into ecstasy. As I reach the pinnacle of my excitement, the ghost of Nicolo’s cologne fills my mind, the sound of his voice as he leaned in to whisper in my ear. My body seems completely devoid of shame as I topple over the edge, orgasming to the memory of Nicolo saying my name.
I shiver from the relief that washes through me even as tears spring to my eyes. What is wrong with me that I can orgasm to the memory of my night with Nicolo Marchetti? I hate that I thought of him before coming. I hate that the degrading way he just treated me turned me on. It’s humiliating to think my aggressor, the bully who’s been treating me like shit for weeks, could excite me into touching myself in the middle of school.
Withdrawing my hand from my pussy, I straighten my outfit and go to the sink to wash my hands. In the mirror, I find a faint pink glow staining my cheeks, reminding me of how I just fingered myself to the thought of Nicolo fucking me.
Burning shame roils in my belly as I make my way back to class and find an empty seat just as the lecture begins. Intensely aware of the snickers coming from the chairs behind me, where Nicolo and his friends sit, I try to keep my gaze locked toward the front of the class. Even so, a hot blush creeps up the back of my neck, and I sincerely hope my shameful arousal isn’t obvious to anyone but me.
11
ANYA
Shaking out my arms, I pace nervously backstage. I can’t believe how quickly the first month of school has flown by, and I’m not ready for this moment. It’s come far too soon. This is it, the autumn showcase, my moment to shine or bring my performance down in a burning ball of flames. And since Whitney told me that the Marchetti's fund this showcase and are most likely in the audience today, my anxiety has only increased. My entire scholarship might be riding on this performance. If I can’t deliver, that might be the end to my dream of becoming a ballerina. If Nicolo happens to be watching, I imagine he will take every opportunity to trash-talk me to his family. So I have no room for mistakes.
“We’re going to be great,” Fin says for what must be the tenth time since we arrived. He dips into another stretch, ensuring he’s as limber as can be.
But I can feel the tension roiling off of him. He’s just as nervous as I am, though for a different reason. It’s his senior year. This is his last opportunity to catch the scouts’ attention right from the starting gates. And if he can’t do it now, they might not give him a second chance at the next showcase.
“We’re going to do great,” I echo, taking a deep breath and inhaling the scent of cold cement and dust that clings to the velvet curtains and overwhelms the area behind the stage. I do my best to ignore the panic in the air, the cold, imposing vastness of the theater’s stage. Sliding into the splits, I lie forward onto my leading leg, reminding my hips to relax and release the tension there. I stretch both sides equally, then rise once more to reach over my head, extending my lats. With every motion, I draw in a deep breath and slowly release it, trying to expel my anxiety.
Through the split in the curtain, Paige’s bleach-blonde hair catches my eye as she twirls in place. Clasping my fingers behind my back and extending my locked palms upward, I stretch my chest as I step forward to peek between the velvet drapes to watch Paige and her partner on stage.
They chose a classic piece from Coppelia and are moving gracefully across the floor. It’s nice to see them working well together. From Paige’s report, she’s been struggling to get her partner to cooperate about how many hours they train. I feel lucky once more that Professor Moriari happened to pair me with Fin. When it comes to determination, he and I are quite good at matching each other.
I can see the slight disconnect between Paige and her partner, spots where she extends too quickly, and he’s not quite ready to stabilize her. But they manage well, considering how little time we’ve had to prepare these performances. With another few months, I bet they could make a strong team for the winter showcase–if Paige wants to continue working with her partner.
Whitney’s approach redirects my gaze, and I admire her form-fitting emerald outfit. It sparkles as she stands next to me, catching the light filtering back toward us from the stage. She looks stunning in her performance leotard, a much more eye-catching display than my simple black leotard and matching tutu. At least I’ve done up my hair and makeup in an artistic fashion to mimic the namesake animal for my performance. Feathers frame my temples in the shape of a crown, and my eyeshadow is dark and dramatic. Meanwhile, Fin looks quite dapper in his princely white outfit and product-tamed black hair.
“How’s she look?” Whitney whispers, gripping the curtains to improve her view of Paige’s performance.
I open my mouth to say ‘well’ just as Paige comes down from her lift with an audible thump. Not the worst thing in the world, seeing as the scouts probably can’t hear over the music, but a landing like that doesn’t look nearly as pretty as one would hope. I can see the frustration written on Paige’s face as she tries to keep her composure. If I had to guess, she’s pissed at her partner.
Air hisses between our teeth as Whitney, and I both take in a pained breath.
“Ugh, I can’t watch,” Whitney breathes. “It makes me too nervous.”
I agree, stepping away from the side of the stage to stand next to Fin once more. My hands tremble uncontrollably as I face the biggest performance of mine to date. No pressure or anything, but this may make or break my future in dance. It most likely will do so for Fin.
“We’re–”
“Please don’t say we’re going to be great,” I beg.
Fin releases a breathy laugh. “Sorry.”
I give him a nervous smile. “Don’t be. I’m sure you’re right. I just can’t hear you say it one more time.”
Fin nods and silently zips his lip before throwing away the key. Thank God humor is his go-to. A small, cathartic giggle bursts from me. Then I hear the notes coming to the end of Paige’s number. We’re next. I feel like I might vomit the second I walk on stage.
“Break a leg,” Whitney says with a smile as she stretches near her partner.
“Anya, Fin.” Professor Moriari waves us toward the stage from where he stands beside our entrance.
