Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 54522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 218(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 218(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
“Then you can’t give me everything I need,” I say as I stand up from the table and go back to what I consider my room, even though every night we sleep in Vincent’s bedroom.
For the rest of the day, I stay in my room. I don’t want to see or talk to Vincent because I don’t even know how I’m feeling right now. I long for him and have to fight the urge to go to his room and crawl into bed beside him. But I also long for my freedom. I want both things—I want to be with Vincent, but I also want to spread my wings and dance when I feel like it, wherever I feel like it.
In the middle of the night, as I lay in bed staring up at the ceiling, I feel so boxed-in and claustrophobic, even inside this huge house that I can’t breathe. I get out of bed, get changed, and reach for my coat and pointe shoes before heading for the door.
Part of me knows I won’t make it very far. Vincent has the entire house under surveillance, and there are still a few men guarding the perimeter. Considering Vincent’s own admission that he never sleeps, I expect him to come and stop me before I even reach the door. To my surprise, he doesn’t. And when I open the door to step outside, there isn’t a guard there. I can see Marco’s car off in the distance, meaning that he’s here on the property somewhere, but he isn’t standing at the front door. Maybe he’s taking a bathroom break, or maybe Vincent has assigned him to a different position on the perimeter. The only thing I know for sure is that the way out of here is clear for the moment, and that’s entirely unexpected. I know Vincent, and I know he is careful and deliberate about everything. He doesn’t leave a single thing overlooked, nor even the tiniest of gaps in his security. That said, he seems a bit more relaxed about things here at his private home, where he assumes no one can find us. I recognize this as my chance to escape.
I take off running down the street, and it feels exhilarating. I push my feet off the ground and relish in the feeling of the muscles in my legs burning from fatigue. My lungs burn too. Too much time away from my strict schedule of dance training has taken a toll on my body, and it feels wonderful to remember what using my muscles and my breath actually feels like.
I’m also scared, of course. Running away from Vincent means running away from my protection against others who would wish to hurt me, like that monster, Angelo Barone. And running away from Vincent shouldn’t have been so easy—it’s almost like he let me. I’m not sure what kind of consequence will come from that. But for now, I feel more free than scared, and I relish it.
I make it to the street square a few blocks away and duck into the shadows of a nearby alley to keep hidden for the last few hours before morning. There’s a trash dumpster that I crouch behind, and right on top of it, there’s a bag of clothing that looks like someone chucked. I carefully reached into the bag, avoiding the trash, and pulled out a black hoodie and a pair of sunglasses that seemed to be part of someone’s unwanted wardrobe. It smells clean, looks okay, and will serve as a good way to hide my appearance in public.
In the morning, I step out onto the street with the hoodie pulled up and the sunglasses covering my eyes. No one seems to bat an eye at me as I walk down the sidewalk, which is good. The smell of fresh morning coffee and hot pastries wafts from some bakeries lining the street, and I can feel my stomach grumble. I ignore it because I’m too distracted by the little park at the corner of the square. There’s a shady spot there, on flat ground, and a street musician playing the violin nearby. And without even thinking, I’m suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to dance.
“May I?” I ask as I show the violinist my pointe shoes and motion toward the space beside him.
“Please do,” he smiles. “I know a bit of classical—would Mozart work for you?”
I nod and smile broadly as I sit down to put on my shoes.
As he plays a concerto, people on the street stop to listen and toss coins and dollar bills into his open violin case. I stretch, lift my face toward the sun, and let the warmth shine down on my cheeks for a few minutes as I listen to the music, and then let my body guide me into dance.