Audition - Skye Warren, Amelia Wilde Page 0,2
numb fingers. He takes a gulp before passing the flute to Trevor. He takes the beer stein, too, putting it in the crook of Trevor’s suited elbow. That’s how he leaves Dunn, holding three glasses, unable to move his arms without spilling. “Be a good pal and walk that over to the bar,” Josh says, not taking his eyes off me.
It seems impossible that Trevor would obey. He does. His friends drift away, too.
Then it’s only Joshua North standing in front of me.
“Why were you bringing that fucker a drink?”
His harsh tone makes me flinch. Which annoys me. I don’t answer to this man. “It’s not any of your business who I bring drinks to. What are you doing here?”
“I’m a fan of ballet,” he says, his voice bland.
An unladylike snort. “Of course you are.”
“What’s not to like? Half-naked women onstage for an hour and a half. Doing the splits. Bending over. And those lifts. I swear your partner had his hand right in your—”
“Oh my God, you’re worse than Trevor.”
“That’s his name?”
“You were talking to him.”
“Only because I didn’t know his name was Trevor.”
My eyes narrow. “Why are you here again?”
“To see you, my darling, my love, my northern star.”
He’s making fun of me, which would be bad enough—worse because my heart skips a beat at the words, eternally hopeful, eternally stupid. Once upon a time I had a crush on this man, even knowing he could never return the feeling. The whole world is a joke to him. A dirty joke. “Fine, don’t tell me.”
“I could only count the days that we were apart. Desolate. Lonely.”
He really is worse than Trevor. At least with Dunn I can slap away his grasping hands. When I get home, it’s easy enough to take a shower. Somehow I don’t think hot water is going to wash away the sting of Joshua’s mocking tone. “Whatever you’re doing here, leave me out of it.”
“That’s going to be tough to do, sweetheart.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because I’m here to protect you.”
Josh
I remember the hunger, the raw scrape in my stomach, the heaviness in my muscles. The name brings it back to me. Years ago, a different Trevor. Trevor Rawley was an equal opportunity elementary school bruiser. He made sure all of us got a turn under his fists. He came at me looking for my lunch money, but like so many other days, I didn’t have any. He would have knocked me around a little regardless, but it pissed him off not to get anything.
Well, I could take it.
Dear old Dad taught me how to take a punch.
One day, though, I decided not to.
I looked at Trevor with his clothes that fit and his pudgy stomach from more food than he needed, food I didn’t have. The world turned red. He was twice my size, but I fought and kicked and clawed my way to an ugly victory. I carried my tray with cheese sticks and milk in a bag down the line and handed over his five-dollar bill.
Later that day I was called into the principal’s office. Apparently Trevor had bruised ribs and a torn cornea. The cops were called.
And at the end of it, I went home—my belly full.
That’s all I had to do? Go apeshit. That’s the answer. What’s the point of holding back? What’s the purpose of denial? That was the day I decided to take what I wanted, no matter the cost.
Bethany Lewis is the one exception.
She’s the one thing I wanted that I didn’t take. Call it a crisis of conscience. Or a moment of stupidity. That’s over now. The moment I saw her name on the dossier at North Security I felt the same hunger, the same raw scrape in my stomach. I felt the heaviness in my muscles.
Like I’d fight the whole world to have her.
She manages a frosty silence all the way to the back offices, her chin high, her lips pursed. Naturally it makes my dick hard. That much I remember about her. Everything she does makes my dick hard. She climbs the back stairs, her tight little ass twitching in her leotard and stockings. I definitely shouldn’t grab her butt right now. The word shouldn’t has always been like a dare to me, like a bully challenging me to stand up to him. Which of course I would every time. If it meant bleeding out in the mud behind the playground, I would.
What’s the point of holding back? What’s the purpose of denial?
The director looks up