"You're out of your mind if you think anything is going to happen here."
He pauses, a genuine smile nearly breaking out on his face, only stopped by him biting his lower lip.
"I'm taking note that you said nothing is going to happenhere. Where, then? I'm curious."
"Stop it," I hiss. "Not funny." I look around, making sure everyone’s gone. "Notfunny."
He's right in front of me now, in my personal space, breathing my oxygen and stopping me from thinking straight.
"Notice how slowly I walked over here?" he purrs, his lips right above my forehead.
I nod.
"And notice how you didn't use that time to…I don't know…get away from me?"
"Fuck you, Achilles." The lust in my whisper betrays my anticipation.
"In a minute,mon trésor."
He gently wraps his fingers around my wrist, but that's where the softness stops. Twisting me around with a strength I can'tfight against, he puts my back to his front before forcing my hand to rest on my seat. I'm bent over, and I'm forced to press my other one there to not lose balance.
"Atta girl. Don't move."
He flips my uniform skirt over my ass. I noticed he's wearing a less casual outfit today. A black button-down over black slacks rather than his usual hoodies over jeans, and it's giving him a more serious look than usual.
"I'm going to leave your tights on because we've never done this before, and I don't want the pain to become unbearable. The purpose of this is to forget about whatever you feel physically so you can focus on what's going on in your head. And once your pretty mind becomes malleable, I'll put whatever I want in there."
"You're seriously fucked up," I say shakily.
"True. You can thank me for it later."
The first hit of the baton sears pain into my skin, tights or not. I grit my teeth as a scream flies past my lips.
"Fuck," I gasp.
Immediately, I straighten back up because I don't have to let him do this to me.
"Get back into position or get kicked out of this orchestra. This is my final warning."
And yet, it's a warning spoken with eerie calmness. He could ruin my life with a few words to Miss Rivera.
With my palms back on the seat of my chair, I tense with uncertainty when I feel movement behind me. My body is burning hot, my insides clenching.
I startle when he taps my ass cheeks gently. He leaves it there, keeping me on the edge before he talks.
"Do you feel how scared you are of this baton?" he asks softly, but there's unmissable excitement in his voice. "Because it took you by surprise and hurt you the first time. Now that your bodyhas felt what it's capable of, it reminds you of how much pain it can bring you. So you anticipate it."
He rubs the object against my skin but doesn't remove it.
"Some pains and traumas hit you so hard the first time you never forget about them," he explains. "That's how you live, Nyx. Always expecting that what broke you will come back, so you stay on the edge, hyperaware that there are things around you that can hurt you again."
I take a deep breath through my mouth, anxiety gripping my stomach in a painful vise.
"So, you refuse to expose yourself to anything," he says with a fascination I can barely grasp. "And don’t get me wrong, you've been living with real threats around you. But I can't let you carry that on stage. If you dig into it for inspiration, yes. If it makes you freeze? Absolutely not."
The sting comes back out of nowhere, a whimper bursting out of my mouth.
"That'sreal." He presses into the pain he just created with the baton. "That's just the memory of it."
