Angel's Curse

2. Dance Partner

2. Dance Partner

For the first week we didn’t venture out at all. Danny thought it would be fine to head out — I wanted to err on the side of caution and wait. There was no hurry to get out into the world again. I wasn’t hungry.

Danny spent a lot of time reading. I spent a lot of time dancing, and singing along to my favourite songs. Twice I’d tried to get him to do some disco dancing. He had difficulty rolling his arms and moving his legs at the same time. For someone who was perfect — in my eyes anyway — he sure could be uncoordinated. I had forever to teach him though, unless my patience wore out first. Waltzing, however, was a different matter. I think Danny liked being able to hold me while we danced, and that enabled him to quite easily master the one two three, one two three step of the waltzes we tried. I’d even convinced him to attire us in what he thought was appropriate clothing. With the aid of a full length mirror — that I’d also requested — I saw we made a dashing couple who would have fit into society a few hundred years earlier. I was getting the impression Danny would do anything to keep me happy. Not just for the peace it brought to the cottage — there’s nothing worse than a woman with a bee in her bonnet, he’d said — but because he enjoyed making me happy and seeing me happy.

I was sure Danny would like the sexy Latino dances, if he could master the steps. He’d like the feeling of being in control, pulling me to him or twirling me away from him, my hands caressing my body, or his.

As we waltzed around the room I thought back, once again, to how I’d learned to dance, dredging up memories that were buried, but not forgotten.

“Do you know how I mastered dances that required a partner?” I asked. “How I learned to follow when someone else led?”

Danny simply replied, “Yes.”

We continued waltzing around the room. How easy it was to forget that he knew all about me …

The last-chance family I’d been fostered with had a son of their own, four years older than me. They couldn’t have any more children due to complications during his birth, so they’d opted to foster children — girls only. David, their son, was very jealous of me. He hated me with an intensity that was only rivalled by my hatred of his parents.

A year after I came to live with them, when I was seven, he had been banished to the self-contained bungalow in their back yard. The sole reason being that when the abuse began — within weeks of his moving out of the main house — they wanted their darling son to be none the wiser of the nightly goings-on in their domain. He was to be sheltered and protected.

David still had meals with us, and we watched TV as a family. Apart from that, most of his time was spent in the bungalow. How I dreaded when he’d leave the house. He hated me all right, and could barely stand to be around me. The girl — the daughter they’d always wanted — their favourite!

Dancing was my way of escaping to a better place. I’d heard on TV shows often enough that he or she has gone to a better place. That’s where I wanted to be — in a better place. I knew my foster parents wouldn’t pay for me to have dance lessons, so for the most part I taught myself in whatever free time I had. Over the years I’d even mastered most of the dances that required partners, although I had no idea how to dance with a partner. Would I follow my partner’s lead correctly? Would I tread on their toes? And of course there were dances where your partner twirled you around or tossed you here and there that I couldn’t practice very well on my own. It’s hard to twirl yourself, or roll yourself towards the floor — I didn’t know exactly what this move was called, but it was like releasing a yo-yo — with an imaginary partner.

I needed a dance partner, plain and simple. I couldn’t find one at school. I wasn’t allowed out after school and had to come straight home if I didn’t want to be beaten senseless. Once home I was trapped within the confines of the house and garden … and the garden included the bungalow.

The first time I knocked on David’s door he lashed out at me.

“f**k off and leave me alone! What the f**k do you need me for anyway? You have my parents!”

He slammed the door in my face.

I was used to verbal abuse. Sticks and stones and all that. Words could hurt, but not as much as a punch to the stomach. I had learned that long ago.

I looked back to the house and was grateful no one had heard his outburst. I could hear laughter, and the sound of the TV in the background. They must be watching whatever show it was that was the flavour of the month. It wouldn’t bode well if I was found annoying David, but I couldn’t give up yet. I knocked on the door again — short, sharp raps of urgency this time.

“What?” he yelled.

“I need your help.”

“What do you need my help for? Go ask Mum and Dad!” Such venom and spite. “They’ll be only too happy to help with whatever you need.”

“Please, David,” I said in my most pathetic and helpless voice, “I need someone closer to my own age and height for this.”

That had piqued his curiosity. He opened the door, just a little, so I could see his face.

“I’ll offer you something in exchange for your help. Can I at least come in and tell you about it?”

The door opened wider and he beckoned me in. I’d never been in the bungalow before. He wasn’t much of a housekeeper and it looked like his Mum didn’t venture out here too often.

He didn’t offer me a seat and didn’t sit down himself. It was unmistakable that he didn’t like having me in his personal space. Maybe what I was going to propose was a bad idea. He folded his arms across his chest and frowned at me.

“So, what do you want from me?”

“Please don’t laugh, but I need someone to practice dancing with. I thought maybe you could help me. I don’t want you parents to know I’m doing it.”

“I’m surprised they haven’t lashed out for you to have lessons!”

“They’re very expensive and my welfare payments wouldn’t cover them,” I said in a sombre voice.

What else could I say — that his parents were only interested in horizontal dance lessons and you didn’t need to pay for those? In fact other people paid them to give me lessons.

“And what do I get in return if I help you? I don’t reckon you’ve got much I’d want. What great thing do you think you have that might convince me to dance with you?”

No time for subtleties now, I needed to get my point across plain and simple. My heart was racing. What if it backfired and he told his parents? I had to take the chance.

“You get this,” I grabbed his hand and shoved it up under my top until his warm palm rested on the small bud of my breast, “and any other part of me you want.”

“You’re offering me s*x in exchange for dancing with you?” He was automatically suspicious. “What’s the catch? Am I being set up here?”

“No catch and no, you’re not being set up. I really, really want to dance. It’s all I dream about these days … and I know what boys dream about too. I thought it might be a fair exchange.”

“If I agree, you come here when I say so. If my parents ever find out I’ll kill you.” David squeezed my breast hard, until my eyes were smarting and tears slid slowly down my face. “Do you understand?”

“Yes,” I whispered, nodding my head, “but I might not be able to come when you want me to if your parents are still awake, or if they suspect something. I’ll try my best though.”

I couldn’t very well say I might not be able to come if they had me otherwise occupied. That your parents, being s****l deviants, might have other plans for me.

“Fine, but if you miss too many dates the deal’s off.” I nodded my head solemnly. “I guess I’ll see you about midnight then. First lesson’s tonight. Don’t keep me waiting.”

He pushed me roughly out the door and slammed it behind me. I rushed back to my room as quickly and quietly as possible to select a couple of movies that I could play for David to learn the steps. I was going to try my damnedest to make sure we danced first and then did whatever he wanted. Maybe, just maybe, he’d be too tired afterwards to do anything. There was no way I wanted to fall into the trap of him getting what he wanted first and me never getting what I wanted. I had to have control over some part of my life, however small and insignificant it was …

I was still dancing. It became natural. The fluid movements, the grace, and I was unaware Danny was talking to me.

“Sorry, what did you say?” I asked.

He smiled. “I said you’re miles away and you were, weren’t you?”

“Yes. I was thinking about my first dance partner, but you’re much better than him, not only at dancing.”

“Ha!” Danny said, not fooled by my flattery for a minute. “This is the only dance I do well, though I have an excellent teacher and eternity to learn. The other stuff,” he shrugged his shoulders, “well, I’ll have to take you at your word that I’m better at it.”

I laughed. “You know I wouldn’t come back for more if it were that bad.”

“I know,” he said, nibbling my ear.