The Dancer and the Masks by Bea Paige

Chapter 30

CHRISTY

Iawaken with a start. Anger blazes, rushing through my veins as fast and as furiously as the fire that had killed my mum and burnt my home to the ground.

I’m raging. I’m a fucking inferno of hate. It billows like smoke in my lungs and boils like lava in my veins. Even the residual pain from the memory smarting my skin isn’t enough to stop me jumping to my feet and rushing from the bedroom.

Leon killed my mum.

I’m going to make him pay!

I don’t think about anything other than ripping off his mask and looking into the eyes of the angel who saved me and the monster who killed my mother.

My bare feet slap against the stone tiles as I race along the hallway, fury giving me energy. I don’t stop when Thirteen steps out of Twelve’s room three doors down, her eyes wide with shock. I don’t stop when Seven calls after me, or when Six grips my arm as I pass her by.

“Don’t!” she says, knowing instantly that I’m on a path of destruction. She sees the hate in my eyes, understands it and what I mean to do. Either he dies or I do.

“Get off me!” I shout, yanking my arm out of her hold.

When I reach the end of the long corridor and turn left, I run directly into One and Two. Their hands come up automatically, more to protect themselves than me, but when One sees the look on my face, she presses her hands against my chest, holding me back.

“Stop!” she demands.

“Fuck you!” I scream, pushing against her hold. She backs me up against the stone wall, Two helping to hold me in place. They’re far stronger than they look.

“Where are you going?” One asks, her cool expression and calm voice like ice over my heated skin.

“To kill Leon,” I spit, knocking their hands away, aware that the rest of the Numbers have gathered in the hallway. I can feel them staring, and it pisses me off even more. “I’m doing what you're all too chicken-shit to do!”

Two laughs. No, she cackles. “Good luck with that.”

One, however, keeps me pinned in place with her penetrating stare. “Do you want to die?” she asks. “I’m genuinely interested, because surely you understand that this will only end in your death. Not his.”

“I want revenge.”

“You will die. He will kill you.” One persists, her dark eyes lacking any real depth or emotion. She’s stating it as a matter of fact, not as a warning coming from a place of kindness.

“I want to see him suffer like I’ve suffered. I hate him!”

“Oh my dear. We’ve all hated him at one time or the other. The feeling will pass. Now be a good girl and run along back to Thirteen’s room. You’re a… mess.” Her gaze roves over my dishevelled hair then focuses on my birthmark. She baulks and it sends even more fury rushing through my blood.

“Don’t speak to me like that,” I seethe. “Don’t dismiss me just because I’m not beautiful like the rest of you. I’m capable of more than you know!”

“Go with Thirteen,” she says dismissively, flicking her gaze over her shoulder and nodding.

Thirteen appears by my side, her arm sliding behind my back as One steps backwards. I shove her off me, not caring that she stumbles back into Three, not caring what my mother had written in her letter. I’m too far gone to see anything other than blind rage.

“Don’t you touch me! Don’t you dare touch me, Cyn!” I shout. She flinches, her face paling. I’ve let her name out, her secret.

I don’t care. I don’t care.

“Zero—” Three begins, trying to soothe me with her soft voice and concerned gaze.

“My name is CHRISTY!” I shout, panting, wild now. Rabid.

“I say let her go.” Four shrugs. “At least with her gone, everything can get back to normal. Our Masters have been on edge ever since she arrived. She doesn’t fit in here.”

Bitch.

“I agree, let her go up against Leon. She won’t last five minutes,” Eight says, rolling her eyes and hooking her arm through Four’s. They turn on their feet, apparently no longer interested.

Good. They can fuck off.

Six steps forward. I feel her empathy, her kindness, and on any other day I might’ve appreciated it. She opens her mouth to speak but I shake my head. “No!”

“Don’t be rash,” she says, ignoring me. “Whatever you’re feeling, it will pass. We can talk this through. Come with us. Please, Christy.”

A few of the numbers draw in a surprised breath because of her use of my real name, and it only seems to rile me up further. “That’s my name. You all have names. Don’t let them take your identity!”

“You know that for us it isn’t like that,” Six replies gently, holding out her hand. For the briefest of moments I consider taking it, then I push the thought aside. No.

“Where will I find him?”

Thirteen shakes her head, warning Six and the rest of the Numbers not to answer me.

“I’ll find him with or without your help,” I say.

“Truly, you don’t want to do this,” Three insists, her sweet voice sincere. “Seven tried once too. It didn’t go well.”

Seven wraps his arm around Three and pulls her into his side. “She’s right, it didn’t. Luckily for me Three persuaded The Masks to give me one more chance. I’m glad of it. This is my home now. The Numbers are my family. The Masks… my Masters.”

I shake my head, my hair whipping around as I look between them all. “This is wrong! Why don’t you fight back?!”

“Because we don’t want to,” one of the triplets says. I don’t know which one, but it doesn’t really matter, given her sisters are agreeing with her. “This is our home and you’re ruining it!”

“I—”

“You’ll find him in the West Wing, beyond the library,” One says quickly, cutting my rant off and drawing my attention back to her. “There’s a door in the back of the library that leads to a gym where he trains—”

“One, what are you doing?” Five snaps, her concerned gaze falling on me. “He will kill her.” I notice how she reaches for one of her knives strapped to her chest. I’m not sure if she’s threatening One, or it’s a nervous reaction. I’m assuming the latter when One raises a brow at Five, then turns back to face me.

“Take the stairs at the end of this hall and follow the corridor on the ground floor until you reach the courtyard with The Weeping Tree. The entrance to the West Wing is beyond the red door. You’ll find the library soon enough,” One continues, stepping aside.

I run, ignoring the calls for me to come back.

By the time I reach the library, I’m covered in a sheen of sweat. The kaftan that Thirteen—or should I say, Cyn—loaned me is sticking to my back. My chest is heaving from the exertion but violence floods my system, giving me the fuel to go on, to see this through. Pushing open the door, I step into a narrow, dimly lit hallway and follow the sound of trap music, it’s angry beat the perfect accompaniment to my rage. When I enter the gym, Leon is in the far corner with his back to me, beating the shit out of a boxing dummy. As far as I can tell he isn’t wearing a mask which seems out of character, given what I know. Then again, I’m certain none of the other Numbers would be brave enough to enter here without his permission.

Just as well I’m not like them then.

He’s bare except for a pair of shorts, his corded muscles glistening with sweat as he moves, showing off his tattoos of black reeds that cover his entire body. They reach up from his ankles, climbing his calves and thighs before disappearing beneath the hem of his shorts only to reappear again at his waist, climbing his back and shoulders.

As I stand here watching him work out, the significance of his tattoos suddenly hits me.

The fire.

The pond.

He saved me.

He killed my mother.

Glancing around the room, I look for something I can use to hit him with and see a broom leaning against the wall to my right. Grabbing it, I stride over to him, my footsteps and angry breaths are drowned out by the music and the grunts he makes whilst working out.

Lifting the handle of the broom, I imagine my mother’s agony, and with a roar, I bring it down as hard as I can on the back of his knees.

The way he falls to the floor, grunting in surprise and pain, fuels me on. I don’t hesitate. I hit him again, as hard as I can. The wood crashes against his back and he lets out a loud cry, falling forward onto his hands. The smack of the wood against his bare skin is satisfying in a way I shouldn’t enjoy, but do.

They say in times of great stress or blind rage people are capable of things they wouldn’t ordinarily be able to do. A man could lift a car off his trapped child. A lover could murder the person they love through jealousy.

A woman could beat a man to death with a wooden broom.

Leon collapses onto his chest as I whack his shoulders, his arse and his thighs. A red mist descends and with every punishing blow I scream out words of hate and disgust. They pour from me like blood from an open wound.

“Killer.”

Whack.

“Monster.”

Whack.

“Pain.”

Whack.

“Bastard.”

Whack.

“Fire.”

Whack.

“Devil.”

Whack.

“You. Killed. My. Mama.”

Whack. Whack. Whack. Whack.

I know I’m not making any sense, but I don’t care. I don’t care.

I hit him again, and again, and again. Fury has no boundaries. Rage no ceiling. Violence no walls. I’m lost to it. Completely and utterly lost.

The harder I hit him, the less he responds. His cries of pain turn to grunts, then whimpers, then nothing. Just silence. I expected him to fight back. Wanted it, almost. Yet he doesn’t.

He takes every punishing blow that I rain down over him. He just fucking lies there.

“Fight back, you bastard!” I scream, wanting a reaction. Wanting to fight.

But he remains still.

He doesn’t try to kill me like the Numbers warned. He takes this punishment because deep down he must know he fucking deserves it.

He. Deserves. It.

I keep going until my arms begin to tremble with exertion, until deep red marks appear across his back and thighs, until his skin splits in places, and starts oozing blood.

Blood.

Fuck!

FUCK!

As quickly as my rage appeared it drains away, taking every last ounce of energy with it. My arms drop as my knees buckle and the broom clatters to the ground.

“Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God,” I cry, heaving and retching at what I’ve done.

Tears stream down my face as I swallow down the sickness burning my throat, and crawl towards the man who killed my mother. Overwhelming guilt lacerates my heart as much as I’ve lacerated his skin. “What have I done?” I pant, my chest tightening. I can barely breathe.

He doesn’t move when I lean over him. He doesn’t flinch when my fingers reach for his back, tentatively pressing against his bruised and split skin. He remains still as I brush the hair off his forehead.

“I wanted you dead, and now…” I choke on my tears.

His eyes are unblinking, vacant, as I lay on the cold floor, stretching out beside him. I rest my head as close to his as I can, instantly remembering how he’d done the same when we were children.

“You killed my mother,” I sob, my heart breaking, my vision blurred from all the tears. “You killed my mother and left me to die. How could you?” I reach for his face, pushing back the hair that’s fallen over his forehead, my fingers lingering against his temple. “Look what you made me do. I’m no better than you are.”

He blinks and my heart jumps as I pull my hand back. “I told you not to remember me,” he replies quietly, his voice broken, cracked, raw.

I swipe at my tears, potent relief flooding my veins. “You’re not dead,” I whisper. I shouldn’t feel relieved, but I do. God help me, I do.

“You’re wrong, I’ve been dead inside for a very long time,” he croaks, groaning as he tries to lift his head, a flash of vulnerability streaking across his face.

“Why?” I ask. I want answers. I need to understand. “Why would you kill my mother?”

He groans, wincing as he adjusts his position. “You weren’t supposed to be there. When I heard the screaming…” his voice trails off as he swallows hard.

“You didn’t know?” I whisper, more tears pricking my eyes.

The muscle in Leon’s jaw flexes as his eyes flash with guilt. It’s brief, but undeniable. “My father told me the house was empty. He lied.”

“That was him?”

He nods. “It was a test… I failed.”

“Because I lived?”

“Because I saved you.”

A tiny voice in my head tries to tell me that he’s the one lying now, that this is another trick, another manipulation, but somehow I know it isn’t. This may be the only truth he tells me, but it is the truth.

“Fuck,” he groans, blood seeping from the tears in his skin.

“What have I done?” I whisper, the adrenaline that had kept me single-mindedly focused on killing him leaves my body. My teeth chatter and my hands begin to shake as nausea rolls in my stomach once again.

“You took your revenge,” he mutters. “I deserved that much at least.”

“I should get Thirteen…” I mumble, trying to unravel my feelings. It had felt good to hurt him, to punish him for what he did to my mother, to me. But now that I know it wasn’t intentional, that he was a child manipulated by an evil man, it feels different. Wrong on so many levels. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

He frowns. “You are?”

“Yes,” I say, meaning it.

“You shouldn’t be.”

Reaching for him, I run my shaking fingers over his cheek. He flinches under my touch, as though kindness, remorse, empathy hurts him. Perhaps it does.

“Why did you save me? Why didn’t you let me die?” I whisper, locking gazes with him.

He’s quiet for a long time, then finally he says, “I don’t know… Instinct?”

“Your instinct was to save me?”

“Yes. I heard you screaming and I couldn’t…”

“Couldn’t?”

“I couldn’t walk away, no matter the consequences.”

“And what does your instinct tell you to do now?” I ask, swallowing hard at the look in his eyes.

“It tells me to do things that would make you wish you hadn’t stopped,” he replies, his pupils widening, darkening the green irises, stripping them of colour.

Something shifts in the air, the almost peaceful calm after such a violent act charging with awareness. My skin rises in goosebumps, fear pooling low in my belly. He means to hurt me, and yet he’s holding back. The Numbers said he would kill me. This is the perfect opportunity to do that. Right now, he could overpower me and take my life, but he doesn’t.

“Why are you holding back?” I whisper, watching him carefully. My body is as taut as a wire, waiting for the moment that he’ll attack. Part of me wants him to, wants this over and done with. The other part is preparing to run.

“You want the honest truth?”

“Yes, I want the truth.”

He presses his eyes shut, considering his answer. When he opens them again, I don’t see a man who wants to kill me, but the boy who saved me and set us both on this path. “Because you’ve become my mirror, just like you said you would.”

I draw in a surprised breath at his confession, at the humanity in his gaze, but the longer he stares the quicker it fades and I feel the urgent need to stop that from happening, to keep him in the moment. “Don’t leave,” I say, touching the man whilst trying to reach the boy. He stiffens again, but he doesn’t push me away. Sliding closer, I tentatively press my lips against his and kiss him tenderly.

Maybe it’s guilt for hurting him so badly.

Maybe it’s madness.

Maybe it’s the glimpse of that boy I just saw in his eyes.

Perhaps it’s fate.

All I know is that I have the sudden urge to heal what I’ve broken, to be a better person than the man he’s become, so I slide my tongue between his parted lips and kiss him as though I don’t hate him, as though my kiss is enough to heal all the wounds I’ve inflicted on his body.

His mouth parts on a groan as he relinquishes himself to my kiss and adjusts his body so that I’m beneath him. The heat of his chest sinks into mine and something about that seems right even when everything about this should be wrong.

Refusing to unravel my fucked-up emotions, I allow myself this kiss, this moment of healing. I’m no fool, this could all still lead to destruction but I give into the moment, the simplicity of two people offering comfort in the purest way possible. Leon adjusts himself between my legs, pressing me into the cool floor. He kisses me back, and this time our kiss isn’t violent, it isn’t filled with hate or ownership.

It’s not gentle either, it’s searching.

He kisses me like he’s trying to understand something within me, within him.

My body relaxes, my fingers press against his chest, sliding up over his shoulders until I clutch the back of his neck, tugging him closer. I find myself wanting to dive into his depths, so I can soothe away the agony of my scars and the memory of that night. My legs wrap around his waist as I draw him closer to me, the chastity belt digging into my crotch adding more friction. He groans, grinding against me as his tongue searches and soothes, probes and penetrates.

This kiss is electric. Potent. Far more dangerous to my self-preservation than anything I’ve experienced so far. Ten minutes ago I wanted to kill him. Part of me still does.

But more of me is pulling him closer instead of pushing him away.

The kiss evolves again, shifting gears, and I find myself whimpering beneath him, wanting far more than I have any right to crave.

“Fuck, enough!” Leon says, ripping his mouth away from mine and jumping upwards. He looks down at me with a pained expression. “Get out of here.”

“Wh—what?”

“I said, get the fuck out!” He yells, backing away from me.

“Leon,” I start, pushing up to my feet. “Let’s talk about this—”

“There’s nothing to talk about. I killed your mum. You got your revenge.”

“If I had my revenge, you’d be dead,” I point out, still feeling raw, sick to my stomach knowing what I know, knowing what I almost did, what we’ve just shared. “But two wrongs don’t make a right.”

“So fucking pious!”

“I don’t believe in God,” I reply, taking two steps towards him. “This isn’t about a higher fucking power. This is about what happened between us and why. I need answers, Leon!”

“You should’ve fucking killed me, Nought, because I won’t ever tell you a thing, and I sure as fuck won’t be that boy again,” he says, shoving me away. I stumble backwards, my arms cartwheeling as I try to regain my balance.

“Don’t do this. Don’t be this man! Talk to me.”

“If you don’t fucking leave right now I will put my hands around your throat and do what I should’ve done all those years ago.”

“Maybe I should let you. At least this will all be over!”

“No!” he shouts, gripping my arms and pushing me backwards. “You aren’t just mine.”

My toes kiss the floor as I try to keep up with him. When we reach the door he shoves me through it, slamming it in my face. A second later I hear the sound of a key turning in the lock and the screams of a man on the verge of losing his mind.