fic: burn the virgin flag (black swan)
BURN THE VIRGIN FLAG
pg-13. black swan. 1191 words. beth. beth/tomas. oh, she had the body for it yes thin like laudanum with the thighs that curved inward but aren’t ballet girls supposed to be different?
(My heroine is on heroin; but not bad heroin, the good heroin
That rockstars take and that heals the ache of the pain she's in
She's not dirty; she's past thirty, she plays acoustic guitar and the flute
And the harp and the theramin on heroin, my heroine)
the indelicates
She wasn’t really the ballet type, people used to tell her, at parties usually, parties where people didn’t know who she was, oh, she had the body for it yes thin like laudanum with the thighs that curved inward but aren’t ballet girls supposed to be different? Aren’t they supposed to be-more demure? Softer safer like little girls like human foil angels like--
She didn’t answer. She laughed.
-
The drinking became a problem at nineteen. Or-should we say-Tomas decided the drinking was a problem at nineteen. He called her into the office. No. He stopped her in the hallway. She remembers.
A hand on her arm. She was walking through the hallway.
“Beth, may I speak to you for a moment?”
This was back before the bits of gray, back when his face was a bit softer. That’s not a metaphor-he wasn’t softer.
“Sure.”
He leaned her into the office, his hand on her shoulder which she didn’t think anything of, just Tomas and she threw herself down on his couch and he sat at the desk and he looked at her for a second.
“You know something?”
“Yeah?”
“You don’t walk like a dancer.”
“Don’t I?”
“They glide. You stomp.”
“But I dance well.”
He shrugged.
“You’re okay.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“I came to talk to you about your drinking.”
“Going to do an intervention on me?”
“Beth.” His voice went up a bit at the end.
“Yeah?”
“I don’t give a fuck about your health, you know that.”
“Ah.”
“God knows-“ He shrugged again, took out a cigarette. “It’s certainly better than the other girls here, going home to their mothers and living their little lives between the entrances and exits but-“
“But?”
“Beth.”
“But?”
He laughed.
“God, you’re such a fantastic bitch.” Pause. “You need to pay attention. I don’t want to see you sleeping between rehearsals. You’re sloppy.”
“I thought you liked imprecise.”
Another pause. It came out sharper when he said it.
“Grow the fuck up, Beth. You want this, you don’t act like a spoiled child.”
She stood up. She stretched out a little, through her neck, arching her back.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay.”
-
The first time they slept together was the night of her debut.
She came offstage and he twirled her around, the hard sharp hands around her waist and she tipped her head to the side and grinned up (her legs buckling underneath her)-
“Was I good?”
“You were perfect. Perfect. My little princess.”
She laughed. It came out harsh.
“What?” He looked baffled.
“Nothing.” She unlaced her shoe. “It’s a nice name. It is.”
“Come on, get dressed. I’m taking you out.”
-
It happened in his apartment, of course, among all the white, black furniture white walls white carpet and she was drinking when he kissed her it almost hurt, the feel of his teeth pressing against his lip and she gasped a bit and leaned back.
“Surely you were expecting this.” He was smirking. He refilled his glass.
“Of course.”
“What are you afraid of?” His mouth went up. “Not as good as you look?”
She kissed him back, then, imprecise like he said a bit messy her mouth tilting upward against his and she pushed him onto his back and he did that slight sideways smile (the only time Tomas was ever really endearing) when she climbed on top of him her legs thin wrapped over him and she undid his pants and his breath went back when she put her hand around his cock first time she got a reaction from him a real one that’s ever and then he was pushing into her and Tomas was as hard as precise then as ever and he did it the way he was supposed to and afterward he raised an eyebrow as though if you want to climb off you’d better do it yourself which was just like him, really.
-
She danced better, after that.
-
Wild thing, he said into her neck, little wild thing I see you I know you. Yes I am your wild thing fuck me kill me hurt me make me bleed-it was just what she said she guessed but she did come back with bruises but funny they only fell inside the leotard not on her legs not on her arms. How does he manage that? She asked another dancer, once. He knows the body. For all of us.
Yes.
-
She had not wanted to do ballet, not at first, people had told her she should and so she did the classes out of a kind of obligation but there was a kind of greedy anger she had from the beginning and that came across and she guesses she wasn’t really consulted but she loved it anyway.
-
He didn’t want to make their relationship public.
Tomas, of course, sat at his desk a hand running through his hair.
“They’ll think I’m favoring you.”
“Everyone knows.” She spat it out. “You really think-you know everyone knows.”
He shrugged.
“That’s different.”
“So you don’t favor women you fuck? Just your girlfriends.”
His mouth went into a smirk.
“I don’t have ‘girlfriends’, Beth.”
“You know what I mean.” She put a hand through her hair. It was still cropped, then. “Some kind of-“
“My little princess.”
“Don’t fucking call me that.”
“We’re not like them, Beth. We don’t subscribe to the whole workings of people out there-marriages and small houses-“
“I don’t want to marry you.”
“Do you want to be ordinary?” He shrugged. “You want to be ordinary, fine. You want me to call you sweetheart? I can fuck you once a week, if you want, I can take you out on dates, if that’s what you want me to call them.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I can do that. Just say, if that’s what you want.”
Her mouth opened and shut.
“Don’t do this. Don’t play this game.”
“I would have thought better of you, Beth.”
-
They used to make fun of the other girls, drunk, in his apartment. Veronica tried too hard, jutting out her shoulders, and pursing her lips and Annette had no expression, though she danced well and Rebecca always looked distracted.
And Nina? Nina Sayers?
Frigid little girl.
-
It happened when she hit thirty-five, really.
She was dancing and they were all watching and one of the trainers, one of those hard-faced blondes with tight muscles in her back got a bit of a smile hard and a little satisfied.
She knew. She knew then.
She decided to wait for him to tell her to leave. A mistake, probably.
-
The bottle fit between her lips like it always did. She used to carry a flask in her garter.
She thought of Anna Karenina when she was walking into the traffic.
-
When the girl died, she laughed. She got the newspaper and she laughed so hard she was sick.
The other one, the alternate, stepped up within the week. Almost identical, the chorines.
One was as good as another, she thought.
pg-13. black swan. 1191 words. beth. beth/tomas. oh, she had the body for it yes thin like laudanum with the thighs that curved inward but aren’t ballet girls supposed to be different?
(My heroine is on heroin; but not bad heroin, the good heroin
That rockstars take and that heals the ache of the pain she's in
She's not dirty; she's past thirty, she plays acoustic guitar and the flute
And the harp and the theramin on heroin, my heroine)
the indelicates
She wasn’t really the ballet type, people used to tell her, at parties usually, parties where people didn’t know who she was, oh, she had the body for it yes thin like laudanum with the thighs that curved inward but aren’t ballet girls supposed to be different? Aren’t they supposed to be-more demure? Softer safer like little girls like human foil angels like--
She didn’t answer. She laughed.
-
The drinking became a problem at nineteen. Or-should we say-Tomas decided the drinking was a problem at nineteen. He called her into the office. No. He stopped her in the hallway. She remembers.
A hand on her arm. She was walking through the hallway.
“Beth, may I speak to you for a moment?”
This was back before the bits of gray, back when his face was a bit softer. That’s not a metaphor-he wasn’t softer.
“Sure.”
He leaned her into the office, his hand on her shoulder which she didn’t think anything of, just Tomas and she threw herself down on his couch and he sat at the desk and he looked at her for a second.
“You know something?”
“Yeah?”
“You don’t walk like a dancer.”
“Don’t I?”
“They glide. You stomp.”
“But I dance well.”
He shrugged.
“You’re okay.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“I came to talk to you about your drinking.”
“Going to do an intervention on me?”
“Beth.” His voice went up a bit at the end.
“Yeah?”
“I don’t give a fuck about your health, you know that.”
“Ah.”
“God knows-“ He shrugged again, took out a cigarette. “It’s certainly better than the other girls here, going home to their mothers and living their little lives between the entrances and exits but-“
“But?”
“Beth.”
“But?”
He laughed.
“God, you’re such a fantastic bitch.” Pause. “You need to pay attention. I don’t want to see you sleeping between rehearsals. You’re sloppy.”
“I thought you liked imprecise.”
Another pause. It came out sharper when he said it.
“Grow the fuck up, Beth. You want this, you don’t act like a spoiled child.”
She stood up. She stretched out a little, through her neck, arching her back.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay.”
-
The first time they slept together was the night of her debut.
She came offstage and he twirled her around, the hard sharp hands around her waist and she tipped her head to the side and grinned up (her legs buckling underneath her)-
“Was I good?”
“You were perfect. Perfect. My little princess.”
She laughed. It came out harsh.
“What?” He looked baffled.
“Nothing.” She unlaced her shoe. “It’s a nice name. It is.”
“Come on, get dressed. I’m taking you out.”
-
It happened in his apartment, of course, among all the white, black furniture white walls white carpet and she was drinking when he kissed her it almost hurt, the feel of his teeth pressing against his lip and she gasped a bit and leaned back.
“Surely you were expecting this.” He was smirking. He refilled his glass.
“Of course.”
“What are you afraid of?” His mouth went up. “Not as good as you look?”
She kissed him back, then, imprecise like he said a bit messy her mouth tilting upward against his and she pushed him onto his back and he did that slight sideways smile (the only time Tomas was ever really endearing) when she climbed on top of him her legs thin wrapped over him and she undid his pants and his breath went back when she put her hand around his cock first time she got a reaction from him a real one that’s ever and then he was pushing into her and Tomas was as hard as precise then as ever and he did it the way he was supposed to and afterward he raised an eyebrow as though if you want to climb off you’d better do it yourself which was just like him, really.
-
She danced better, after that.
-
Wild thing, he said into her neck, little wild thing I see you I know you. Yes I am your wild thing fuck me kill me hurt me make me bleed-it was just what she said she guessed but she did come back with bruises but funny they only fell inside the leotard not on her legs not on her arms. How does he manage that? She asked another dancer, once. He knows the body. For all of us.
Yes.
-
She had not wanted to do ballet, not at first, people had told her she should and so she did the classes out of a kind of obligation but there was a kind of greedy anger she had from the beginning and that came across and she guesses she wasn’t really consulted but she loved it anyway.
-
He didn’t want to make their relationship public.
Tomas, of course, sat at his desk a hand running through his hair.
“They’ll think I’m favoring you.”
“Everyone knows.” She spat it out. “You really think-you know everyone knows.”
He shrugged.
“That’s different.”
“So you don’t favor women you fuck? Just your girlfriends.”
His mouth went into a smirk.
“I don’t have ‘girlfriends’, Beth.”
“You know what I mean.” She put a hand through her hair. It was still cropped, then. “Some kind of-“
“My little princess.”
“Don’t fucking call me that.”
“We’re not like them, Beth. We don’t subscribe to the whole workings of people out there-marriages and small houses-“
“I don’t want to marry you.”
“Do you want to be ordinary?” He shrugged. “You want to be ordinary, fine. You want me to call you sweetheart? I can fuck you once a week, if you want, I can take you out on dates, if that’s what you want me to call them.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I can do that. Just say, if that’s what you want.”
Her mouth opened and shut.
“Don’t do this. Don’t play this game.”
“I would have thought better of you, Beth.”
-
They used to make fun of the other girls, drunk, in his apartment. Veronica tried too hard, jutting out her shoulders, and pursing her lips and Annette had no expression, though she danced well and Rebecca always looked distracted.
And Nina? Nina Sayers?
Frigid little girl.
-
It happened when she hit thirty-five, really.
She was dancing and they were all watching and one of the trainers, one of those hard-faced blondes with tight muscles in her back got a bit of a smile hard and a little satisfied.
She knew. She knew then.
She decided to wait for him to tell her to leave. A mistake, probably.
-
The bottle fit between her lips like it always did. She used to carry a flask in her garter.
She thought of Anna Karenina when she was walking into the traffic.
-
When the girl died, she laughed. She got the newspaper and she laughed so hard she was sick.
The other one, the alternate, stepped up within the week. Almost identical, the chorines.
One was as good as another, she thought.