Page 15 of Masked Sins
Before I forget, I pull my phone out and the skull balaclava from my back pocket, popping the hood of my sweatshirt over my head when I’m done. Setting my phone on a windowsill, I hit record and walk backward with my arms spread. The recording cuts off after fifteen seconds, and I save the video to upload across all social media channels and type out a caption.
Will you be my good girl and kneel for me? Stay tuned for my next video on communication and safe words.
I triple-check that no identifying factors are in the video before hitting upload. Unlike how select friends and family know about Inferno, no one knows I’m also Starboy1997across multiple social media channels.
It started as a way to educate people about kink without showing my face and thereby inviting speculation about our family, and over the past few months, the fans have gone a bit rabid. Every time I upload a new video, it’s akin to fanning a flame, but I enjoy it.
Women can be too casual about kink, and my mission is to ensure people stay safe and that it stays consensual for all parties. Aside from enjoying myself, I hope I’m also helping people make safe decisions, educate themselves, and maybe enjoy the view while they learn.
I pull the mask off and stash it in the pocket of my dark jeans before letting my eyes sweep over the place. Grabbing my helmet, I pull the door closed and lock it.
It’s still cold as fuck for March, so I pull my leather jacket and helmet on before unlocking my bike, swinging one leg over the seat, and moving the kickstand up.
It’s half past noon, so I have an hour to get downtown, and as I gun the throttle, my bike sends me flying down the main street in Crestwood. My fingers are already frozen through, so I grab the leather gloves stashed inside the bike at the next light.
By the time I get downtown and park my bike, it’s five minutes to two. I take the stairs two at a time as I wave at the Stardust Playhouse security, sliding through a back door and taking a hallway to one of the box seats overlooking the stage. There are twenty seats up here, and I purchased all of them for the entire season.
Though it’s only been a little over a week, I haven’t missed a single day of Layla’s performance.
Pulling my hood over my head, I lean back as the lights dim and the ballet begins. At this point, I could write a book about the ballet since I’ve seen it over a hundred times. The show starts with Prince Siegfried planning his twenty-first birthday with a royal ball. Soon after, his mother tells him he must choose a woman to marry, and he unhappily tells her he’d rather marry for love. He goes out into the forest with his new bow and arrow, where he sees a group of swans on a nearby lake.
This is where I sit up straighter—leaning forward over the balcony as Layla appears. She stands up to full height, turning from a Swan Queen into a woman named Odette. My whole body warms at the sight of her in a white bodice and tutu, her pale skin glistening and maneuvering in a way that transfixes me every time. She dances with Siegfried, and despite knowing the male dancer’s husband, I still feel envious of how he touchesLayla—how his hands grip her waist and how he looks at her like she’s the only person in the world.
Layla’s tiara sparkles as she turns and turns—a pirouette, if my research is correct. I don’t know much about ballet, but I’ve been trying to learn because I can’t resist the urge to know everything about her.Even though she told me all those years ago to leave her alone.But that was an impossible ask. She’ll never know how close I’ve actually stayed. Always on the sidelines.
The music swells, captivating everyone in the audience.
I still can’t hear a Tchaikovsky piece without thinking of Layla.
My favorite part of the ballet begins next. Layla comes out in a black costume instead of a white one. She’s now the evil Odile, and I watch as she confidently seduces Siegfried.Fuck,she has no idea how entrancing she is. When she plays Odette, she’s shy and docile. But when Odile comes out? She’s bold, unyielding, and steps into that role easily.
I take a deep breath and sit back. Only a few more minutes are left of the show, and I can’t risk being seen by her when they do the curtain call. However, I can’t seem to take my eyes off her even though I know this part by heart. It’s where she dances her final dance with Siegfried—dressed in all white once again.
It’s the happy ending.
The one part that makes me dread returning to my real life since the woman dancing this part wants nothing to do with me in real life. For these two hours, I can pretend she’s dancing for me just like she used to. The secret smiles, the searching eyes… for ten years, she danced forme.It was platonic back then, but I still felt connected to her.
Plus, when she’s on stage, she’s not stiff and robotic like she so often is around me. She’s in her element, and I get to witness the real Layla again—temporarily, at least.
I think of our encounter at Scott’s house a few weeks ago. I haven’t seen her since except to watch her ballet performances, and on the days she has off or there’s no performance scheduled, I feel it.
My whole body feels off—and I get irritable, antsy, and argumentative.
I need her like I used to need alcohol. One vice for another, yet I’m not sure which is worse.
My old obsession with alcohol.
And now my obsession with my stepsister.
Stepsister.
We grew up together, so I know I shouldn’t house these fantasies for her.
It can never happen, and I’ve come to terms with that, but it doesn’t dull the obsession.
If anything, it makes me want her more.
And this obsession isn’t new. I’ve craved her for years. Mostly from afar, but I wanted her even back when she didn’t hate my guts.
