(damaged boys) 3

There were five of them in the row of townhouses, and underneath the sheen of public normalcy and personal success lived the gaping damage within.
Corey
The timer had already kicked the coffee pot into high gear by the time Corey managed to drag himself out of bed at 5:30. He padded quietly into the bathroom to shower. The hotter, the better, he thought as he turned the faucet to full-tilt. His muscles ached the soft, delicious ache of a particularly grueling workout. His life as a dancer in the city’s premier ballet company demanded that he be in the best shape physically at all times. At 31, he was on the downhill side of his career, as year by year his cartilage wore ever thinner and less durable. He was required to lift, carry and toss ballerinas around the stage…something which had been easier when he was nineteen.

He stepped into the blazing warmth of the shower and let the water stream over him, letting the heat penetrate. He was in the best shape of his life, muscular and flexible, strong and limber…chiseled. He’d worked long hours in rehearsal studios and gyms to achieve his present physicality. He was, however, not particularly handsome…in the traditional sense. His face was pocked, his nose large and he sported the most uncooperative and bristly brown hair, which was, in fact, in need of cutting.
Corey shaved and dressed for the day, black jeans, tight ribbed turtleneck and black leather shoes with silver buckles. He poured his coffee and sat down at the kitchen table…really no more than a counter built out from the wall, and opened up the weekly alternative newspaper. He quickly flipped to the rear sections and began thumbing through the classified advertising. He circled three ads which piqued his interest, and transferred the telephone numbers into his daily planner. He would call later in the day and leave messages.
Corey always enjoyed company class…the opportunity for the entire company of dancers, apprentices through the prima ballerinas, to warm-up, to learn and to stretch and strengthen. Corey loved the discipline, the consistency of routine since he was twelve. He watched his every movement in the mirror, his every angle…he also watched Christopher, the gorgeous blonde apprentice from California. Every bit the surfer-boy type, Christopher seemed to defy gravity…his grace was unparalleled and his strength unequalled among the entire corps. Christopher caught Corey’s glance and smiled.
After lunch hour, Corey caught up to Christopher.
“Hey Chris, I found that ad you’d mentioned.”
“Yeah? Did you call?”
“Left a message during lunch.”
“Cool. They’ll call you soon…I told them to expect you. They’ll just want to talk to you for a little, and if they like you, they’ll want to meet you in person, you know…just to make sure you’re what they’re looking for. I told them not to worry.”
“Thanks. It just seems, I don’t know…is it tough?”
“First time’s a little weird, but you’ll get into it. Especially the money.”
“Well, I’ll let you know what happens.”
“Do.”
Christopher walked out of the locker room and back into the studio.
When Corey arrived home that evening, the message light on his phone was blinking. He called his voicemail and retrieved a message from Ryan at Metro Escorts.