Read Online The Mechanical Theater by Brooke Johnson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Brooke Johnson
Ads: Link
turned a few pages. “—scene six. So I need the actors for Antony, Octavia, Enobarbus, Eros, Caesar, Agrippa, and Mecaenas.” He glanced up. “Can everyone be here by five?”
“Yes,” they all said at once.
“Anyone else who wishes to watch the practice may come as well.” He nodded and tucked his script under his arm. “See you all tomorrow.”
The actors gathered their coats, scarves, and hats, and left the theater hall. Solomon dropped his broom against a chair and rushed to the other side, looking for Dahlia. She walked under Damien’s arm, her dark eyes blind to all but the carpet at her feet. She didn’t even acknowledge Solomon as they passed him, but Damien caught his eye and smirked, pulling Dahlia closer to his chest.
Solomon set his jaw. “Miss Appleton?”
She squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lip but did not look at him.
He swallowed. “Dahlia, please.”
Dahlia raised her head and glanced back, her loose blonde curls framing her pale face. She bore the shadow of a bruise on her cheek, a day old at the least.
Solomon set his jaw and stepped forward. “Miss Appleton, I was going to stay a while longer. Would you like to practice your lines?”
Damien glared at him. “No, she wouldn’t.”
“I wasn’t asking you.” Solomon glanced at Dahlia again, but she only stared pointedly at the toes of her boots. “I could walk you home after,” he said more gently.
Her eyelashes fluttered and she bit her lip. “Solomon, I—” She winced as Damien’s grip on her arm tightened. “I can’t.” A line of tears trailed down each cheek. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize to him ,” hissed Damien, still clutching her arm. He glared at Solomon “She doesn’t want to talk to you, all right? Leave her alone.”
“Maybe she could tell me that herself,” Solomon said, exhaling sharply. “Miss Appleton, I—”
“Do you want to have a go?” asked Damien. “Leave Dahlia alone or you’ll have me to answer to.”
Solomon curled his fingers into fists. “I just want to talk to her,” he said slowly. “If she doesn’t want to talk to me, I’d like to hear it from her, if you don’t mind.”
Damien raised his eyebrows. “Fine.” He removed his arm from Dahlia’s shoulders and shoved her toward Solomon. “You heard him. Tell him.”
She staggered forward and raised her tearful eyes to Solomon’s.
“Dahlia,” he said softly. “Let me walk you home.”
She blinked a few times, and his frown hardened at the dark, yellowing bruise she had tried to hide with a layer of powder. She sucked in a deep breath and exhaled sharply, casting her eyes to the ground. “I can’t talk to you,” she whispered.
Solomon dared to step closer. He breathed in the fragrance in her hair and clothes—a fresh, soapy scent. “Let me help you,” he whispered, resisting the urge to reach out and touch her, to comfort her. “Please.”
Damien loomed up behind her and gripped her by the arm.
She inhaled a shaky breath at his touch, and tears fell from her eyes. Her lips trembling, she raised her eyes to Solomon, her chin set. “I don’t want to talk to you, Mr. Wade.” Her voice cracked on his name. “Leave me alone.”
Solomon pressed his lips together. “Dahlia—”
“See?” said Damien, drawing her back to him. “Now shove off.”
She didn’t take her eyes from Solomon, even as Damien pulled her under his arm. She blinked, and tears slid down her cheeks, leaving gray streaks of mascara under her dark brown eyes. But she didn’t speak. She didn’t ask for help. She didn’t say anything at all.
Damien smiled. “Good evening, Mr. Wade.”
They left the theater hall then, disappearing into the foyer. Solomon remained in the aisle, his eyes glued to the space of air that hung in the doorway. If she had asked for his help, if she had said something, anything at all . . . He sighed. He wanted to help her, but either she was too stubborn or too afraid to accept it.
“Yes,” they all said at once.
“Anyone else who wishes to watch the practice may come as well.” He nodded and tucked his script under his arm. “See you all tomorrow.”
The actors gathered their coats, scarves, and hats, and left the theater hall. Solomon dropped his broom against a chair and rushed to the other side, looking for Dahlia. She walked under Damien’s arm, her dark eyes blind to all but the carpet at her feet. She didn’t even acknowledge Solomon as they passed him, but Damien caught his eye and smirked, pulling Dahlia closer to his chest.
Solomon set his jaw. “Miss Appleton?”
She squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lip but did not look at him.
He swallowed. “Dahlia, please.”
Dahlia raised her head and glanced back, her loose blonde curls framing her pale face. She bore the shadow of a bruise on her cheek, a day old at the least.
Solomon set his jaw and stepped forward. “Miss Appleton, I was going to stay a while longer. Would you like to practice your lines?”
Damien glared at him. “No, she wouldn’t.”
“I wasn’t asking you.” Solomon glanced at Dahlia again, but she only stared pointedly at the toes of her boots. “I could walk you home after,” he said more gently.
Her eyelashes fluttered and she bit her lip. “Solomon, I—” She winced as Damien’s grip on her arm tightened. “I can’t.” A line of tears trailed down each cheek. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize to him ,” hissed Damien, still clutching her arm. He glared at Solomon “She doesn’t want to talk to you, all right? Leave her alone.”
“Maybe she could tell me that herself,” Solomon said, exhaling sharply. “Miss Appleton, I—”
“Do you want to have a go?” asked Damien. “Leave Dahlia alone or you’ll have me to answer to.”
Solomon curled his fingers into fists. “I just want to talk to her,” he said slowly. “If she doesn’t want to talk to me, I’d like to hear it from her, if you don’t mind.”
Damien raised his eyebrows. “Fine.” He removed his arm from Dahlia’s shoulders and shoved her toward Solomon. “You heard him. Tell him.”
She staggered forward and raised her tearful eyes to Solomon’s.
“Dahlia,” he said softly. “Let me walk you home.”
She blinked a few times, and his frown hardened at the dark, yellowing bruise she had tried to hide with a layer of powder. She sucked in a deep breath and exhaled sharply, casting her eyes to the ground. “I can’t talk to you,” she whispered.
Solomon dared to step closer. He breathed in the fragrance in her hair and clothes—a fresh, soapy scent. “Let me help you,” he whispered, resisting the urge to reach out and touch her, to comfort her. “Please.”
Damien loomed up behind her and gripped her by the arm.
She inhaled a shaky breath at his touch, and tears fell from her eyes. Her lips trembling, she raised her eyes to Solomon, her chin set. “I don’t want to talk to you, Mr. Wade.” Her voice cracked on his name. “Leave me alone.”
Solomon pressed his lips together. “Dahlia—”
“See?” said Damien, drawing her back to him. “Now shove off.”
She didn’t take her eyes from Solomon, even as Damien pulled her under his arm. She blinked, and tears slid down her cheeks, leaving gray streaks of mascara under her dark brown eyes. But she didn’t speak. She didn’t ask for help. She didn’t say anything at all.
Damien smiled. “Good evening, Mr. Wade.”
They left the theater hall then, disappearing into the foyer. Solomon remained in the aisle, his eyes glued to the space of air that hung in the doorway. If she had asked for his help, if she had said something, anything at all . . . He sighed. He wanted to help her, but either she was too stubborn or too afraid to accept it.
Similar Books
