Page 21 of The Drama King

Vespera

"He'sescalating,"ItoldStephanie and Robbie over dinner that evening. "Not just intimidation anymore, but systematic emotional manipulation disguised as artistic collaboration."

"That's not a collaboration," Robbie said firmly. "That's emotional abuse with academic justification. There's a difference between challenging scene work and deliberate psychological harm."

"But that's what makes it so insidious," I replied, pushing food around my plate without much appetite. "He's technically right that great acting requires emotional risk, that you have to access genuine feelings to create authentic performances. So when he pushes me to places that feel unsafe, I can't tell if it's legitimate artistic direction or calculated cruelty."

"It's both," Stephanie said quietly. "He's using real artistic principles to justify behavior that crosses ethical boundaries.Classic manipulation tactic. Wrap abuse in just enough legitimate authority to make the victim question their own instincts."

"So what do I do?" I looked between my two friends, desperate for guidance. "I can't drop the class, and I can't refuse to work with him without jeopardizing my grade. But I also can't spend the next month being systematically broken down in the name of artistic truth."

"You set boundaries," Robbie said. "Clear, firm limits on what you will and won't accept, regardless of artistic justification. Great acting doesn't require self-destruction."

"And we document everything," Stephanie added. "Every inappropriate comment, every boundary violation, every moment where he crosses from legitimate scene work into personal attack. Build a case."

"A case for what?" I asked. "Even if I could prove he's manipulating me, he'll just claim it's legitimate artistic direction. Who's going to side with the scholarship Omega over the son of a political dynasty when it comes to subjective questions about acting methodology?"

The silence that followed confirmed what we all knew. I was trapped in a situation where my only options were to endure the psychological assault or abandon everything I'd worked for.

"There might be another way," Robbie said slowly. "What if you turn his methods against him?"

"What do you mean?"

"He's trying to break you down, right? Make you vulnerable and reactive so he can control the dynamic. But what if instead of resisting or enduring, you used his techniques to study him? Learn his patterns, his triggers, his vulnerabilities?"

I stared at him, intrigued despite my exhaustion. "You mean treat it like research?"

"Exactly. He's giving you a masterclass in psychological manipulation. Not because he wants to teach you, but because he can't help showing off his skills. If you approach it as learning rather than just surviving, you might find ways to protect yourself or even turn the tables."

"That's... actually brilliant," Stephanie said, her expression brightening. "Instead of being his victim, you become his student. Learn everything he's willing to demonstrate about power dynamics and psychological warfare."

"It's still dangerous," I pointed out. "And it doesn't solve the immediate problem of how to get through the next few weeks without being completely psychologically dismantled."

"No," Robbie agreed. "But it gives you a framework for understanding what's happening to you, and understanding is the first step toward agency."

I considered the proposal, turning it over in my mind. It was risky, potentially putting me in even greater psychological danger. But it also offered something I desperately needed. A sense of purpose beyond mere survival.

"Knowledge as power," I murmured.

"Exactly," Stephanie said. "And if you're going to be subjected to his manipulation anyway, you might as well learn something useful from the experience."

For the first time since the whole ordeal began, I felt a spark of something other than fear or determination. Not quite optimism, but perhaps the beginning of strategy.

If Corvus wanted to treat me as a subject for psychological experimentation, I could return the favor. The student could study the teacher, even if the teacher didn't realize that was what was happening.

But for now, at this moment, it felt like enough to not be facing the challenge alone. Whatever Corvus had planned for our nextrehearsal, whatever psychological games the pack might escalate to, I wouldn't be walking into them completely defenseless.

Even if I wasn't entirely sure what I was defending against.

***

The morning of our scene study midterms arrived gray and cold, October's warmth finally surrendering to November's chill. I'd spent the previous night running lines with Stephanie, working through every possible variation of the interrogation scene until I could deliver Elizabeth's responses in my sleep.

But all that preparation felt fragile as I stood outside Professor De Scarzis's classroom, waiting to perform with Corvus. Over the past two weeks, our rehearsals had become increasingly tense. Him pushing psychological boundaries under the guise of "method work," me trying to maintain professional boundaries while accessing the emotional truth the scene required.

"You'll be brilliant," Stephanie whispered, squeezing my hand. "Remember what we practiced. Don't let him throw you off your preparation."

I nodded, though my stomach churned with nervous energy. Around us, other scene pairs rehearsed quietly, some looking confident, others clearly struggling with last-minute panic. The stakes felt enormous. Thirty percent of our semester grade, with faculty evaluators taking notes that would follow us through the rest of our time at Northwood.