Within the Demon's Grip: Part One

Chapter One

Chapter One

Nocturnal insects struck the bare light-bulb on the patio. Repeatedly. Natalia King could hear them, despite the loud music coming from the backyard. A moth hit the opened magazine she was thumbing through, and then quickly flew away before she could react. Night had fallen quickly, an angry red sunset slowly losing strength in the coming darkness. The patio was just bright enough to make the text of the magazine visible.

'Mister Right and Mister Wrong: How to Tell the Difference, and When to Run,' the bold lettering read.

"Give me a fucking break," Natalia scoffed, swiping the bug off the page. There was no 'Mister Right'. Plenty of "Mister-Right-Nows" if you looked a certain way, and acted a certain way. Natalia hadn't found any, but, then again, she wasn't really their type.

Nor did she want to be.

Love was a crutch, she always said. People used it to excuse bad behavior. People used it, also, to accept bad behavior. She liked to think she was better than that—that she was above that, but the thought still drove her crazy sometimes, especially when it seemed everyone else's opinion was the opposite of hers. It made it hard to relate to anyone.

After skimming a few more articles, she grew tired of the magazine and listlessly tossed it to the side. It wasn't just the romance columns that made her exasperated. Really, it was the whole, fucking culture. 'How to Look This Way.' 'How to Achieve This Style.' 'How to Get Him to Notice You.' It was all a bunch of bullshit. Sure, make changes if there's a need for change, but why do it for someone else? Someone who doesn't occupy the same mind and the same body? Someone who doesn't know what it's like to live in said person's world?

Natalia rose from the lounge chair, and quickly descended the steps into the backyard. She paused to rub her temples, irritation swinging into anger. The ruckus of laughter and music was really grating on her nerves. She had tried to ignore it, but it was just that loud.

"Fucking parties," she grumbled. She hated them. She hated the noise, the awful music, the dancing ... the drinking. Why the hell was she even there? "Good question," Natalia growled.

Of course she knew the answer. It was because her best friend, Sandra Parker had practically begged her to come.

"Oh, come on, Nat. You could use a little loosening up!" she'd said, smiling a big, enchanting smile, and of course, Natalia had relented. She always did when it came to Sandra....

"Speaking of which," Natalia sighed. "Where the hell is she?"

What happened to, "No, don't worry, I'll definitely hang out with you!" when Natalia had fretted over not really knowing anyone else. But, of course, this always seemed to happen.

"I never fucking learn," Natalia muttered.

The yard was lit with ugly tiki-torches crudely staked into the ground, leading from the backyard all around to the front porch. The light from them blurred in her vision, taking with it, the many dancing bodies around them. Young women in their skimpiest attire, sweat glistening on their skin as they grinded and gyrated against way too eager guys.

Natalia drew back, closing her eyes. The music was way too loud, and it was rap. Some raunchy song about sex. It certainly fit the setting.

Natalia continued to rub her temples, practically boring holes into them. It wasn't going to help, so why did she even bother? Her head was beginning to feel like the sound system was inside it, throbbing and pulsing. She winced.

"Maybe I can find Sandra and we can get the hell--"

"There you are!" exclaimed Sandra ... like she had actually been looking for her. Natalia didn't buy it, especially when Sandra clambered clumsily up to her, plastic cup in hand.