In Hell We Dance

Monster

Rain is a good companion when you have none. I woke up to its gentle patter, a smile on my lips, and when I opened my eyes, I was alone, but not quite. The window like a narrow slit on the wall above showed raindrops tinged in orange, streetlamps fighting through the grimy darkness. The only thing missing was the slice of tires over water, a distant car horn. All was utterly quiet in this dead neighbourhood.

Oh. Right. Not my house. I mean of course, right. I live in a freaking manor; my caesar bed—that's right, caesar, as in five people orgies, yeah?—is my best friend I like to cuddle with. Somehow an air mattress doesn't quite live up to that golden standard.

A damp air clings to me and I shiver, clawing through the darkness for my discarded clothes. I have to pause and draw in a deep breath, staring over at the mattress before me. Not too long ago, I got laid.

Wait till I tell my non-existent friends...

But seriously. I. Got. Laid.

No one can take that away from me. If this were some corny teen flick, I would leap into the air and do a fist pump. I shrug. I feel so giddy and I fist pump anyway.

It's still damn cold and I'd like nothing more than to snuggle up with Isaac, but he's mysteriously out of the picture, and I need to get home. They won't notice my absence now, but if I'm not at breakfast, mum will throw a fit. You do not want to see her mad.

She can do things to you that make even the rock-solid men shiver. Yeah, she's fricking ruthless.

I'm not leaving without giving Isaac a goodbye kiss.

Is he into that? I mean, seems like a cute couple thing to do. I mean I know I'd love it, but he might bite.

Out into the nightmare inducing pitch black beyond, a single flickering lamp over in the direction of the bar is my salvation. With a silent sigh of relief, wiping fake sweat from my brow, I hurry over, the cold roaring through my socks. Shoes are still M.I.A right now.

I find him slouched against the counter, and I slow as I hear... sobbing. His face is hidden in shadow, but the picture painted here is one of sorrow. He is still half naked, only sporting his underwear now, yet it looks like all the life has drained from him, like I could poke him and he'd topple over. A rum bottle hangs limply between two fingers like it will fall out at any second.

In the jagged slices the light casts, Isaac looks like a demented spirit, and if I hadn't just spent the night with him, I would have been running in the opposite direction. Finding some of the unused courage deep within, I suck in air through my teeth and slowly let it out. OK, not much better, but if we're going to be a thing now, I need to be there for him.

"Hey, Isaac," I breathe, reaching forwardly cautiously, like running my hand through cold water, pushing against my skin, yet still I press on. As soon as my fingers brush against his shoulder, I sense a change in him, like something deep stirring, a gear falling into place, but not much else. "are you OK? Ya know, I'm here for you. You can..."

I squeeze his shoulder, just lightly. I realise my mistake all too late. His other arm snatches through the darkness and takes my wrist, a vice-like grip. The bottle falls with a clink, rolling off out of sight, and Isaac lifts himself up, towering over me, His hair obscures his eyes, not that it mattered anyway, drenched in darkness as they were. I don't think I ever felt as mortified in my life as I did in that moment. Not even when I thought a lunatic was chasing me the other day. Turns out both those meltdowns can be linked to this one guy.

His grip is rough, but he squeezes harder, eliciting a pathetic yelp from me. He spins me sharply, shoving me against the wall. The breath is knocked from my lungs.

His face hovers close to mine, and I yearn for the Isaac of yesterday, where that intimacy wasn't so scathing.

"Leave me," he murmurs, drawing out each word like a different stab of the knife. "the fuck alone."

No surprise his breath reeks of rum, but it's even more putrid now, like its mixed with vomit. I wouldn't be surprised if I stepped in it. My feet were ice blocks by now anyway, numb beyond belief, which was some relief I suppose.

"Isaac, you're hurting me."

I try and keep some humour in my voice. Better to keep him happy, right...?

He takes my chin in between finger and thumb and presses hard.

"You think I give a damn?"

His words are pure venom, a growl that sings through my chest. They're also slightly slurred. Fantastic! He's flipping drunk.

"Isaac, I don't... You can let me go. I just... I wanted to say goodbye."

He cocks his head to the right, a razor-sharp smirk that could slice hearts.

"Oh, missed me, did you? Don't fucking lie. You wanted more of this."

His other hand rips mine down, forcing it onto his junk. I would lie and say it wasn't in the slightest bit invigorating. But it was. I still gasped, for I am nothing if not a drama queen.

"Don't fucking lie!" he half moans, half grunts, forcing himself closer. Now it's a snarl. "Don't. Fucking. Lie."

"Isaac, let's talk."

"Oh come off it," he snarls. "You only want to fuck me. Don't fucking pretend like you care. This is all... all a fancy way to..." He wavers on the spot and I wonder if I should help him. He finds his balance in an instant and shoves his arm against my neck, and my head whips back into the wall. I'm struggling to breathe, else I would have screamed.

"I'll snap your neck."

Just that, barely more than a whisper. I blink.

I laugh, an uneasy laugh that fully betrays how pissing scared I am.

"OK, easy there, Isaac. Getting a bit extreme, don't you think? Maybe we need to tone things down, bring the heat down two not—"

He silences me with another shove. I don't know where he got it from, but from the depths of his hand, he produces a lighter and flicks it on, hovering it close to my eye. The heat is intense, and my eyes are focused solely on the flame.

"I'm like fire," Isaac grins, a savage thing from a demon in the shadows. He moves the lighter down to my chin and the tip of the flame licks at skin. I lick my lips. I would try and struggle free but I fear he will keep his earlier promise. "Get too close and..."

The flame bites, and I convulse. The flame is gone, and Isaac releases me. I fall to the floor, stroking at my chin, but that's the part of me that stings the least. Sick, bitter laughter fills the shadows.

I scramble to my feet and face him, taking slow steps backwards. His smirk is no less demented, and I seriously fear for my life. What was I thinking? Call something dangerous enough times and it loses its impact. But it was always that thing. Isaac was never any good for me.

So I run. My feet slip on a cylindrical object—the fucking rum bottle—and I fall fast, and hard, landing awkwardly on my wrist. I think I hear a snap. I wince, but I'm too fucking scared to let a few broken bones stop me. With my good hand, I push myself up and squint, looking for shapes, hope—reason in this madness. The orange light is faint, but enough. I follow it. And trip again. This time I'm more fortunate, and I steady myself. It's squishy this time, and I immediately know what halted my flight this time. Reaching down, I scoop up my shoes, but ragged laughter still rings in my ears, closer, closer...

I don't look back. 

Out into that freezing night, each drop of rain a little sting of ice, just enough to remind me I'm still feeling, still breathing. Still alive.

A monster lingers in those shadows, and I'm done feeding it.