Hope

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-Isaac-

You might be afraid of Hell. Don't be. That's where all the fun is.

'Course, I'm talking bout my Hell. No flames and endless torture—no shit like that. My Hell is a lie. A scary name, but also a safe haven for us corrupt souls. Come on, you'll like it.

Thing is though, every sweet place doesn't just become that instantly. It takes work. I've got good ol' Joe and Blummy... Bummy? Whatever. It doesn't matter. I've got my good mates here turning this shithole into a slightly nicer shithole. Connor's like a goddamn mosquito, never letting go, wanting that sweet sweet blood. He honestly buys all that crap I give him. Too easy.

But cute.

Damn, I've gotta stop. Connor is so freaking tame. But I like him. I'll string him along and break his heart. That's how this works. That's how this always works. Did you seriously believe this story was gonna have a happy ending? Admit it, you're staying for that sweet juicy primal devil within you. Maybe not devil. It's not unhealthy to like it when we get all kinky. It's how we survive. And I'm not talking making babies.

Man, this place is gonna be all I ever needed, baby! No temporary hunting ground. Here I'm king. Connor... Uh, he can be my queen for a while. What? There can't be two kings here. King gets all, man, just in case you didn't know that.

Am I going on? I'm going on. Only 'cause you're probably not interested in what's happening around me. See, you're here 'cause you like me. I shock you. Or I don't. Either's cool, baby. Doesn't change the fact. You want more of me. Not naïve little Connor. Me. Admit it. That's right. I'm talking to you. You don't need to hear about the goddamn windows being replaced, the shit being cleared out, and most importantly, the hole getting its makeover.

OK, maybe you do want to hear about that.

Joe and Blummy... Yeah, Blummy. See, I'm good at this. Well, those two got their mates and went to work. All in all, it took them two days to fix the locks, fit in some snazzy new windows—tinted so you can't see in from the outside. But we see you, us and our black hearts.

Connor came to visit both days, but he didn't stay long. Just bought lunch, like the loyal little pup he is. Course I knew exactly what he wanted. I know. And I'm not giving it to him. I'm ice cold like that. He thinks we're actually a thing. How fucking adorable. I see him struggle with that. Sometimes I'm actually tempted to just bang him—I've got no one else willing. Not yet anyway.

But no. I can play the long game. Sooner or later I'll give in, but Connor is my bitch. He'll crawl and crawl after me, begging for that one drop, and I'll only give it when the torture's gone on long enough. That's how you keep 'em. It also makes the inevitable crushing of his soul that much sweeter.

No room in this withered heart for compassion. So stay for the ride. Play it out. See where it gets you. I've seen how bad things get. I've lived it. The worst that pussy's gonna get is a dent in his wallet. Big fucking deal. I've got no empathy for the rich. He can fund my dream all he likes—at the end it must end like anything does. With disappointment.

Sorry if that hurts your feelings, honey. I'm not in the business for things wrapped in a nice bow. Go find that story elsewhere.

So his visits were short—he left, tail between his legs, trying to act all dignified and shit, but I gave him just enough to come back again. A kiss. A single kiss. That's all it takes.

A currency all on its own. Seriously, you should try it. Kiss some poor sap. Lead them along. Break their heart. Always break their heart. But kiss them first.

Give them that. Throw them a wink while you're at it. People are so easy, hooked on that little drug called

hope.

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