In Hell We Dance

Magic

-Isaac-

Shit. I think I'm actually falling for that motherfucker.

It's not getting any easier, the thought of dumping his sorry ass now. With how fast and how far he's falling, I no longer think it'll be a problem. Down into darkness he goes, down to play with the big boys.

Hell's still a long ways off, but today we found this guy who pimped up the counter to make it all official looking and shit. Metal bars, marble surface and he even installed the pipes and taps. No alcohol yet, but I like to play with the little knobs and drain that shit down like there's no tomorrow.

Fuck. Just thinking of this makes me thirsty. I'm sick of hiding. Tonight we're having some fun!

I text Connor to meet me at Horizon, an exclusive looking nightclub I stumbled across on my night-time escapes into the city. Relax, I kept from the revealing stares of the streetlamps and pulled my hood up. Anonymous, easy as that.

'Course, the damn place costs to get in, and I was running low. But lucky little me, I've got a boyfriend rolling in dough.

Did I just call him my boyfriend?

I shiver. Stop that, Isaac. You're getting too soft. Remember who you are. You're better than this.

Or worse.

Take your pick.

***

I take one last drag before flicking the cigarette butt into the drain, then push off from the wall, embracing Connor as he approaches all slant-eyed. I know he wants to make a fuss. This'll shut him up.

Releasing him, I flash a grin at some frowning couple, then turn back to my best man. Connor is squinting, studying the neon sign.

"You want to go here?" he murmurs disapprovingly.

"What? Got a problem?"

He shrugs, losing that nasty bushy brow.

"Oh come on, mate," I laugh, chewing at my lower lip. "I know you're used to fancy shit and all that, but alcohol is alcohol. You'll be so fucked, it won't matter if the walls are made of fucking gold."

"I could have taken us somewhere nicer. Just saying."

"This is good enough, man. Out of the way too. Or did you forget I'm trying to stay quiet?"

He gives me a look as if to say the very thought never crossed his mind, and he takes my hand. I grin, going in for the kiss, which he accepts, albeit reluctantly. Damn, I'm losing him.

"It's research, man," I assure him. "We'll see what they've got, and we'll do one better."

"I thought you didn't want a nightclub..."

"True true, man. Gotta take some inspiration though. Plus I just wanted to get shitfaced tonight somewhere that's not so fucking depressing. Can you blame me?"

Connor stretches his arms out in a half-shrug and then checks his top button. Of course the man got all dressed up. I did too. He kept me supplied with the best fucking shit that's ever graced this fine body. I was wearing a snazzy blazer over a black shirt that felt smooth as fuck. My shoes chafed a bit, but what can you expect? He had to guess my size. Now I was getting to wear my best attire, and my my do I look dapper or don't I?

He's in white: white suit pants, jacket and sporting a blood-red tie. Black and white. Light and darkness. I still think he looks better in black.

Once we're in, I head straight for the bar, Connor following suit. I get us started with two shots of tequila and things only get better from there. The edges blur, or slide. Or both. Connor is weak and is already slurring his words. When he dances, he looks fucking stupid. But he's enjoying himself, so he fits right in.