In Hell We Dance

Oblivion

Disclaimer: I said at the start this was a dark and disturbing story. Connor has kept Isaac at bay so far, but Isaac is broken, splintering with every knock. Despite Connor getting closer, he feels more alone than ever, and he is falling too fast. This chapter will feature a confronting scene. Isaac is falling hard, but even at this lowest of lows, he realises what he's doing, the mistake he's made. There is a road for him out of this madness.

-Isaac-

You know, when you kick a dog, it whimpers away, all sad, licking its wounds and shit. That was Connor. I missed my string bean, but on the plus side, that meant one less obstacle between me and Corin.

Like seriously, man, I had to fight the urge so damn bad not to just squeeze her tight little ass and just get down to business every freaking second she was here, painting the walls of Hell. You know, when she reached up and her buns jiggled just right, and her breasts...

Shit, I'm getting a stiffy just thinking about it. Guess I should go relieve myself. As soon as that orange squash is out of the picture, ain't no one getting in the way of Isaac and his prey.

***

Eyes that burn, that bore, that possess. I had all kinds of eyes and all of them just for her. I kept my distance, and if I were a savage—you know I'm not, babe—I'd lick my lips. Connor would respond to my texts a day late, and they'd all rattle off the same shit. He was 'busy'. Busy doing what? Shit, man, I thought we were doing so damn well.

It wasn't me, was it? Like, I didn't do any shit that scared him off or anything? I liked it when he was here. Kept me sane. Kept me happy. What do I have now but a lustful mind and a raging appetite? Corin is the main course, and I'm skipping the appetiser.

The paintings were neat and shit, but like... I could make no damn sense of Corin's. They were real pretty, but for all her glossy pinks and greens, she was just drawing shapeless... things.

Don't get me started on Sophie. A dolphin? Like what the fuck? We ain't in kindergarten. A butterfly? Sure, it popped—that's one thing I'll admit with all these neon colours, but we're not paying them to decorate a nursery. Draw me some flames and shit. A dragon. I don't know. Corin said she was a street artist. I'll be patient. Not my strong suit, but so far those wordless shapes look a hell of a lot better than the squash's kiddy show bullshit.

Snorting, I turn to leave, but when I say patience isn't my speciality, I mean it. Instead, I move quickly towards them, trying my best at a smile, but feeling like letting out steam.

"How's it hanging, ladies."

Sophie bristles and turns that familiar glare my way.

"I thought I told you to stay out of the room."

"And I told you," I grin, my words pointed strikes. "this is my home. So I go where I damn want." I pause, letting it drag. I could crack up just seeing her shrivel like that. "I won't hurt your feelings if that's what's got your panties in a bind. But I am actively interested in the art that goes on my wall. So divulge me, what's the thought process here?"

I turn my question towards Corin. Don't need to hear any shit from Sophie. She can try and justify her dolphin away all day. The only thing stopping me from painting over it after she's gone is the knowledge that I'd probably just make an ugly patch. Let the dolphin stay if Corin can knock her lousy friend's shit out of the park.

Hey, maybe this art shit isn't so hard. I'll paint some flames around the dolphin. Maybe draw in some fangs. I don't know, man. Anything's better than this.