In Hell We Dance

Hell

"Say what now...?"

"Knew you'd be down for it," I smirk.

"I haven't even agreed to anything yet."

"Nah, man, but you didn't say no."

"True," he nods. "but..." I lick my lips, body tense. Then he sighs. "Alright. I guess it's time."

"Aww, baby," I grin, wrapping my arm around his neck, bringing him closer. "This is why I love you."

I pull him into a passionate kiss, and half of it is manipulative. I do want him to shut his mouth. But I also like my rabbit. A lot.

Cheeks flushing, his eyes flutter shut, and he just embraces it. Jeez, man—this is what I'm talking about! Just shut the hell up and let life swim over you. Stop fighting!

Connor stammers and trips over his words after that, but I keep my smile explosive and my eyes gleeful.

"That's right, baby!" I whoop out into the echoing emptiness of Hell. "Hell opens this Friday!"

***

-Connor-

This Friday. Hell opens...

This Friday.

Shit.

I understand Isaac's not known for his patience or manners. Or hygiene. Etiquette. Social skills. Crap, the list goes on.

But this is too much. We're not even close to being ready! The Neon Zen Garden... Probably should just shorten that. But the garden is only fractionally neon. Who am I gonna find that's discreet, and knows their way around neon paint like Corin?

The stress is eating me alive. I mean seriously, I didn't even come close to these levels during Exams. That was theory and winging it. I can't wing this. If this doesn't all go smoothly, if no one shows up and we don't make a profit to cover our losses, Isaac can kiss his carnal paradise goodbye. And me... Well, I might as well get on the next flight to Canada, cause there's no chance on this planet dad won't destroy me utterly.

A shiver jars across my spine. What would dad do? Nothing pretty, or quiet. The police, lawyers—and dad can afford expensive-as-shit top dogs. He has a team that can rip me apart and put me back together as a broken eggshell. All the king's horses and men...

Yeah, you get the picture.

So it's a lot of chasing people: endless phone calls, ordering glasses, of all variety's, to DJs, bartenders—do I even hire dishwashers? We only have the one kitchen, but that's hardly satisfactory. Why am I even deluding myself? Since when is any of this in any way official or bound to the laws of physics?

Hell doesn't work. Shouldn't work. Isaac literally is selling a fantasy, but convincing yourself is one thing; a whole crowd... He better be one hell of a salesman.

Oh lord please forgive me that insidious crime. I swear I don't make these puns intentionally.

As I am on hold for the umpteenth time today, I can't help but run over Isaac's reassurances in my mind. He snuck out of Hell and spread the word. A ballsy move, but that's Isaac to a T.

But like... why would anyone just trust a smooth-talking stranger? I don't doubt his charms—god I know he hit me like a firetruck. They have to buy into his BS spiel about a low-key nightclub... on the edge of civilisation... cheap drinks, drugs... Whatever else Isaac likes to indulge in. Supposing any of this comes to fruition, how can this not be an absolute nightmare? Jacked up, drunk, reckless souls with no moral compass. They'll come through here like a hurricane, and I'll be left cleaning up the mess. If I even make it out alive.