In Hell We Dance

Precipice

Silence is my usual bedfellow. Instead I wake to the soft whimpering of a woman.

Last night left its mark in the form of the usual suspect. A hangover that could only be appeased via bashing my head into the wall repeatedly until it stopped, or I passed out. Whichever was faster.

I follow the sound out of my room and trace it to the zen garden. Those first nights here—man they were shit-your-pants scary. Now, I find myself a king and a king don't fear no one. And besides, it shouldn't be unusual for stragglers to spend the night. At least, that's the goal. So far everyone's treating this damn place like any other nightclub. Get your drinks and go before closing time. They're not getting it, and it pisses me off.

I should probably put on a shirt. Or pants. But at least my boxers are fresh, otherwise this mofo would be indecent as heck. I smack my lips together a few times, the searing head-pain continuing its relentless drone.

And there she is, the worst person who could share my home. The source of so much regret. Corin.

She's on the bridge, staring down into the water, but she spins when she hears me approach. There's a moment of stillness, and then she launches at me. Blow after blow, aimless, irritating, and deserved. I knew she had some skill, but she wasn't aiming to do any lasting damage. A shame, as I wouldn't mind a broken nose.

None of it comes close to how despicable I feel inside.

So let me have it.

"Heartless twat! Miserable fuck!" She goes on, but you get the picture. Some of the nasty words coming from that prim little mouth even raise my brow.

I wait for the volcano to settle, and when she's released it all, the pressure seeps from her like a balloon that's suddenly lost its air. Deflated. That's the word for it. She's deflated.

Corin collapses to her knees and weeps. I hate it. Hate me. But what do I say? All the words, easy lies when I need them. Except when they matter. When they matter, I just show my true colours. I know I've got nothing, and any shit I try and muster will just dig me further into that six-foot grave.

So I sit down opposite her, tucking my legs against my chest, folding my arms around that. I'm nothing if not curious. What brought her back? She could have moved on. It happens. You learn to swallow your pain, hide it with all the other scars. Isn't visiting the source of those pains supposed to—reopen the wound, or whatever?

After the sobbing fades, and she falls into the sniffing stage, she finally meets my eyes, and I almost shrink away. Almost. It's taking everything I've got. Her eyes are as piercing as my own.

"How can you just... sit there?" she murmurs.

I bow my head in a small shrug, pulling the necklace to my teeth, biting the tangy metal gingerly.

She shakes her head, but I've seen it all. Give me something new, honey.

"Wonderful," she snorts. "You're not even gonna try and apologise."

"Would it help?"

Corin thinks about it, but only for a second. Then she shakes her head quickly.

"I don't know," she says unevenly. "I wouldn't have come here if not for... Connor tried to defend you, you know that?"

The image of Connor and Corin walking with the beach on the horizon is all I can picture. He must have hated me so much that night. The night I didn't even know what I was. Where I truly was an animal. And yet, he stood up for me. Probably a lot of shit-talking. But somewhere there, he tried to explain what I meant to him.