In Hell We Dance

Clarity

Patterns. Rhythms. They're damn hard to break. Find the sweet spot, and you just make it through.

Every night, eleven on the dot, Hell opens its doors. New patrons; old favourites. A constant thread runs through them all. They reek of desperation. Their eyes scream a harrowing song. I'm broken. I'm wrong. I will shatter with the slightest push.

They're decent enough folks. No one really stirs any trouble. As the hours drag on, and blood alcohol levels are dangerously high, there is the occasional argument. Slurred insults. Maybe even a bloodied nose. Nothing Isaac can't handle, and he does it well.

Danny is sufficient. A good chatter too. Him and Jodie. An odd pair. I talk to them when I'm not feeling up to roaming. As much as I try, Hell isn't for me. My eyes are already on that glimmering horizon. A new start. A new life.

It could be ours.

I bring it up, organically—you know, just after a lovemaking session with Isaac. He grunts and grumbles, but his heart isn't in it. Not really. He's slipping, caught in Hell's spiral, chaos and darkness, no way out. I throw him a rope, but he doesn't want it. Won't acknowledge it.

I'm scared. And I wish I just had Isaac to deal with. But Corin lingers too long, under the guise of professional integrity. I can't argue; I can't lecture. That won't end well. So I need patience. I need to give her space. Baby steps.

I think it's a coping thing. You know, setting her mind to her art, and as Hell comes alive with pulsing colours, neon highlights in the dark, she slips further and further from reality. Out of her head, until she's barely human. But hey, what do I know? Like I'm one to talk.

This is the fourth night in a row I find Isaac passed out on the floor, a demented grin on his face. I heave his arm over my shoulder and drag his fat ass to bed, where I lie down, panting heavily. Closing my eyes, I lay my head atop his chest, tracing fingers along his scars and burns, imagining stories for each of them.

I'm tired. I've spent too long here, played this song to its end. And yet I'm caught in this web, too slow to get out. All I can do is breathe, take each day with a new smile, and hope tomorrow promises something better. A way out.

Because god, I really need that right now.

***

A month of Hell. No stir from dad. He's too preoccupied with work. I'm in a somewhat decent mood, so I pop by Oscar's room where he's hunched over his desk, drawing. Slipping the hundred dollar note on the desk, I turn, feeling his eyes on me. Silence follows me to the door, when, with a slight cough:

"Thanks."

I smile and close the door behind me. Later that day, Oscar and I watch a movie, sharing a bag of Maltesers and I find myself watching him, the brimming curiosity in those emerald green eyes. Oscar, my little bro: so pure. He knows nothing about the dark world I inhabit. Drunken, sweaty nights. Smoke a veil to hide the foul stains within. A cracked, yet glittering Isaac, a wolf in sheep's clothing, and the love of my life. But it doesn't feel right. This is the world I created, breathed life into. And I don't want it. It's devouring us all. Isaac will never admit it, but you see it in their eyes. Glass eyes. Voids. Corin is becoming one of them. She doesn't belong there.

I barely pay attention to the movie, the world filtering out as I become obsessed with one, powerful thought. I need to get Corin out of there. Now.

***

I find Corin in a bit of a weird spot. I didn't spot her at first, but then the willow leaves rustled, and sure enough, there she was. Standing amidst the leaves, only her legs showing atop the branches, paint in hand, colouring a grim grey hellscape. It almost seems futile.