In Hell We Dance

Outcasts

I don't know if I have the right to hold her hand, but I don't care. It's nothing special, but it makes me feel better, a whole lot more... sane. Still, my throat cracks and I am on the verge of a breakdown.

She didn't wake up yesterday, so I excused myself, and told Aiden I needed to check on Connor. He looked disappointed, so I handed him the only money in my pocket—a twenty quid note, and that cheered him right up, like a kid told they were having ice cream. Hell, like me.

Wait a sec. I would kill for some ice cream right now. Fuck. Mouth's watering.

Before I left, I promised I'd be back tomorrow, and I made sure he promised to get home safely. Damn, I'm already starting to feel overprotective of that kid.

"I'm sorry," I murmur, for perhaps the sixtieth time in the past six minutes. Corin stirs, her eyelids flickering open. She takes in the room, then me, then my hand. I expect her to flinch, to wrench her hand away, but she doesn't.

"This is a surprise," she whistles.

I rub my eyes on my sleeve, still keeping her ink-stained fingers in mine.

"You feeling OK?" I stop, correcting myself. "Sorry, that was a stupid question. Do you feel like utter shit, or is it only partial shit?"

"You're a man of a million words, all of them breathtakingly beautiful," she teases, but leaves it there, adjusting on the bed, grunting. She looks left and right and finally at me. "Where's Connor? I doubt you'd be here on your own."

"He's out buying Aiden some food."

That raises a brow. "Aiden's here?"

"Hasn't he told you? Who do you think's the one who found you?"

She nods, accepting that with somewhat of a smile. Her hair lies across one eye, frizzled, but she doesn't fix it.

"I can't place you."

I stare, fighting an itch under my eye, scraping my foot along the edge of the bed. I've danced this dance, sweetheart, and it ain't any easier on me.

"I can't work you out," she continues, tilting her head, engaged in her own private conversation that I just happen to be intruding on. "One second I hate your fricking guts, the next I don't know how I should feel. Scared? F yes! Cautious, like I can never keep my eyes off you for more than a sec? Sounds eerily true. But then you traumatised that kid... Except he's a tougher cookie than that. Even with all he has on his plate, every little stress he has to go through. The anxiety, A.D.D. and autism. He had a checklist assigned to him that should scare him off the outside world, but he fights it. Fights it so he can see what's out there, know our wild hearts..."

Aiden... I ain't got the words. The old me would have torn that kid apart. A kid so damn fragile he don't deserve to walk the same street as a motherfucker like me. But does he care? Does he let the broken pieces of him stop his flow? Not. One. Damn. Bit.

Shit. And I...

"He looks up to you," she interjects before I can say a thing. "in a weird, entirely incomprehensible, naïve to the point of stupidity kind of way. I thought so from the start, but... There's always something more, something deeper stirring in that curious mind of his. Look at you, the fuck-up, the scary monster under the bed—or in this case Hell, and look how he tries. Look how he tries with no apparent effort. We spoke about you—in length, by the way."

God, this is why I avoided forming connections. Do you usually get this uncomfortable when people talk about you?

"What goes on in that mind of yours?" she hums. "None of us can work it out. See, I think you're just a raging lust machine, a hedonistic animal clawing his way to a better life. Except now there's room in that thick skull of yours for others. So there are some redeemable qualities in there. Now, Connor, he loves you, head over heels—the whole romance package: unconditional love, gushing and nauseating displays of affection. He sees you like no one else does, so I need to probe him for all your dark and dirty secrets. Or maybe in your case, the heavenly, feel-good ones. And Aiden..." I gulp. "Yes, you might not act it, but you value his opinion more than mine, I'd wager. You can't understand it. Why that kid, that poor kid with the most to lose, can still look at you with puppy dog eyes after all you've done? It must be eating you, huh?"