Page 30 of A Dance With Devils
Those pills, it must have been. They’ve done something to me. Everything’s dark but for the spinning colours and this beat. Murky in the distance. Distorted. Only black and white, and the white seems to splinter off towards the ceiling, like lightning bolts around me flashing and glinting.
I gasp as another woman drops in front of my face, her head inches from mine. Upside down. Bright red lips. A black mask over porcelain skin. She giggles and rubs something on my cheek, feather like. I don’t know. And then she’s gone, as if she’s been pulled up and away from me. My arms move of their own accord, reaching and stretching for her above me in the obscurity.
Pain ricochets off me somehow. Don’t know where. Back maybe. Ass. I scream, but not at the feel of it, more the confusion ebbing frantically. It was too dull for real pain, empty. I just know it must have hurt. Must have. Pain should hurt. I should feel that.
“Be careful, Jonas. She’s Malachi’s.”
I heard that. I did. A man’s voice. My head moves, hands trying to handle something solid around me. Nothing is. Everything’s fluid and warm, like it’s constantly moving rather than stable and solid. But Malachi’s? I’m not Malachi’s. I’m here alone. Forced into things I didn’t want.
And now someone’s touching my dress, tugging it.
Air hits my waist before I’ve managed to protest, the full weight of this whole place sending pressure all over it.
And then I’m alone, nothing to cling to at all.
I’m in the air, floating.
“Move for us,” someone says.
Move? Where?
I blink, trying to get my vision to clear. It doesn’t. But it does sharpen somehow, focuses on everything and yet nothing. Another rapid blink, my fingers rubbing through the blur, and suddenly I can see everything. It all moves slowly around me, like a circle spinning continuously. A giggle shudders through me without consent, my hand waving in front of my face. Not dancing this time. No joined bodies. They’re like statues below me. Upright. I can spin them with my hand, send them spinning round and round. All black and white.
Another giggle bursts out, as I sway with them and push faster, watching as all the little soldiers keep revolving around me. No. Not real. This beat is, though. That’s real. It’s making me move, easing my hips left and right. My arms reach upwards, eyes searching all the white lights as the ground comes to my feet. It’s solid there. Stable. I can feel my weight in it, sense my body finding a rhythm in the blackness.
Warmth traces my thighs, lips. I can feel them gentle on me. No pain. And a tongue, or something wet. Maybe it’s my Malachi. Mine? My head shakes, hands stopping its sway. I shouldn’t have thought that. Not mine. Not his either. None of us belong to anyone. We’re free. No. I’m not free. I’m here against my will. I know that – I do.
But nothing feels against my will.
And his lips were on mine. They were.
Or maybe they weren’t.
Eyes. Where are they? Black eyes. No, not black - the darkest brown, huge pupils dilating. Long eyelashes barely moving. So shadowed and looming. My eyes, though. For me. All for me. I can feel them on me now. Or in me. Another laugh pulses along my skin, the depth of it rumbling through every breath that eases in and out. I want those eyes with me, want to see them, linger in them.
I shudder at the heat radiating from inside of me, one hand trying to bring it closer to me somehow. Hair lands in my grip, thick coarse hair that moves where I push it. Pleasure. I can feel that between my thighs now, as if something is lapping, eating me from the inside out slowly. Beautiful, though. Soft and continuous.
My legs widen, hips still moving to this beat as it grinds into me further. Long strokes. Gentle nips and teeth grating on skin. The sensation makes me search for it and moan, desperate for more of it. I’m travelling somewhere – somewhere higher than here. And my soldiers still spin when I look through them. Round and round. On and on. Never-ending.
“Enough.”
No, not enough. Never enough.
That voice, though. I can feel it. So loud in me. It vibrates and pulses, as if it already lives inside me. It’s part of me. Something I’ve never found before. I search through my soldiers, waiting for them to talk, to tell me who it belonged to. I need it here with me. There’s nothing there, though. No voice coming back at me. Just soldiers spinning.
No pleasure now either.
A hand grabs mine, strong hand. Harsh grip, towing me along like I’m on air again. I giggle and follow, watching all the splinters of light coming back at me from whoever is in front. A tunnel. I’m in a long, dark tunnel. It’s turning as we run, crackles of white lightning flying out around the one leading us. We're climbing. Higher and higher. Round and round, boots running hard as they pull me into more darkness. It’s nice. Serene and calm, but for the speed and pace. It’s safe here. Like the elevator. Brightly lit because of the figure that guides me.
“You will run.”
Yes, run. We’re running.
Fingers click. And then a heavy door slams closed. It makes me startle in my mind, cracks the flickers of light into thousands of droplets of rain. They’re falling on me, hitting my skin and sending frigid air across it. I blink. So cold. Freezing. My feet dance, trying to avoid it. They’re getting cold, too, though. Everything’s so cold. Pretty, though. So pretty above me.
Weight hits my face so suddenly I stumble sideways, body unable to balance because of it. I spin and hit into something. My hands grasp hold of the rough surface, frame resting on it because of the shock. Not pain, just shock. I was floating, warm, and now nothing but cold and solidity.
“Run before another one comes.”
