Page 6 of A Dance With Devils
The thought makes me look behind me, searching for that brooding gaze. He’s still up on the top concourse, a half smirk on his face as he watches me stalking my prey. One more look, a nod back at me, and he turns and leaves without another glance. Shame it’s not real disinterest. It’s only the guise of love, masquerading for a short time until he brings her back to me. Grayson Rothburg is more of a bastard than I’ll ever match up to. Love or not.
As she’ll find out soon enough.
By the time I’ve watched him disappearing out into the sunlight, I sense the hustle of people travelling quicker to get on the train. I turn and search for her again, barely able to see her within the throngs. I finally find her and slip into a carriage further up from where she’s standing. The hood on my jacket gets pulled up enough to hide my features, back slightly turned away, and I tuck into a quiet corner.
Time passes by. This train, a change at another station, and then we both slip onto another train. She barely looks at anyone, choosing her earbuds and some book she seems eternally invested in. It’s making her smile. Lips twitching. Eyes lighting up as if something amusing resonates over the dull and dormant she must exist in. She certainly doesn’t seem to notice me, as I continue to look her over. Perhaps that’s what these people do. No engagement with others. No conversation in case it’s the wrong person to try conversing with.
The occasional glance outside has me frowning at the damp, deserted streets littered out there. Fires burn in old dumpsters. Graffiti etched on every surface the rundown neighbourhood has to offer. I know these streets, though. I’ve spent time on them in my misspent, privileged youth. Drugs. Highs. And lows. Enjoying backend alleys with girls from the lower classes just to understand what cheap cunt tastes like. It’s no different than high end. Perhaps the teeth are less polished, and the perfume less expensive, made from fake whale rather than real, but all cunt tastes the same in the long run. It’s usually easy. Not worth working for or trying to outmanoeuvre. And pitiful.
And it makes no difference if they know who I am or not.
The train eventually stops and I follow her out, watching the way her legs seem to hurry with no thought to the direction she’s going in. It’s like they know the route without her bothering to tell them where to go. She stops at a small store to pick up some groceries and then carries on with the rest of the journey, two paper bags in her arms and her feet still striding in sensible heels.
Another few corners, broken down buildings hindering what’s left of the sun in the sky, and she hops over a low fence and heads through some old warehousing. The sight of some tired old houses at the end of the walk vexes me by the time she arrives at them. They’re dilapidated. Worn out. White boards try to cling to the surfaces. An old blue door, presumably lacking any real form of security. A picket fence laying on the ground rather than bothering to remain upright any longer. Three jacked up motorcycles in the yard, two of which have little to zero fucking hope of ever recovering from their battered existence.
A man walks out from around the back. No, not man – kid. Maybe sixteen under the frame that first made him appear twenty five. He takes a bag from her and opens the door, and then takes out his phone and dials someone as she walks in the house. Within minutes, another motorcycle comes racing around the corner. Better this time, and the guy getting off of it looks way out of kid league. Broad, taller than the other kid.
Shrugging in closer to this wreck of a warehouse’s shadow, I watch him walk into the house and close the door behind him. She didn’t seem the type to have a partner. No wedding band on her finger. Not that that means much. I don’t wear one most of the time either, certainly not in these clothes. And none of it matters anyway. She’s piqued my curiosity. I’m not letting any man get in the way of that now.
It does prove a complication to momentum, though.
After a while, the sun’s hanging so low the lights get flicked on one by one in the house. Downstairs first, then one lone room upstairs. I can see the outline of her wandering around it, clothes being stripped from her body and tossed. Nothing’s clear, though. And then the damn curtains get pulled. Another light switches on and her image eventually stalls, nothing but her arms moving over her head and body. Shower. I like showers. Shower fucking is one of the most impressive things the planet ever delivered. Slippery. Wet. Steamy. Maybe she’s got one of those hands inside herself, making herself come because of her hero today.
Be nice to watch that.
Or join in with her.
Although, I could counter that thought of slippery with chains. They’re not slippery. They’re tense and unyielding. Harsh. I might like harsh more than steamy. And blood washes away in showers. It drains into pits below the surface, eddying until there’s nothing left to show the reality of what someone’s been up to.
So absorbed in my near hallucinations of possibilities, I barely notice the lights going out. It’s only when I refocus that I realise they’ve all gone out. I glance around, checking out the other buildings. All lights on. The door to her house swings open, and I watch the big guy storm out and start the motorcycle again. He’s gone by the time the kid runs out after him and shouts, dust kicking up in his wake. He drops to the porch floor, head in his hands as he probably contemplates how the fuck they’re going to get the electricity back on.
Poor people.
My eyes roll, body moving out of the shadows to walk the few hundred yards over to the house. His head tips up as I approach, hard features of a worn out kid glaring at me.
“The fuck are you?” he snarls, starting to stand.
“Calm down, I’m here to see Ally.”
“The fuck for?”
“I’m a friend.”
“She ‘aint got no friends like you.”
“She has. Go get her.”
He doesn’t move an inch. He looks me over, less than no interest in my returning stare under this hood, and starts making his way across the yard to get to me.
“Don’t be stupid, kid. You’ll lose. Just go get her and I’ll see what I can do about getting your power back on.”
He stops at that, sharp eyes flicking around to the outlying area and then back to me. “Yo, Ally!” he shouts. “There's some dick out here for you.”
He’s got that right.
She comes out after a few seconds, drained features seeming too bushed for conversation and an old, short, tattered robe drawn tight around her waist. My lips tip up under the hood, mind more pleased with this dishevelled vision. Bare, long legs with some tattoos slip out from under the robe. A natural olive skin tone. Fresh face now she’s showered. Other than the look of sheer fucking exhaustion, she’s a picture of decadence for me to play with.
I drop the hood and stare at her, watching her reaction to me being here. Barely any sense of interest crosses her features, just the faint glimmer of nerves. She soon hides that by standing right behind the kid, using him as protection presumably.
