Page 20 of Song of Tenebrae

“It’s the same and when it’s this intense, things become foggy.”

“Why don’t you go home and send Squall in your place?” I don’t want him getting any worse, “you should rest for when we leave.”

“No.” One word said with resolute confidence.

“Okay,” I won’t argue with him because if the roles were reversed, I wouldn’t leave either. “Maybe forcing her to be with you there on that island will bring you two back together.”

“No,” he lets out a pained breath, “she doesn't like to be forced, it will make it worse.”

“Hail,” I turn to look at him, “there are some feelings there, even if it’s hatred, that’s something.”

He doesn’t say anything further, just stands there staring at the second-floor windows, and I can’t help but worry for the man that used to be so damned strong. He was my right hand while Torrent and Squall partied. Hail never faltered and now seeing him look out of sorts and unsure makes me a little angrier about our situation.

“Fuck,” I huff, “maybe if I did kill her, we would be better off.”

“We would,” he nods solemnly, “and then we’d seal up what’s left of our souls in a neat little package and ship it off to those assholes.” He means the elders and he’s right.

Keeping them alive and protecting them helps us hang onto our newfound humanity. He’d found his a lot earlier on that hot island, it was the moment he fell to his knees and begged me to spare the two troublesome females in the basement. I saw it in his eyes, the fear of losing something he felt so strongly about, and I knew mine mirrored his. It was an easy decision but we have been paying for it since.

Torrent blames us for ruining our lives, taking away the fame, and thrusting us into hiding. He loved the crowds, playing for sold out arenas, and causing complete havoc. He just didn’t know it was killing him and he wouldn’t have cared even if he did know. Squall has become a shell of his former self. He needs the social aspect that our former lives gave us and now being held inside a house most of the time is messing with his head. They are paying for our decision to keep alive the two women that make our dead hearts beat.

They need to find theirs, they need to find the people that make their hearts beat, and it needs to be soon.

“How do you propose we do this?” Hail asks and I begin to tell him the plan.

Tempest

I open my eyes and look out my window, seeing reds and oranges skate between the clouds. I still feel like someone was in my room, that the dream I had early morning was too real, and I have myself an Illuminati stalker in the form of the best lover I’ve ever had.

There I said it.

Raiden James was the best sexual partner I’ve ever had, not that I had many, and really, he was like the third, not discounting the one who raped me. Okay, really he was basically my only sexual partner but I know without needing many comparisons that he was the best. Regardless of fearing for my life, or being bled dry, he was the only one that stirred a dormant part of me and brought it back to life. I hate that he did that, I don’t want to give him any credit, and it doesn’t change the fact that if he ever comes too close to me, I’ll kill him.

Take that, parental issues, and fucking stuff it. I will kill him and then mourn the loss of the best dick I’ve ever had. I get out of bed and scuff along the floor to my bathroom. I love dancing but I hate stripping. I’m not one of those strippers that takes pride in what she does, I do it because at one time it was necessary and now, I’m hunting someone. I hate that I’m showing men and women alike my body, I hate that I take my one God given talent and use it to exploit myself.

Many women take pride in stripping, do it because they love it, and I wouldn’t judge them for that. I may never experience dancing without stripping in front of an audience again and I accept that. I turn on my shower and drop my clothes, still half asleep.

I usually have these thoughts as I’m falling asleep and waking up. Existential thoughts and deep internal debates about my fucking shit life. The water is warm and soothing, slowly bringing me back to consciousness and letting the thoughts slip right down the drain with it. I take my time, washing my hair, and scrubbing my body. When I finally step out, I feel like myself again, and any lingering thoughts of the early morning dream are wiped clean.

I dress in a pair of black yoga pants and an oversized hoodie, wrapping my hair up into a messy bun on top of my head. Then I reach for my perfume and my hand hits the table instead. I search the whole dresser, behind it, and under it. Nothing. My perfume isn’t here. I leave my room and head out to the kitchen, hearing both Tiny and Sky there.

“Did either of you borrow my perfume?” I ask as I grab a fruit bowl out of the fridge.

“What perfume is it?” Tiny asks around a mouthful of cereal.

“Coco Mademoiselle.”

“Ew,” she crinkles her nose, “not me.”

“I share her thoughts.” Sky juts her chin at Tiny.

“It’s not in my room.” I say as I halt my fork of mango just before my mouth. “It’s not there.”

“Did you bring it to the dressing room?” Tiny asks as I pop the mango in my mouth.

It’s a possibility but I never bring my perfume downstairs with me. Could I have tossed it in my bag by accident? Yes, so I’m not freaking out… just yet. Besides, who the fuck would take a perfume bottle out of my room but leave everything else? It doesn’t make sense and I know it wasn’t the fuck who was in my room because my perfume was there yesterday.

The three of us head downstairs and get the club up and running for the night. The bartenders are in a bit earlier and the power company said the switch must’ve had a surge and shut down. So, everything is good and dandy, nothing strange to account for except for the fact that my perfume is indeed missing. Maybe one of the girls saw it on my vanity yesterday and took it. I don’t want to believe they would steal but I know I was once a struggling stripper and nothing is off the table.

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