Darien Grace
I couldn't hear the music. I knew that it was pulsing all around me, I could feel it vibrate through the air, but I couldn't hear it. I hadn't been able to hear it for a while now. I just couldn't. I hadn't set foot near a piano since that night. The music didn't matter. What was the point of it anyway? Music was a distraction. Music was a curse.
I knew that the McKenneys were worried. I hadn't seen them in two three — the last time being just before we took the Channel Tunnel to Paris. My phone blew up for a week before I tossed it. I was numb. Everything was blessedly and blissfully numb. The world was a haze of blurred shades of grey, long nights, bared skin, and bottle after bottle of liquid amnesia. I had the entire concept of selective memory down to an art. All I needed was a few pills and a bottle.
Bodies crushed in around me from all sides and I pushed back, throwing my entire soul into the gyrating mass. I just didn't care anymore. I was numb. All I wanted to be was numb. I'd fought it for a while, thinking that I couldn't afford to break. That If I broke, if I surrendered, there would be no coming back. I knew that and yet, I gave in anyway. Part of me had asked why I should even give a f.uck anymore. Trying had only ever f.ucked with me. Trying had gotten me to this point in the first place. Trying had killed my mother. Trying had gotten me beaten black and blue. Trying had ripped my innocence away from me. Trying had decimated my heart. Trying had ruined my life. So why even bother anymore? Why bother caring? If the Universe wanted s.hit to happen it would. I was finished crying. I was finished caring. I was numb. I embraced the darkness. I embraced oblivion. I felt nothing.
I didn't try and stop him as his hands raked over my body, their heat leaching into my skin through the fine mesh of my dress. Before, I would have fought back. Before, I would have completely abused whoever the a.sshole was groping me from behind. Before, I had a reason to. Now, he was the reason I'd have a place to spend the night. Now, he was the means to an end.
* * *
Time lost all meaning. I was floating... or drowning. I couldn't tell anymore. Everything just felt the same. I had no idea how long it had been since I'd seen a familiar face and I had no idea when I would. I didn't care. With familiarity came memories, with memories came him and with him came pain. I needed something—anything to block it out, to block him out. I was just so d.amn lost. I had no idea where I was. The last time I'd actually paid attention to a city name or a street sign had been... at least twenty plus bottles ago in Saint Malo. I couldn't tell you how long it had been since then. I always remembered things that I wanted to forget, so I found my ultimate solution. I forgot it all. Or, at least I tried to. I tried to forget my name. I tried to forget my home. I tried to forget my family. But most of all, I tried to forget him. I had to. I couldn't live with the gaping emptiness that threatened to swallow me whole with the mention of his name.
Forgetting only worked for so long before it all just came rushing back, though. The Universe just couldn't seem to get the concept of 'Hide but don't you dare f.ucking Seek'. It kept shoving s.hit back into my face. London had been London. It brought back every little godd.amn thing I'd been working my a.ss off to forget. I'd never tried so hard to block out anything in my life. I was d.amn good at deleting specific memories, moments, or emotions, but these... these just f.ucking refused.
I was shattering.
Paris had brought with it expensive and d.amnably familiar cologne. Le Havre had brought the ocean, the spray off of sea cutting me to the core as ghostly lips tormented my skin. Bayeux had been the worst. I hadn't been doing anything, I was just wandering before I stumbled into a little cafe. Across the street had been a bookstore. It was a tiny shamble of thing, and I didn't notice it at first—not until I spotted the abhorrent pastel illustrations marring the front window.
I hadn't ever run that quickly in my life. Me entire stomach flipped inside out, ridding itself of the few bites of bread I'd managed to ingest earlier that day. Hell, I couldn't keep anything down. My body just refused. I was running on alcohol and whatever pills, herbs, or powder was the latest rage in whatever city I found myself in.
I was wandering, and I was so blessedly lost. There weren't any expectations. No one knew my name. No one knew my story. No one knew the girl behind the mask and no one ever would. I wouldn't stick around long enough for them to find out.
* * *
Bodies crushed in around me, pushing me tighter up against the strangers bouncing, swaying, and writhing to the indecipherable beat. I didn't bother trying to make my own way; I just let the sea people guide me, carrying me as they rolled on waves of intoxicated laughter and moans. I was already drowning, so what should I bother fighting the ocean's pull? I closed my eyes and let it swallow me whole.
* * *
"Dance with me," a dark voice drawled, the heavy German accent grating in my ears against the roaring buzz of the club's music around me. Had I crossed over into the neighboring nation? I couldn't remember.
Heavy hands gripped my hips and began to pull me along to whatever rhythm the stranger found. I didn't even bother opening my eyes. All of the men looked the same to me. They shared the same expressionless eyes and wanting smile. They all wanted something from me. They all craved the same thing, and it was something I was able to give. It was something I knew how to give. It was the only thing I had left, and it didn't even feel like it belonged to me anymore. They didn't want anything other than my body. The didn't want me for anytime other than the night. That I could do. I could, and I did — every time.
"Je ne parle pas anglais," I muttered, the last of my self-respect trying desperately to save me. It had failed every night before, so I didn't understand why it just kept on. Why wouldn't it just give up on me? Clearly, I had.
"Does it really matter?" His goading laugh set my teeth on edge, but I nodded in passive agreement. It didn't matter. Why should it?
* * *
I didn't dream anymore. How could I? Everything I'd ever known had been nothing but a godd.amn nightmare. My world was run by lies and false hopes. "Good" was nothing but an obtuse concept. It simply wouldn't comprehend. It was like the idea of a god or a higher power running the Universe. How the hell was I supposed to believe if all it ever did was f.uck me over?
I did my best to fend off the void of unconsciousness. I couldn't trust what was waiting for me there. In the beginning, I'd thought I was dreaming. I'd thought that sleep meant peace. I'd thought that sleep meant an escape. He was always there, waiting for me, arms open wide—my Dark Adonis. In the beginning, I ran to him. I let him hold me and promise me that he was mine. I believed that the world of dreams was reality, and that reality was nothing but a nightmare. In the beginning I had been so unbelievably naïve.
The beginning cut me deeper than anything I had ever known. I thought that night had been bad, but every night after had been progressively worse. There was something about reliving your own personal hell time and again, day after day.
Now, I knew the truth. The only peace I found came in the form of completely incoherent nights drowning in cheap liquor or a drug induced haze. They provided maybe two or three hours of solace before the Universe decided it was time to play. Two or three hours was enough though; they got me through the next day. That was all I needed. It was all I was allowed to need.
* * *
I had no idea how much time had passed, or how far I'd traveled. All I knew was that it was getting warmer. Warmth was good, or at least it should have been. It didn't matter how many layers I wore, how many shots I took, or hours I spent crumpled under the near scalding shower; I couldn't chase the chill from my body. It filled me, lurking inside of my bones, sending ice through my veins and freezing my heart. I was never warm anymore. The warmth had left with the hope I'd fooled myself into believing in. It had never been mine to start.
A/N: HAPPY 4th of JULY to my lovely Americans and Happy #SonataMonday to you all!!!! I'm loving being back at this again. I didn't realize how much I missed Darien Grace.
I'm so so so so so excited for this new storyline... I know I keep saying that but it's true! To me it's so much more interesting. The old one got a bit tedious and emotional to me. I'm ready to have some fun with this s.hit.
Anywhoooooooo I'm about to get drunkkkkkkk. LETS GO AMERICAN DRINKING HOLIDAY.
Happy #SonataMonday my loves.
AND I have now decided to take a note from the famouxx handbook. The most active readers (commenting, voting, sharing, etc) will receive cameo roles in the story as Dari's narrative progresses. You have to comment, if you want me to write you in. I have to get to know at least a small bit of your personality if I hope to do any of you justice.
Go hang out with Kassy-T for a bit over at famouxx
Remember, Sticks and Stones may break your bones, but Haters Make You Famoux. Stay Classy, Stay Classix.
Loads of love.
Elle out, Cunts.
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