Darien Grace
I rose on trembling legs, euphoria surging throughout my entire being, infusing with all of the other unknown emotions and sensations sending me into overdrive. I had done it, I had actually f.ucking done it. I couldn't stop the small, flabbergasted smile from curving my face as I curtsied, leaving the stage and the spotlights behind. My heart felt as if it was going to beat right out of my chest. Any moment, I knew that it would rip free, and it did simply because of the sight waiting for me at the edge of the stage.
The moment the last note I struck dissolved into silence, the entire room erupted into deafening applause, but I couldn't hear it. The world was completely out of focus. It was leading me on, guiding me toward him, toward the one place that I truly belonged. He was there. He was waiting for me. He was mine. He reached a gentle, guiding hand up to me and I took it, holding on to it as if it were the only thing keeping me alive. He was my lifeline. Heat surged through every cell in my body the second his skin touched mine. The feeling of absolute entirety in that one simple connection was indescribable. Only the overly clichéd phrase came to mind, "two halves to a whole." I knew that I would follow this man anywhere — I had to — I was undeniably lost without him.
Slowly, he led me away from the stage, from the crowd, from the party, off into one of the dark and unexplored places I'd mentally set aside for later. How he knew it was there was beyond me. The second we were away from the prying eyes of anyone and everyone who would tear us apart, we were done for.
It was magnetic — the force coursing between us refused to be denied any longer. It urged us together, compelling, colliding, crashing. Neither of us were in control any longer, both completely overrun by primal intentions craving the sensation of flesh on flesh. We were a mess of tangled limbs, sweat slicked skin, ragged breathing, and discarded clothing. We couldn't get enough of each other, we never would. How could we when every time we touched it was as if someone sent a jolt of lightning throughout me? He brought to life parts of me that were far beyond even God's saving grace. He was my savior. He rescued me from the world. He delivered me from my past. He protected me from myself. He was the reason that I was still breathing. He was my Otherwise. Without him I would die. I knew that as surely as I knew that he would never quit pestering me about my eating habits. He was it for me and I would do everything within my godd.amn power to keep him.
"Harry, I—," I paused; the words caught in my throat, strangled out of being by some intangible force. Desperately, I fought against whatever was holding me back. He had to know. He had to. If he didn't then I would lose him. I couldn't lose him. The words were there, drifting slightly out of my reach. Three little words that held the entire universe within their grasp and I couldn't quite catch them. Desperate, angry tears filled my eyes as I tried and failed time and again to grab them and pull them out of the stratosphere and back down to Earth — back down to Harry where they belonged. They belonged to him. They'd never before belonged to anyone else, I'd made sure of that. No one had ever been worthy of them after her. She was the only light I had ever known and once it flickered out, so did my hope... That was, until I met him. He was my hope now. He was my light. With him, I would never be missing.
"Harry, I lo—"
"Shh, Darien, shh," he cut me off, his voice slowly morphing, changing pitch and tone throughout each syllable. I did everything I could to blink away the angry tears that the Universe had caused. I had to see him. I had to know he was actually there. "It's okay, sweetheart." The air was slowly ripped from my lungs bit by bit as the voice that soothed my restless soul transformed into something alien.
"You don't have to say it." Desperately, I fought to wipe the tears from my eyes, stumbling backward as her face suddenly swam into view. My Dark Adonis had been replaced by that of an angel equally as beautiful and blindingly bright. She was regal, fair, and kind. Dark blonde hair cascaded down around her shoulders in gentle waves, full rose petal lips smiling sympathetically back at me. Her wide hazel eyes were full of sincere apology. She was perfect, an angel sent from the heavens above—straight from a God I had never believed in. H.ell, she was the embodiment of that God, an undeniably holy thing. She was everything that heaven should have been, everything that he deserved.
"Darien, sweetie, it's okay," she whispered, reaching out to me, cupping my cheek with one hand. I wanted her touch to burn. I wanted it to sear straight into my skin, but it was just warm; comfort that I didn't deserve, "You don't have to say it."
"Yes, yes I do," I choked out. I was clinging to my last shred of hope in a frenzied attempt to hold on to what I'd once believed to be my happily ever after.
"No, you don't; it's okay," she insisted, smiling warmly back at me, "He's happy now. He's whole." Her smile grew as she turned and reached out into the too bright void. In that moment, I prayed to each and every god that had ever and would ever exist that Harry wouldn't come out of that light. He couldn't. I wouldn't survive it — there wasn't a chance in heaven or h.ell.
"He's home." With those two monosyllabic words, she ripped my heart from my chest and he crushed it between their hands as Harry's and her fingers slid together, interlocking. I'd never known him to be sadistic — it simply wasn't in his nature — but now... I'd been right. My own personal devil had crafted him. He was my d.amnation. He was the reason that all of my hope would desert me. He was the reason that I would give in to the darkness. All of his attempts to "save" me had all been an act. He'd simply been following the directions of his creator, leading me further toward my ultimate destruction.
"It's okay, Darien. You... you made him realize," she sighed, reaching out to take me into her arms, pulling me tightly into her chest. "You brought him back to me," she whispered. Her voice broke slightly at the end. Tears streamed freely down my cheeks, I didn't bother to try and stop them, why should I? What was the point? If I stopped them now, they'd only come back later.
"Thank you," she said, giving my hand a slight squeeze before folding herself under the shelter of Harry's protective embrace. My knees buckled and I crashed to the ground. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't live. It was all too godd.amn painful.
"Thank you, Darien," his voice echoed over and over again in my ears, growing progressively louder, shouting into the deafened recesses of my mind...
"Non!" I woke with a shriek; desperate, angry, and abandoned tears streamed in torrents down my cheeks. Sweat coated my skin; the thin, scratching fabric of the bed's sheets tangled around my legs. I felt like it was suffocating me. I couldn't breathe. My breath came in ragged gasps as I struggled to free myself from the alien and unwanted embrace. Kicking and struggling against the coarse fabric, I fell into a heap down onto the threadbare carpeting covering the motel room floor. A strangled scream ripped from my throat at the sharp snapping pain of too thin bones contacting the unforgiving ground. The pain should have been unimaginable, but it was muted in comparison to the hollow ache created by unwanted memories and that self-same recurring nightmare haunting the one place that I should have been able to find solace.
For the first time in a while, a bit of my old pride had resurfaced the night before. It had prohibited me from going home with one of the night's many distractions. Instead, I had stumbled to the closest shamble of a motel I could find and gave them my card. I had been refusing to use it ever since I left the McKenney's. It was one of the only things that would give away my true location. Caleb and John had helped me open the account with the meager inheritance that my mother had left me in her will. Now, it held more than a pretty penny, the shifts I had taken at Daniel's funding a once extravagant lifestyle. Caleb and John had also linked their account with my own. They could transfer funds if or when I ever needed them, but that also meant they could see when I ran my card and most importantly where.
Ever since I had ditched the McKenney's, I had been living off of what cash I'd been able to extract from my account at the station in London, and whatever I could make along the way. A cheap guitar, a few recycled songs, and a fraying cap could buy me the bottle I would be having for breakfast, lunch, and possibly dinner.
It was easier here, wherever here was. It was easier away from the expectations that came from a name and a reputation. Here, I could be whoever I wanted one day and then someone entirely new the next in another town over. Here I didn't have to be the musical prodigy, the campus slut, or the poor little girl who'd lost her mother and her way. Here, I was whoever the f.uck I wanted to be. Here, I was invisible. Here, I was Renne.
And here Renne was writhing in the agony of what was more than likely a broken arm, alone, in a cheap, bug infested motel in who the f.uck knows where, France.
I couldn't even think of moving from my crumpled heap on the floor. Every breath that I took and every d.amned beat of my heart sent mind numbing pain shooting throughout my entire arm, radiating out from my crushed fingers, up into my wrist, through my forearm, straight up into my shoulder. I knew that I was f.ucked. That much was obvious. I also knew that the entire idea of moving would only end in disaster. I wasn't sure how much more my body could take. The edges of my vision were already darker than they were before and I knew that was not a good sign. I was f.ucking terrified that if I passed out on the floor here and now there was every chance in the world that I would not wake up. I was too far gone. I hadn't done a godd.amn thing to promote good health, in fact, I had been the f.ucking poster child for "how to kill yourself and your liver in ten easy steps." Tack on the fact that I was alone, in a foreign country, and no one actually knew where I was, and I was thoroughly and undeniably f.ucked in the asshole.
Gritting my teeth, I did my best to shift my weight off of my left arm, cradling the mangled limb against my chest, but it only made it worse. A broken shriek ripped from my lungs as my arm bent at an unnatural angle, falling away from the safety of my chest. My muscles had been forced to suffer through too much, they were giving out on me and the lack of stability allowed for more gut wrenching agony than I could ever dream of imagining. Any sort of movement was torture to all of the frayed nerve endings; I couldn't just sit there, though. I had to do something. The tears caused by my nightmarish reality had never stopped, they'd only increased with the latest of the Universe's cruel acts of revenge.
It took me far longer than it ever should have to climb back up on quaking legs and disentangle my limbs from the sheet, but eventually I did it. I couldn't bear to find the energy to put on anything out of my laughable wardrobe conveniently stashed in one of the only things I'd had sense enough to keep — my McQueen tote. Instead, I stumbled hardly clothed to the door. My uninjured hand kept fumbling with the latches. My entire body was shaking with unstoppable sobs. Whatever small reserve of energy I had left was rapidly deteriorating as I struggled to fight a losing war to remain in control. I needed help. I had to find help.
Finally, the lock surrendered and I was able to pry the door open, using my entire body to pull it back. The day was too bright, the air too clear, and the colors too intense—they only added to the agony. The Universe was openly mocking me, laughing in my face.
Look at her, little Miss Darien Grace, she can't even last a day without needing someone there to save her.
I wanted to fight back, to scream at the Universe and remind it who I was, who I used to be... but I couldn't. That girl was gone. That girl had died alone in a city she had once believed to be the key to her happy ending. She died in the middle of the James Burden & Otto Kahn Mansion ballroom, descending the steps to a stage with hundreds of people watching her every move. She was missing... so, so missing. Without him, she was missing.
Darien Grace was gone and there was no chance in h.ell that she would ever see the sun again.
Even now, the sun was setting on Renne. The world around her was dimming, darkening to shades of dark crimsons and grays. It was blurry and out of focus, a voice buzzing dully in the background.
I felt the world tilt, the ground rising up to connect with my fractured body once more. My mind screamed, dying to cry out and express the anguish roiling inside of me, but I couldn't. It took too much energy, and I was too tired. I was tired of hurting. I was tired of trying. I was tired of fighting.
I felt my eyes flutter closed, catching just a glimpse two familiar forms sprinting towards me, but I didn't bother to actually open my eyes and see. I didn't bother to hope. I was beyond hope... or at least I thought I was. Despite everything inside of me shrieking for me to just let go, a small spark held out. It held out just in time for me to feel my weight shifted beneath me from some far away place. Someone shouted, panic filling their voice. Another voice answered. Why were they panicked? What had happened? Its warmth spread just a little bit further as the dull roar of panicked voices competed with the pounding of blood in my ears. I held out — if only for just a little while longer before the world went black. I let myself drift into oblivion.
* * *
I was drifting, floating, falling through a blacked out void. There as no sense of time or place, just complete darkness fighting to mask the few bits of fractured sounds somehow managing to slip through the cracks and into my damaged subconscious. The dull roar of voices sounded out around me as that one tiny spark fought to spread. It wanted me to keep going. It wanted me to escape this abyss of a prison and fight. It tried desperately to appeal to the fractured shards of the girl I used to be; the girl I'd once believed to be a survivor. But I'd been wrong — so godd.amn wrong. She wasn't a survivor. She had given up. She had broken and she was so far past repair. Any thoughts of bringing her back would just damage her further. The angels had broken her. They had seen her for who she was and they cast her out of heaven without a second thought.
Angels belonged with Angels, they had no place with the Fallen.
"Qu'est ce qui s'est passé?"
"What?" A voice asked, panic clear in the raised tone.
The first speaker repeated the question, slower this time. "Qu'est ce qui s'est passé?"
"Jesus Christ, I don't know what you're saying!" The second voice cried. A thrill went up my spine. Fire engulfed my left wrist; it vied for my immediate attention. I ignored it, my concentration pulled away from the sensation and back to the voice. "I — she just collapsed. We can't wake her up!"
What the h.ell? I wanted to frown and ask who the f.uck these people were. I—there was something about the fearful voices; something terrifying in the haunting familiarity. The darkness wouldn't surrender control, though. I was trapped, locked inside the dungeon of my mind, forced to observe rather than decide my own fate. I didn't have the energy to try and escape the shadowed expanse, so I simply didn't bother. Instead, I just listened, drifting alongside the voices.
"Comment s'appelle-t-elle?"
My name. The first voice wanted to know my name.
What was my name? I couldn't remember anymore. Who was I? Who did I want to be? It seemed that no matter how hard I tried to escape, I was always ripped back to a new form of h.ell. Honestly, what was the difference between Darien, Ren, Renne or whoever the f.uck I decided on next? They would all end in disaster. It was my curse.
"F.uck! I—I don't—I don't know what you're saying!" The frantic voice cried. The next time it spoke, it sounded impossibly nearer the edge of insanity. "I can't understand you!"
The part of my mind that recognized the voice begged me to translate. I listened to the chatter around me and it was like I was disconnected from the events that were happening around me, I was floating, listening from somewhere above.
The first voice spoke again. "Monsieur, s'il vous plait. Vous devez vous calmer et nous dire ce qui s'est passé." (Sir, please. We need you to calm down and tell us what happened.)
They want to know what happened, I screamed to the void in my mind. They need you to calm down and tell them what happened.
My words didn't register in the waking world, though.
The second voice released an animal cry. It was equal parts rage and fear. "F.uck! I—I can't—Doesn't someone in this f.ucking country speak English?"
Then another voice—a female voice—spoke up and the warm sense of familiarity spreading throughout my soul grew. "You need to calm down. They're going to help her. They have to. It's their job," the second voice said.
"Comment s'appelle-t-elle?" The first voice asked again. The words were slower this time, measured. It was like speaking to a small child. I could just imagine the speaker gesturing wildly down at me in a sad game of charades.
"They want—" the female voice began before stopping abruptly. "Her name? Do you want her name?"
There was a pause and I could only assume the first speaker had nodded their assent.
The female voice responded three heartbeats later. "Violet. Her name's Violet."
Violet? No, that couldn't be right. I wanted to frown or laugh at the ridiculousness. Violet was a stupid name.
The first voice shouted orders in French and a chorus of replies rose up around me. There was a vague feeling of wind and the sound of running feet. The world was moving.
"Est-ce qu'elle a de la famille dans les parages?" The first voice asked. I didn't wait for the answer. Whoever the voice was talking to wouldn't understand. The first voice seemed to have arrived at the same conclusion because the dizzying movement increased and there was the sensation of careening down a narrow space at a high speed.
Still, I thought over the speaker's question.
No, I didn't have any family. No one wanted me. No one knew where I was. No one cared. I knew that life for the McKenneys was easier now that I was gone. I knew that it was—it had to be. I'd only ever been a dark stain on their otherwise perfect family dynamic. I was simply a burden that I'd forced on them without their consent. Now, they were free. They didn't have to worry about poor little Darien Grace. They were better off. Everyone was. Why wouldn't they be?
Commands rose up around me, medical jargon making even less sense in the foreign tongue. "Quel est son pouls? ... Il faut la mettre sous perfusion... Vérifiez ses voies aériennes!..."
The entire world melted away into a haze of rushed orders and desperate voices and the entire time I was just so d.amn confused. I knew that I should care about what was happening, that I should want to know what the f.uck was going on, but I didn't — I couldn't. I was drifting, lost at sea without an anchor. Drifting wasn't so bad. It was slow and peaceful... h.ell, it was the first peace I'd found in god knows how long. I wasn't ready to give it up yet so I just let go. I ignored that tiny spark and I embraced the darkness and the promise of release that it brought.
A/N: Hello my loves! I'm so sorry for the delay in updates. Reality has been a real b.itch, lately. But we are getting back into the swing of things once more, so here we go.
HAPPY #SONATAMONDAY!
I hope everything is going well with all of you and I can't wait to hear all of your many comments and concerns. I read them all as soon as they come in, so please, talk to me, 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.
I love and missed you all more than you will ever know! See you in a week!
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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