A Torment of Sin

by Charlotte E Hart

  “You should shower,” Faith says suddenly.

  I look back at her and realise we’re in a bedroom. Hers, I assume. Not theirs. It’s decorated with flowers. Light and airy against the backdrop of dark and foreboding outside of the room.

  “You don’t sleep with him,” I mumble, as I touch things and wander around the space. It’s nothing like the room I was in with Malachi. That’s his room. This is hers. “Your husband? Malachi?”

  “Why would I do that?” she questions, walking to a large walk in wardrobe.

  I laugh, unsure why I thought she would. They’re married. Married people normally sleep with each other in the same room. Maybe married people here don’t. Maybe they fuck together, play together, but don’t sleep together. Why bother marrying then? What’s the point?

  Married.

  I frown and open a large jewellery box, gazing at the array of diamonds and jewels on show. They glitter under the lights in here, a cascade of rings lined up with all the colours under the sun gleaming at me. “Why did you marry him?” I ask.

  “Because I love him. Strange question,” she calls, shuffling something around in the walk-in.

  Love? I glower at the thought, dismissing the frivolous emotion. It isn’t worth anything other than pain and agony. And yet it’s still there buried inside me, weakening my knees and shortening my breath every time Rick enters my head and fucks with it.

  I slam the box closed and turn to face her, annoyed by my mind thinking things I don’t want to think about. She hangs the long gown on the door, shuffling the weight of it out and stepping back so she can look at it.

  “Anniversary three years ago. You might need to keep away from Malachi for the night. He liked it,” she says. “Might jump on you.” Anniversary.

  My arms wrap around me, trying to shield me from the onslaught of emotions that are trying to bed in again because of that word. “Although, I doubt Gray will be sharing you with anything now. How have you managed that? He’s besotted.” Besotted? I doubt that. Infatuated with the thing he can’t control maybe, but not besotted. Besotted means affection and love.

  And love isn’t happening here anymore.

  Can’t.

  I shrug and move towards what I hope is the bathroom, still with my arms covering as much of me as I can manage. I feel exposed suddenly, naked and on show. A quiver rides over me, as I close the door behind me and stare at myself in the floor length mirror. I don’t know what I’m doing now. I feel lost and lonely all of a sudden, as if the walls are vast around me and stretching further and further away.

  On my own.

  That’s what I am. Alone.

  It’s what I wanted, who I wanted to be, but now, at the mention of love and anniversaries and marriage and besotted, alone feels cavernous and daunting around me.

  My vision swims, the mirror distorting the edges of my reflection and creating copies of a Hannah I don’t understand. Each one of me bleeds into the next until I’m spilling off the gilt frame and parts of me fracture to the walls, still expanding. I’m going mad. This can’t be right. None of it. My head shakes, as I try to clear my thoughts. Nothing helps, though. It’s all whirling and changing, the boundaries of me contracting and escalating over and over again.

  Fingers start tapping my arms. They dig in, bang in to try separating my gaze from the reality of me alone in here. Tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap.

  Music. I need my melodies and sounds. It’s all senseless. All of it. Everything. Only Gray makes sense, and even the thought of those callous eyes and his orders seem to be morphing into unknown boundaries I can’t reach or use. Gray.

  My eyes flutter closed at the image of him so angry in my mind, and then an exhaustion starts creeping over me that counters the need to see him clearly. So tired. Maybe I should curl up in here. Sleep and forget about dancing and fun. He might come to me then. He might hold me in his arms and find feathers to soothe whatever this has turned into since I arrived in this room.

  Gray.

  Soft hands begin rubbing my shoulders, gentle and pacifying as they sweep over my skin and arms. “There’s no need to be scared, pretty thing,” Faith murmurs. I’m not. Not scared. I’ll never be scared of Gray. There’s too much connection in us for me to be scared, but I am broken again all of a sudden. Unsure of direction or meaning. “He’s no Malachi. There’s no hatred there for him to expel.”

  No, not hatred, but there is a desolation hiding in him. I can feel it in his gaze, in the barrier he keeps up regardless of the connection we’ve shared. I know it deep down because it’s the same one I’m harbouring, trying to ignore.

  “Come on. Let’s get you ready for your party,” she says.

  Party.

  I don’t feel like a party anymore. I feel like sleeping and never waking up.

  Perhaps dying.

  Chapter 12

  Gray

  T he watch gets slung on the bed, abandoned as irrelevant. It is here. Pointless, futile and meaningless. There is no time here. It all haemorrhages into more minutes and more hours and days and weeks until the passage of time seems limitless. Although – I reach for it again and strap it around my wrist – I do need an endpoint. A finish line to end on. Otherwise, I will fall down this slippery edge with her, not caring for closure, and blow logic and balance to the wind.

  “This is all your damned fault,” mumbles out of me, as I thread the bow tie.

  He’s not here with me, but he might as well be. He’s in my head now, leading me down tunnels I should not be travelling and goading me for more. Live more. Enjoy more. Relax more. He showed it in that damn room while she sat on me and asked to dance.

  One more dance.

  Wear the tuxedo and give her my all for the night.

  I could still hear his chuckles, as if nothing was relevant apart from the fucking I could delve into. Maybe he’s right. Maybe he’s not. I only know that there is an end to this. Has to be. Because she has begun to mean too much and I am beginning to give a damn that she does.

  The grumbling continues, as I make my way through the halls and down the stairs. Too much time here. I should have left her here and not cared for what she did. Instead, I’m thinking thoughts about her, wondering about what this could have been in another life where I am not who I am with the accountabilities I have. Relax? I sneer and keep moving, searching deserted rooms for him so I can think about landing a punch that’s been brewing since he taunted me with her in the first place.

  I find him eventually, fully dressed as if he’s intent on his own desire for wearing ball gowns. “What the hell is that?” I snap, walking to the drinks tray and pouring.

  “A better one than yours.”

  I look his midnight blue tux over, accepting the truth of that at least. “I meant, why are you wearing it?”

  “Everyone is. I called a party in your honour.”

  “What?”

  “We’ll all waltz the night away if you’re going to fuck and think about enjoying yourself.”

  “Malachi. This isn’t a coming out party. I have already fucked. As you know. You’ve won your little game of poke the bear.”

  “No I haven’t. Not yet,” he says, walking to the fire and chuckling again. I sip at my drink and delve into my pocket, pulling out the bottle of pills waiting for consumption. “Obsession isn’t love. I want to see that before the end.”

  The flames flicker light back at his face, highlighting the amusement he’s finding at this whole damn situation. “You’re ridiculous, Malachi. Fucking her and enjoying that is one thing, making me want her away from this place is quite another. There is no winning that game.”

  “Then why haven’t you left yet?”

  I scowl and down the drink, moving from the space the moment I’ve slammed the glass down on the table. Left? I can’t leave. Not until I’ve got her safely from here and back to the life she belongs in. This one here isn’t for her, and the continued chuckle behind me, as I keep moving, isn’t changing that.

 
“She wants to stay, Gray. You can’t force her to leave.” I can. And will if she doesn’t come willingly. “Besides. I might keep her as a pet if she doesn’t mean anything to you.” My body half stops, giving away my feelings about that proposal, before I keep moving on again without engaging. “I think it’s her sense of dour morbidity. Nothing has wanted to kill itself for a while here. Whimsical. Why does she want that?”

  “Shut up, Malachi. She doesn’t want to kill herself.”

  “She does. And you know I can help with that.”

  My whole frame swings round to face him so quickly he actually moves away from me. Doesn’t stop his own scowl dropping to show his distaste for my position, but there’s some distance created at least to tame him back. “You will not help her with that at all.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because she is not a pet or a toy for you to pull to bits. Leave her alone.”

  “I think I answered that the last time you asked me for honourable intentions.” He smirks and moves around me, heading for the party he’s apparently organised. “If she’s not yours, she must be mine. Or everyone else’s.”

  I start after him again, less than impressed with that answer and damn close to finding her and taking her home before anything starts. “Your logic astounds me sometimes.”

  “Fuck logic. You and your logic make you mind-numbing. Apart from the pills. The pills are the most useful thing you do with your logical mind.” Keys are pulled from his pocket, the doors swinging wide into the old lobby after he’s unlocked them. “Were you always this dull before? Could be the reason she fucked someone else.” Both my hands shove his back so hard he falters forward and ends up scuffing the floor for stability.

  My own frame holds firm, daring him to go down that fucking road again. Being truthful that one time was for my own benefit, to let some of the goddamn load off my own back. It was not for him to use when he wanted to dig deeper than he should. I was under the assumption he knew that and would, at the very least, keep that out of this.

  He dusts off his tux slowly, eyes like a hawk as he glares with as much as he’s got. I don’t care for his glare or his frustration at my brutish behaviour. That topic is not up for discussion or analysis. It’s also nothing to do with whatever this has become with Hannah. She’s attractive. That’s all. Lingering on some level. Bewitching with her hollows and dark circles under her eyes. And then there’s the way she holds on that I’m trying to disregard. Graceful. Needful. Connected.

  The thought of her makes me huff and shrug my tense shoulders out, my gaze going to anything but him before he gets some hostility he probably doesn’t deserve. “Never go down that road again, Malachi,” I mutter. “It’s nothing to do with this.”

  The air grumbles around us, tension and pressure almost reverberating on the old walls in this centuries old gateway to hell. That’s exactly what it is. His home behind us – hell. The place I’m travelling to underneath us for Hannah – hell. Anything he’s in is nothing but temptation and intemperance, a way of forgetting responsibilities and galvanising the devil's need.

  He eventually turns away from me with without retaliating and walks for the elevator, long strides taking him there to show his need for separation. Good. That’s sensible for tonight. He can go and do whatever the hell it is that he wants to do and leave me alone to deal with Hannah. It’s probably best. Simple. No games.

  I follow and step inside once it’s open, keeping as much distance between us as possible in the small space.

  “Did we just break up?” he says, before the doors close. My lips twitch, regardless of the levels of irritation still circulating, and I look at the steel sliding closed. “I haven’t had a lovers tiff for a while.” No, I don’t suppose he has with someone like Faith to be married to. Still, I’m too fucking irritated to let anything go, and I’m too damn wound up by the thought of what I’m doing now to think straight. “Why don’t you just go?”

  “Just shut up, Malachi. I’m thinking.”

  “About what?”

  I stay silent. I don’t know what I’m thinking about. Fucking is some of what I’m thinking about. The other things inside my head should have me walking to the door as soon as I exit this cart. They’re nothing to do with fucking, and now they’re all tinged with guilt and culpability because of his words that were not fucking welcome in the slightest.

  I turn to face him, more annoyance settling. “Why the hell did you say that?” The doors slide open, heat and noise hitting me at the same time.

  “Because you need to realise how you feel. Working?” he replies, turning to a servant who waits beside him. A tray is perched on her fingers, a black swathe of satin draped across it.

  “You’re an irritating son of a bitch, Malachi.”

  He takes whatever’s on the tray, as another smile wracked with everything he is crosses his features. “Put this on,” he says, holding out a mask.

  I look at the reasonably plain black offering, unfazed and uninterested with another game he’s trying to play with me. “Why?” He moves sideways, letting me get a view of the crowds. Masks are on faces everywhere I look, the bodies beneath them in dazzling colours and dresses, and tuxedos too, as they dance by. Plain ones. Decorated and bejewelled ones. Ones that hint at the malevolent intent that usually occurs for some. “Idiotic,” gripes out of me.

  He chuckles and wanders out into the masses, flicking his hand for me to follow and strapping his own mask into place. “Put it on, Gray. Try some fun.”

  I don’t for a few seconds, as I shadow him through the floor. Why should I? But then I notice the swathes of silk flowing from the ceiling, girls tumbling down them in formation. I stare, bemused at the new entertainment and wonder how he got them here so quickly. Everything’s different. New visions to get lost in. New thoughts to contend with.

  My hands slowly pick the mask up and cover my face with it, the hooks sitting it solidly in place, and I stare through the holes, my eyes focusing only on what I can see in front of me. Everything sharpens because of the restriction, polishing the mass of bodies around me. The intensity has me reaching into my pocket, my pills being drawn out if I’m going to do what I said I would.

  A hand snatches mine, knocking half the bottle flying. “No.”

  I tense and back off, part disturbed by the look of his face covered in Venetian resolve. Dark red angles stare back at me, the long nose jutted out to cause the malign features he holds well enough without it on.

  “Feel it as it’s meant to be,” he says. I scowl under the mask, damn sure that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard out of his mouth. “This is for you. Your night, my friend. Enjoy it before you go back to your familiarity. Fuck her. Play. Remember what life is.”

  He turns and leaves on those words, the crowds opening for him as he walks through them. What life is? I stand firm, letting the bodies and movement around me encroach and barge, and lose myself in those words for a while. Maybe it’s what life could be. But whatever this is it is not what life is outside of it.

  My gaze goes to the vast steel door barring this place from the world outside, thoughts still lingering about going before I lose myself in her, too. I should. But I’m not strong enough to deny the need with her. One more night.

  A body is suddenly in front of me, her long, thin hands poised and waiting for me to dance with her. I wait for a few more moments, hover as if I can’t move forward, and then watch as she smiles and curtsies. “We never have danced, you and I.” No. Never. She’s the only one I won’t go anywhere near because of some loyalty to Malachi I probably shouldn’t own. “We should. Just once. You don’t need to like me to dance, Gray.”

  My hands haul her into hold, a puff of air leaving her lips because of the ferocity. “I don’t not like you, Faith.”

  “You don’t?”

  “No,” I reply, driving us into the revolving crowds. She giggles and moves with me, her head and the blue mask she’s wearing slanted in question. “I just don’t l
ike that I do like you. It’s disconcerting to analytical thought.”

  Her head flies back, a loud laugh echoing out of her lips, as she picks up the side of her dress to spin some more. “It’s the venue that does that to you, not me.”

  “I know.” It doesn’t mean that I have to fall into it, though.

  “I don’t know why you don’t just evolve with it. That’s all we want for you. You mean something to us, Gray.” I swerve us out of the way of oncoming couples, feeling her body closing in on me to hold tighter. “Authentic friends are few and far between in our world. We trust you.”

  We.

  A truer word could never be spoken about these two. They are the epitome of we. Never seem to have been anything other than two merged into one. So close. So connected to each other for reasons I still don’t understand, even after all these years. I envy that. Always have done even if I haven’t admitted it until now. If there’s one thing I can say that I don’t like about her it’s that, and that is little reason to dislike anyone.

  My eyes stay locked on her's for a few minutes, watching as she smiles at me and grips onto my shoulder. Those words from her seem honest enough for once. Not full of underlying intent and games like they normally are. The thought makes me chuckle lightly and I keep pushing us into the building crescendo, circles whirling around circles as we go, as I wonder what it would be like to live this life with them. Free of responsibility. Free to tumble over edges of care.

  “She looks pretty tonight. Enjoy her,” she says into my ear. “Maybe you’ll find what you’ve been looking for if you let go.”

  I start searching the masks in the room at her words, looking for the one person I’m after in this fuck up I’m ignoring my guilt for. So many masks. Too many. I slow us and keep looking, taking in the colours and the shoulders on display. Dark skin. Light. Tans and blacks. No Hannah, though.

  Not yet.

  My dick begins hardening at the thought of her, an ache building in it because of this distance between us. I snort at that and pull Faith closer to me to ease the ache buried deep inside me. There’s nothing between her and I. Never will be. But her hip bone is useful at the moment, and her skin under the lace she’s wearing creates memory in my palm.