This is a combination of Back at the Styx and Hate that I added more to for an assignment. It is the first draft, as most things are here, and will be revised. I will hopefully get the chance to revise it as well. A little more plot is provided. You will recognize phrases from A Helping Hand. I had to add these in for the purpose of the assignment. Hope you enjoy!
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I was yelling at myself internally as I found myself at The Styx yet again. It was literally the devil's keep. I didn't know why I couldn't stop myself from going into this place that I truly hated. The blacked out windows were as inviting as the mostly misspelled profanities carved out among the cracks. Colored lights flashed through the cracks like lightning. I was telling myself that it was pure curiosity as the doorman waved me in with a sinister smirk.
"Told you you'd be back, didn't I doll face?" he chuckled.
I ignored his remark then completely forgot him as the mass of bodies and throbbing music nearly knocked me off my feet as I passed from mostly clear air to choking smoke.
I followed the hanging lights along the far wall to the back and up a small set of stairs avoiding as many people as possible. I managed not to trip over tangled feet or couples thrown against the wall and tables. I wasn't able to hear the sound effects of their activities and only for that was I grateful for the volume of the music that was surely going to leave a constant buzzing in my ears for the rest of my life.
I was about to knock on the door when an arm wrapped around my waist.
"You keep coming back," Nick's lips were at my ear, "but you never quite…deliver." he hissed. I tried to ignore the chill that settled in as his fingers traced up my thighs.
Before I could escape his grasp, he was gone, opening the door to a dark room. This one room was an entire floor. It was as big as downstairs if not bigger. The entire place was high class-furnished, but the gaudy and dark kind. Besides the immediate area that I was in, the rest of the room was dark enough that I couldn't make out details of what was in it.
He strode in quickly and flopped into a once gaudy chair. It was now in near pieces, showing faded signs of what it once had been. I could almost see it in front of me, the blood red velvet with the stained black walnut arms curving to ends of dark skulls with snakes wrapping out of their open and cracked mouths. The Rebel Son lounged in his throne as he glared at me with eyes that contained every kind of blue that I could imagine. The fire they roared in hardly seemed contained by his body. He fingered one of the tears in the chair's fabric. "Why?"
I don't know. But I wasn't going to say that, so I said this instead, "Why bother dealing with me yourself? You have plenty of people that could do that for you."
I walked into the mostly dark room as he smiled, it was quick, there in a flash, but there wasn't a gleam in his eyes, especially once his grin was gone.
I'd hit my mark, but pushed back my own pride. He couldn't have anything to attach to his strings.
A stare down began his fire raging and I was putting all of my will power into it, he couldn't offer me anything I would consider for a second. I felt let down when I realized that he hadn't been participating, actually deep in thought with his hands folded under his nose.
"Sit." He said suddenly.
I looked around, but there wasn't any other chair in the room. "On the floor?" I tried to clarify.
"NO!" the tone of his voice sounded almost like a possessed child and he grabbed me and yanked me down into his lap. "Here." His voice had changed now, seductive once again, his nose grazing my neck, but his grip wasn't kind.
I found myself fighting somewhat for breath.
"Why haven't you just killed me already?" I panted.
Nick's hand that was nearly breaking my arm was now stroking my hair a few of his own brown locks out of place, the other hand caressing my face. "That…" he began looking me over, "Would just be a waste." I was precious again.
"Waste of what?" I dared to ask.
He chuckled slightly, "If I killed you now," he was talking to me as if I were a child that had asked why my puppy had died. "you would still be too pure." His eyes were then boring into mine, something sinister slithering in their depths. "Where's the fun in that? And it would completely defeat the purpose."
"Of trying to bring me down to your level?" I glared.
It was Nick's toothless smirk that I was getting accustomed to meaning I was on the right track. "Precisely."
"It won't work." I heard myself say, but my voice was weak.
"Don't be so sure, Angel."
"I am sure." I wanted to pull away from him, but where fear should have frozen me, something else was keeping me in his lap.
"Well, then." I hadn't seen this tsunami coming as one hand wrapped around my throat and I had no oxygen. "Why are we wasting my time?"
He stood, his other arm wrapped around my waist, trapping my arms against my body, and all of me against his.
Lucifer stared at my eyes and then released me, throwing me into the chair. I coughed and began to catch my breath. My vision waved and blurred, distorting his figure, but his laugh was still the same.
"So you aren't afraid to die." He mumbled to himself.
He came forward, dropping his hands to the arms of the chair, rocking the entire thing. I groped for balance. The chair met the floor again with a thud, creating what I was sure was another of several dents in the wood. I felt his fingers around my chin and he raised my head, his face finally falling into shape inches from my own.
"I would say that isn't much fun, but you've got the right idea."
I frowned, was he saying I was brave?
"The best life is in death." He whispered.
A weak snicker escaped me. It was sickening because I was still trying to breathe right. "And which death would that be?"
He grinned. I wasn't sure if he was annoyed or impressed. He could have just been amused.
With inhuman speed he grabbed my wrist and inhaled its scent with a hiss.
"I really..." his teeth pricked at the skin between him and my veins "hate you."
His eyes burned at me and I held my breath.
"Life has dealt you a bad hand, Amy. Why aren't you itching to enjoy it while you can?" There was a gentleness to his voice, like he was offering me a warm blanket and a shoulder to cry on. He must have been acting. He wasn't capable of true compassion.
"Who said I'm not enjoying my life?"
He turned my hand over, his fingertips icicles tracing the green hues of my veins.
"You aren't yet, but see, I do come in handy. I've started this little game for us."
I yanked my hand away just as he started to bring it to his mouth again and folded them tightly over my chest, suddenly feeling as violated as when he so forcefully kissed me before.
"What game?" I asked, trying not to sound panicked, my voice giving me away as it squeaked.
"I have something of yours, which was why you were so compelled to come here other than to ravish my tantalizing self of course." Nick moved away from me and toward the desk, picking up a silver picture frame.
My heart stopped for a moment. He waved the last photograph my parents had taken of the three of us in front of me.
There was no question of how he'd gotten it. There was no telling how long he'd been in my apartment before I'd gotten home after fleeing this very place. How had I not noticed it missing?
"Now I'll trade you for it. Unless you don't want it back of course."
I sat up. "What do you want?" I was hostile, his slimy hands had no right to touch that.
"Oh you know perfectly well what I want angel, but don't go giving it to me too quickly, that'd be boring."
He chuckled and when I didn't comply, he sighed softly, a pleased sound, a smile dancing on his lips.
"Do I have to spell it out for you? Your shirt would do nicely for now."
I made like a rock. "That's no game. I should take something of yours."
"Huh." He said, casting his eyes toward the ceiling. "That is interesting." His eyes flared when they turned back to me. "Alright, you can take anything you want."
I auctioned what I could see of the room, which was darkness other than the desk. I considered the chair I was sitting in, but there was no way it could be salvaged. I had been trying to avoid looking at him, but he was the only other object in the room. He had nothing on him. Jeans, tennis shoes, a black t-shirt with a silver chain disappearing beneath it. I found myself standing and walking toward him, dragged on like a dog on a leash. I fingered the chain and he watched me with a confident smile, but his eyes were guarded.
I pulled the chain out and instead of finding some satanic symbol at the end, held a fragile, cracking, wooden cross in my hand. It was faded to a near white shade a sure sign of real age and I feared it disappearing to dust in my hands.
"I carved that from the thing itself." He said quietly, a near reverence if it hadn't been for the arrogance in his tone.
"Wouldn't that hurt you?" I found myself whispering, still in awe of this priceless object in my hand.
"It was risky to make it, sure, but any powerful qualities of my brother have been sealed away."
I stared at its simplicity, just the familiar shape, nothing intricate.
"I know you're wondering why I would have something like this." He wrapped his hand around mine, closing it in my fist and squeezing until I cringed, its splintered ends biting into my hand. "Because that moment of my damned brother bleeding nearly to death is something I never want to forget."
I felt its weight on my shoulders and nearly lost my footing when he released my hand, but he wrapped his arm around my waist and held me against him, a dare in his expression.
I let the cross fall back against his chest, and rubbed were it had pierced my skin, shocked that I didn't feel hot blood against my fingers.
"I don't want it." I mumbled. "I don't want anything you have to offer."
"Hmm. That's a shame." His lips were at my ear as he made no effort to be discrete about rubbing his hips against mine, before suddenly releasing me.
He handed the picture frame out to me.
"Well, we'll play again soon." He kissed my mouth, a passing leaf before turning and going down the stairs.
I clutched the frame to my chest and walked out the same way he had, but my steps were heavy, weights around my ankles, but didn't even whisper and though I wished I'd never meet him again, I knew he was right and this game wasn't over.
"Told you you'd be back, didn't I doll face?" he chuckled.
I ignored his remark then completely forgot him as the mass of bodies and throbbing music nearly knocked me off my feet as I passed from mostly clear air to choking smoke.
I followed the hanging lights along the far wall to the back and up a small set of stairs avoiding as many people as possible. I managed not to trip over tangled feet or couples thrown against the wall and tables. I wasn't able to hear the sound effects of their activities and only for that was I grateful for the volume of the music that was surely going to leave a constant buzzing in my ears for the rest of my life.
I was about to knock on the door when an arm wrapped around my waist.
"You keep coming back," Nick's lips were at my ear, "but you never quite…deliver." he hissed. I tried to ignore the chill that settled in as his fingers traced up my thighs.
Before I could escape his grasp, he was gone, opening the door to a dark room. This one room was an entire floor. It was as big as downstairs if not bigger. The entire place was high class-furnished, but the gaudy and dark kind. Besides the immediate area that I was in, the rest of the room was dark enough that I couldn't make out details of what was in it.
He strode in quickly and flopped into a once gaudy chair. It was now in near pieces, showing faded signs of what it once had been. I could almost see it in front of me, the blood red velvet with the stained black walnut arms curving to ends of dark skulls with snakes wrapping out of their open and cracked mouths. The Rebel Son lounged in his throne as he glared at me with eyes that contained every kind of blue that I could imagine. The fire they roared in hardly seemed contained by his body. He fingered one of the tears in the chair's fabric. "Why?"
I don't know. But I wasn't going to say that, so I said this instead, "Why bother dealing with me yourself? You have plenty of people that could do that for you."
I walked into the mostly dark room as he smiled, it was quick, there in a flash, but there wasn't a gleam in his eyes, especially once his grin was gone.
I'd hit my mark, but pushed back my own pride. He couldn't have anything to attach to his strings.
A stare down began his fire raging and I was putting all of my will power into it, he couldn't offer me anything I would consider for a second. I felt let down when I realized that he hadn't been participating, actually deep in thought with his hands folded under his nose.
"Sit." He said suddenly.
I looked around, but there wasn't any other chair in the room. "On the floor?" I tried to clarify.
"NO!" the tone of his voice sounded almost like a possessed child and he grabbed me and yanked me down into his lap. "Here." His voice had changed now, seductive once again, his nose grazing my neck, but his grip wasn't kind.
I found myself fighting somewhat for breath.
"Why haven't you just killed me already?" I panted.
Nick's hand that was nearly breaking my arm was now stroking my hair a few of his own brown locks out of place, the other hand caressing my face. "That…" he began looking me over, "Would just be a waste." I was precious again.
"Waste of what?" I dared to ask.
He chuckled slightly, "If I killed you now," he was talking to me as if I were a child that had asked why my puppy had died. "you would still be too pure." His eyes were then boring into mine, something sinister slithering in their depths. "Where's the fun in that? And it would completely defeat the purpose."
"Of trying to bring me down to your level?" I glared.
It was Nick's toothless smirk that I was getting accustomed to meaning I was on the right track. "Precisely."
"It won't work." I heard myself say, but my voice was weak.
"Don't be so sure, Angel."
"I am sure." I wanted to pull away from him, but where fear should have frozen me, something else was keeping me in his lap.
"Well, then." I hadn't seen this tsunami coming as one hand wrapped around my throat and I had no oxygen. "Why are we wasting my time?"
He stood, his other arm wrapped around my waist, trapping my arms against my body, and all of me against his.
Lucifer stared at my eyes and then released me, throwing me into the chair. I coughed and began to catch my breath. My vision waved and blurred, distorting his figure, but his laugh was still the same.
"So you aren't afraid to die." He mumbled to himself.
He came forward, dropping his hands to the arms of the chair, rocking the entire thing. I groped for balance. The chair met the floor again with a thud, creating what I was sure was another of several dents in the wood. I felt his fingers around my chin and he raised my head, his face finally falling into shape inches from my own.
"I would say that isn't much fun, but you've got the right idea."
I frowned, was he saying I was brave?
"The best life is in death." He whispered.
A weak snicker escaped me. It was sickening because I was still trying to breathe right. "And which death would that be?"
He grinned. I wasn't sure if he was annoyed or impressed. He could have just been amused.
With inhuman speed he grabbed my wrist and inhaled its scent with a hiss.
"I really..." his teeth pricked at the skin between him and my veins "hate you."
His eyes burned at me and I held my breath.
"Life has dealt you a bad hand, Amy. Why aren't you itching to enjoy it while you can?" There was a gentleness to his voice, like he was offering me a warm blanket and a shoulder to cry on. He must have been acting. He wasn't capable of true compassion.
"Who said I'm not enjoying my life?"
He turned my hand over, his fingertips icicles tracing the green hues of my veins.
"You aren't yet, but see, I do come in handy. I've started this little game for us."
I yanked my hand away just as he started to bring it to his mouth again and folded them tightly over my chest, suddenly feeling as violated as when he so forcefully kissed me before.
"What game?" I asked, trying not to sound panicked, my voice giving me away as it squeaked.
"I have something of yours, which was why you were so compelled to come here other than to ravish my tantalizing self of course." Nick moved away from me and toward the desk, picking up a silver picture frame.
My heart stopped for a moment. He waved the last photograph my parents had taken of the three of us in front of me.
There was no question of how he'd gotten it. There was no telling how long he'd been in my apartment before I'd gotten home after fleeing this very place. How had I not noticed it missing?
"Now I'll trade you for it. Unless you don't want it back of course."
I sat up. "What do you want?" I was hostile, his slimy hands had no right to touch that.
"Oh you know perfectly well what I want angel, but don't go giving it to me too quickly, that'd be boring."
He chuckled and when I didn't comply, he sighed softly, a pleased sound, a smile dancing on his lips.
"Do I have to spell it out for you? Your shirt would do nicely for now."
I made like a rock. "That's no game. I should take something of yours."
"Huh." He said, casting his eyes toward the ceiling. "That is interesting." His eyes flared when they turned back to me. "Alright, you can take anything you want."
I auctioned what I could see of the room, which was darkness other than the desk. I considered the chair I was sitting in, but there was no way it could be salvaged. I had been trying to avoid looking at him, but he was the only other object in the room. He had nothing on him. Jeans, tennis shoes, a black t-shirt with a silver chain disappearing beneath it. I found myself standing and walking toward him, dragged on like a dog on a leash. I fingered the chain and he watched me with a confident smile, but his eyes were guarded.
I pulled the chain out and instead of finding some satanic symbol at the end, held a fragile, cracking, wooden cross in my hand. It was faded to a near white shade a sure sign of real age and I feared it disappearing to dust in my hands.
"I carved that from the thing itself." He said quietly, a near reverence if it hadn't been for the arrogance in his tone.
"Wouldn't that hurt you?" I found myself whispering, still in awe of this priceless object in my hand.
"It was risky to make it, sure, but any powerful qualities of my brother have been sealed away."
I stared at its simplicity, just the familiar shape, nothing intricate.
"I know you're wondering why I would have something like this." He wrapped his hand around mine, closing it in my fist and squeezing until I cringed, its splintered ends biting into my hand. "Because that moment of my damned brother bleeding nearly to death is something I never want to forget."
I felt its weight on my shoulders and nearly lost my footing when he released my hand, but he wrapped his arm around my waist and held me against him, a dare in his expression.
I let the cross fall back against his chest, and rubbed were it had pierced my skin, shocked that I didn't feel hot blood against my fingers.
"I don't want it." I mumbled. "I don't want anything you have to offer."
"Hmm. That's a shame." His lips were at my ear as he made no effort to be discrete about rubbing his hips against mine, before suddenly releasing me.
He handed the picture frame out to me.
"Well, we'll play again soon." He kissed my mouth, a passing leaf before turning and going down the stairs.
I clutched the frame to my chest and walked out the same way he had, but my steps were heavy, weights around my ankles, but didn't even whisper and though I wished I'd never meet him again, I knew he was right and this game wasn't over.
