Would You Bargain With Hell?

It was a pleasant dream, but it was a dream, no matter how badly I wished it was reality. Reality was flawed. Humanity was weak. I couldn’t be like them. I had to be new-I had to be strong. So I woke up, fighting back a tear and I tore off the brace that aligned my ribs and I stood and I bit back the pain. I turned back towards my bed where no one sat.

Patrick had left. But I supposed he’d been the one that took me to my bed in the first place. I struggled into my bathroom, keeping my breath held in to help the pain in my abdomen. I leaned on the marble counter and stared into my own green eyes in the ornate mirror.

I swallowed and grabbed a hairbrush from the cup. I ran the brush through my hair until it eased through. It was three inches longer than I remember and maybe one layer lighter. My ridges of my ribs peeked through and you could see the bumps on my skin. I saw the blackened bruise still ripe and painful to the touch.

I pulled on a pair of dress pants and a flowy floral silk blouse. I opened the cabinet under the sink and dug through the piled of makeup. I covered my face with a creamy skin-tone make-up – which was a few shades too dark but didn’t look too awful-. Then used a medieval device on my eyelashes before applying a black silk coat to my eyelashes.

I took a deep breath, suppressed all the helpless memories and stood tall. I faced the mirror and told myself “I can do this, I can be strong.” And Even though I knew it was a lie, I forced myself to believe it. I wouldn’t be Rayder Daisy anymore; I would be whoever Grace wanted. I would conform, because conformity is the only way to be someone. Conformity was safe.

I stood tall and walked strong. My bare feet padded along the wood floors until I reached the floor where Celine, Marie, and Sophie all stood together with linked elbows. Simultaneously in their creepy triplet way they glared at me, their eyes judging, before they saw I tried to look nice and their eyes softened. Celine broke from the chain, right from the middle, and strutted towards me.

“So, little Rayder, why did you try to be presentable today?” She walked around me as if a sheepdog.

“I submit.”

Celine cackled, throwing her painted face back in hysteria. She grabbed me by my shoulders and said, “Welcome to the Jungle.”

And that was it. It was that simple. It was nothing new, being a part of this clique. It was the fake smile I was used to, but this time she wasn’t strong, this time she felt degraded. So I told myself I was just getting more acting practice. Throughout these morbid years I’d become a great actress, specializing in fake smiles and a submissive attitude.

So Celine took me on, like a challenge, she paraded me around uptown and dragged me to hair salons and day spas and fancy clothes shops. I played along, creating a similar style for myself as Celine’s. Halfway through the day Celine decided I was doing well, and we should go on a double date.

I didn’t ever recall knowing that Celine had a boyfriend. His name was Dominick and he was from Sweden. They met in Venice on a group gondola tour. I never recalled Celine going to Venice either. She had me call Patrick, who seemed fairly thrilled. Me and Celine waited at a table at some fancy seafood place I’d never noticed before. It was quiet.

The silence was the hardest. The silence gave me time to think. And no matter how much I tried to stop, I always thought of him. He who mattered. He who could no more. He who was damaged.

He who I loved.

“Rayder!” I heard an English accent call from the valet stand. A tuxedo’d maître d looked ghastly at Patrick. He shushed the English boy and Patrick ignored him.

Patrick slid beside me in the bench seat and kissed me cheek. I smiled and kissed his cheek in return. I looked at his face, re-remembering his face. It was slender, with a pronounced jaw and cheekbones. His eyes blue. His hair was blonde and longer in the bangs than the rest of his tapered cut. His lips were thin and his skin a warm beige.

He held my hand under the table and grabbed a menu with his free hand. “Are we waiting for Dominick, or can we put our order in?”

“Not yet, you buffoon.” Celine threw her nose in the air.

Thirty quiet minutes passed before Celine angrily left the table dialing into his small phone. She ranted through the speaker before going to the Ladies Room.

“Are you okay Rayder?”

I nodded smiling
.
“What’s wrong? You’re not yourself.”

I met his deep gaze, his eyes read right into mine.

“What do you see?”

“You lost your fight, that special sparkle in your iris.”

“I gave up.”

He didn’t respond, he just scooted closer and wrapped his hand around mine tighter.
Celine joined us again. “Well, Dom got busy, it’s just us three. I’ll have to be a third wheel then. Make it as comfortable as you can, please.”

Patrick nodded, putting in an order of shrimp cocktail as an appetizer and ordering a filet mignon as his entrée. Celine ordered a Caesar salad and I ordered the seafood chowder.
It was normal, it was conformist, and it was good. It was safe.

After an awkward dinner, Patrick offered to drive us home. Celine politely declined and hailed herself a limosine. I accepted and slid into the backseat of Patricks car, where he joined me- leaving the chauffeur to do his job. The interior of this buick was grey leather. The radio was on classical, and therear-view mirror housed a rosary necklace.

Whenever I was just with Patrick I breathed heavier. Because I knew-I knew that he knew I was different. He knew that I hurt. He knew. He wanted to help. So there was this awkward air, where I knew he would bring it up so I just waited for that.

“Where do you want to go?”

I looked at him, surprised. “I thought we were going to my house?”

“You don’t really want to go there though, and you know as long as your with me they won’t question it. So where do you want to go?”

My body felt warm. I was unsure how to reply, I never knew how to reply when people were kind to me. “Do you know that bridge up the road from my house?”

He nodded. “Paul, Mary J. Kline Memorial Bridge.” He ordered of the well dressed chauffeur.
We rode in silence, awkward silence, the tension was tangible. He escorted me out of the car and sent Paul around the block. We walked out to the middle of the bridge, and we sat, right beside the ledge of which I had jumped off of only earlier in the week.

“Rayder, you can’t lie to me, okay, what’s wrong?”

“What isn’t wrong?”