Love That Hustle :: [OPEN]

Coral Riptide

Silence. Penetrating nothingness ringing violently in suffocating air, the walls appearing to shrink and move inwards, crushing what oxygen remains in the atmosphere with enough tension to be the demise of a more emotionally volatile being.

Clink.

Clink.

Silver scraping china, raking the fragile surface without mercy as scraps of leftover food are pushed uncomfortably around the plates. A slurp echoes from a rose stained mouth, mother’s demolishing enough glass, the rim stained red from her lips that hide that incompetent tongue behind their expert guard. It’s been two hours and nobody has spoken a word, no vocabulary has stirred from hostile mouthes, no deliberate eye-contact, just accidental brushes that caused a fluster of discomfort and irrational irritation. Every now and again someone throws an automatic glance towards the empty chair, fleetingly catching a glimpse of the untarnished oak, that gaping void provoking the atmosphere to the point of being unbearable.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

The echo throbs between extensively decorated walls, increasing with every moment we’re in close proximity to one-another, for every-second the unspoken accusation and harbored emotions remain festering beneath the surface, burning on the backs of every tongue and scorching the throat of each figure that remains perfectly still, condemned in their own personal misery.

There’s only so much silence a person can take before tainted thoughts buried beneath the surface rise to seize an opportunity to push to the forefront of your mind, eager to promote themselves while the brain is without a decent distraction. I couldn’t bare to wait for the moment to come where that relentless voice would peak within my subconscious and whisper taunts and speculations that I’d heard ten thousand times before in the haunting of my dreams. There was no need to excuse myself formerly, it’d be a waste of perfectly good time to bother engaging in any form of conversation, even if it was just a polite announcement. Instead I disappeared, dragging myself from the kitchen and slipping up the stairs, floating effortlessly between walls hung with pictures plagued with ghosts. Dead eyes following each footstep with empty pleas.


I needed to do something, needed to evacuate this broken house for just an hour or two before the remainder of my sanity vanquished the feeble shackles desperately trying to cling to its versatile existence and escaped my grasp forever. Raiding the contents of my wardrobe took moments before black shorts were thrown over exercised thighs, disguising the scares festering beneath the consoling fabric. A pristine shirt of white attired the upper section of my torso, masquerading the second set of war-wounds, preferring not to have them on the show when venturing into public places, after-all they weren’t the most attractive accessories. After that everything was left, the faint black around exotic oceanic eyes remained in-place, left to accentuate the already domineering colours while faintly curled hair was left untamed, free to drift effortlessly in its wildness.

The unquiet exit of my being from the house went without comment, the slamming of the doors dismissed without punishment and the phantom of my presence forbidden the common courtesy of a goodbye. Dipping into the night was refreshing, the idle conversations of passersby far more satisfying than the graveyard in my kitchen, even with their irritating voices and high-pitched infuriating laughs. It didn’t take long before the location of my destination peaked on the horizon, the sound of music vibrating beneath the earth, rooting itself into the soles of my feet and flaring into the width of my chest, intertwining with the thud of my erratic heart. Some would consider it demeaning to go to a club alone, pathetic almost, but I couldn’t give a shit what anyone thought, what anyone might whisper absently into ears of their friends only for it to be forgotten a moment later when the human heart became infatuated with something else it fancied.

Slipping through the crowds took little effort, weaving fluently through bodies sticky with sweat and radiating sickly scents, polluted with odors best left to the imagination. Within moments a seat at the bar produced its appeal and the cushion of toned cheeks gladly met its softened embrace. Ordering a drink and welcoming the refreshing burn from the sour elixir my attentions fell elsewhere, diving onto the show which was being executed flawlessly. There was something soothing about watching any kind of dance, although that doubtlessly wasn’t the intentions of these dancers... but for some reason it seemed calming, enchanting, hypnotic almost, at least to me it did. Seeking another gulp for confidence, piercing eyes in their expert precision shadowed the movements of a particular dancer, latched to the seductive sway of those curved hips and the flamboyant colours lighting her existence. Without hesitation a confident hand pounced to grip the smooth skin beneath chapped nails in an impulsive attempt to capture the attention of the alluring stranger. "Can you teach me to dance?” There was nothing like getting straight to the point.