Drowning in the Beat
Ciaran’s life is of a bored young man who has a great talent on messing with people.
He obviously wasn’t like that always. His family was well known, part of social Elite and always part of the current political topics. They weren’t much of a family though. The only activities together they had been the evening meal to discuss their daily events. Ciaran was mostly taken care of by a private instructor. He was smart enough to even mess around with the adults at a young age, but there was never enough reason to punish him for it.
Obviously this had a negative effect on Ciaran. A growing child should have their parent’s support and care. The only one who Ciaran could turn to was the instructor he had and even that was a few words of encouragement or a pat on the back for doing a good job. With the lack of proper human interaction, conversations and debates, Ciaran began to dismiss the other people around him as disposable things. He didn’t care what happened to them after he was done with them.
With his so called friends, Ciaran was constantly changing masks. Never being the same person they thought he was. Still, they let him stay along, hoping to get more involved with his family due to their reputation and property.
On occasion Ciaran did allow them close enough, so he’d have his own sort of fun. None of them dared to speak anything bad toward the family, even if they were taken advantage of.
Many of Ciaran’s mind games went from ruining relationships to special favors. He’d use them as alibi, send them to shady areas or even physically abuse them. Yet they stayed with him, because in return they could have anything they wished for.
What Ciaran yearned for was knowledge. And he got it, more than he asked for. He knew many inconceivable things that only went through whispers behind backs and as encrypted messages. That was what he was capable of. He could lure out the information if he wanted enough of it.
The more he wanted it, the more he delved deeper in his own mind. With his darker side. He conversed by himself on regular basis when he was left alone. Some thought of him insane, others were merely curious and pried in. At that moment they became one of his puppets.
Not because Ciaran wanted so. He did it without meaning to. His mannerism, way with words and gestures. Promises of everything imaginable couldn’t be denied. But the more he did this, the less humane emotions remained within.
That’s why he took it to the streets. He wanted to know things that he wasn’t supposed to. The darker side of the coin.
He resigned himself from the Elite. Wanting nothing to do with the meek, Ciaran turned to the harsh reality and thrived.
He could hear them screaming at each other. Kneeling at the top of the stairs, his cheek pressed against the cold plaster, his brilliant green eyes watched the flickering shadows on the floor, cast there by the setting sun. Black against bloodstained white. He supposed the colors were accurate for this household but who was he to judge? He wasn’t God. He’d given up on God long ago. He knelt, poised and ready to dash out the door the moment everything down there climaxed.
‘Watch me be the one to clean up the blood,’ he thought with a snort as he double checked on the cash in his pocket. He doubted they would miss it and if they did, who cared? He knew how he was going to spend it tonight.
“He’s just the fucking same as you!” he heard his father yell. “What the hell did you teach slut?!”
“Teach him?!” his mother shrieked in her shrill voice. “Everything that you didn’t!”
“Oh, real smooth mom,” he muttered. His long, slender fingers clutched the edge of the step as he lifted his head. There was an ache in the back of his head that was slowly growing and he had to get out of there before it got so bad that he began to hear the voice inside his head again. Nervously he clicked his lighter on and then let the button go. Come on, hurry up.
There was the sound of flesh hitting flesh and one of the shadows fell to the floor. “Don’t you fucking dare back talk me woman!” his father roared.
“What does it matter what I do? Huh? You run to our son’s bed when I’m perfectly willing to - ”
Another slap; this one louder than before. “You? Willing? Don’t make me laugh.” Another hit and he heard his mother whimper.
‘There,’ he thought. Time to go.
He propelled himself down the stairs as fast as he could, long legs taking the steps two at a time. He was throwing open the door when he heard his father scream at him.
“Ciaran? Is that you? Where the fuck do you think you’re going? Get your ass back in here immediately!”
“Fuck off..” he threw over his shoulder savagely as he raced down the hallway with his mother’s laughter ringing in his ears. Pausing to briefly consider the elevator, he then dashed to the emergency stairwell almost knocking out a security guard who was doing rounds in the building.
‘He’ll get over it,’ he thought as he ran down to the bottom floor and out the fire exit. He ran through the crowded streets until he couldn’t breathe and finally collapsed against a light post, gasping for breath.
Dragging in a deep breath he straightened up and forced his mind blank. All he wanted right now was a good fuck to shut everything out. He didn’t care about the impending unification of political parties, didn’t care about the people involved. Brushing his dark hair out of his eyes, he stumbled forward, letting his feet take him to his salvation while his mind curled in on itself. Memory brought him to the doors to the underground club and he paid his way in, the bouncer barely acknowledging him. They never harassed regulars.
Loud music beat against his body, the noise deafening. He welcomed it, let it wash over him. This was a different crowd in here. Within these walls he could breathe, he could have space all to himself in the chaos that was his mind.
An arm slid around his waist and warm breath brushed over his ear. “Hello, Raythe.”
He turned in the embrace, turning his face into the hand that traced his jaw bone. “Seven. Long time no see.”
Here on the street, in a place like this, no one used their real name. That meant giving yourself up; that meant submitting. People had you if they had your real name. He never wanted that to happen. The man that stood against him looked up into his face and frowned. “You look like shit.”
He gave him a brittle smile and pulled away from the hold. “Among other things.” He didn’t care for the masses on the dance floor, but he mingled his way to the back of the club, picking one of the tables there and sat down on a sofa to watch. A few people dared to join his company, couriers and tricks all alike. Some offered him drinks and cigarettes. Ciaran picked one and lit it out of habit more than need.
It could have been minutes later or hours, he didn’t know. Everything blurred together in his mind unless it was interesting to him. His cigarette had burnt all the way to the filter already, but he held it between his fingers watching as two figures separated from the mass of dancing bodies and approached his table.
“Well if it isn’t my two favorite customers,” he said in a silky voice.
“Raythe,” Cait said as she bent over him and pressed her mouth to his, giving him a sloppy kiss. “How much?”
“Depends on what you want,” he replied as she straightened up, eyeing up the scrawny youth in front of him.
“I want to forget,” Devin told as Ciaran reached out for him and snagged his wrist, pulling him forward. “I want to go deaf.”
Ciaran chuckled and pulled the boy onto his lap. “Again? I doubt you stole enough for the shoot you want. You willing to trick for the rest?”
“Anything,” the boy whispered as Ciaran worked his hand down the boy’s pants. A sharp breath escaped from the boy’s thin lips as he reached to stroke him. His dry lips touched the skin over the pulse in the neck. “Sweet. You want it that badly, I’ve got customers for you.”
Ciaran grinned against his neck and removed his hand, pulling the money from his pocket before letting the boy go. “If you would be so kind, guys.”
He gestured for one of the guys closest to him and the youth got to his feet, returning a couple minutes later with a syringe and tourniquet. They moved to the couch and Ciaran nodded to the few others waiting for their turn. He didn’t care much for what happened to the pair after he was paid. They weren’t part of his worries. They got shot up and Ciaran left, letting his acquaintances take care of the rest. He had other parties to crash and to find a place to use for this night.