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Her religious teaching hammered down the fact that marriage was sacred. You bound yourself to another person for the rest of your natural life in holy matrimony. Straying from this called for death by the ancient religious laws.
It was a worship issue, their bishop told Lucille, and thus not something they could help with. The solution was prayer. And more prayer. And more prayer. Even when she tried to tell him that neither of them had physically strayed—back when she didn’t have proof—there was nothing to salvage in the burning wreck of hurt feelings and spat words left behind.
The shrink was no better, prattling on and on about how important communication was. Of course, in front of the bedazzled psychiatrist, Lysander was perfectly polite. Leaving little crumbs like a regular Hansel, painting Lucille out to be the wicked witch in the woods, poisoning everything and everyone around her.
Him? Oh, well he was simply the knight in shining armour. The only man left on this godforsaken planet that could handle her moods.
What good was talking when it led nowhere but the same fucking routine all over again. Lysander was effortlessly charming, turning heads without so much as a look. Every word from his mouth dripped with promises of everything you could ever want and more.
A facade that hid sharp teeth and cold, dead eyes.
The car rolled to a stop in front of a two-story building with massive neon signs out front that read VVVIVACIOUS complete with the corny model of a woman swinging around a pole as the neon signs flickered.
“What are we doing here, Ly?” Lucille bit the inside of her lip. Her skin felt tight at once, prickling uncomfortably. Surely they had come to the wrong address, or perhaps he was pranking her.
“You asked for a date night, Lucille,” her husband said, throwing her a saccharine smile, “I’m simply doing what you asked.”
His words were a dagger to the chest. When she’d asked for a date night after months of not so much as a glance, suffice to say, this was not what she had meant. Of course, that was all on her for not specifying what she wanted to begin with, wasn’t it?
After all these years, she knew every line in his book and when it would come. She never should have listened to the psychiatrist.
“Of course,” she replied, strangled, trying her best to ignore the tears that burned along her lash line. A restlessness settled in her bones, thrumming along her legs as short bursts of herself running were called to the very front of her mind.
Lysander stepped out of the car with ease, then he disappeared from her sight, behind the car. Lucille’s pulse raced wildly in her ears.
She folded her hands in her lap, squeezing her fingers in an attempt to calm herself. Surely, once they were inside, he would quickly see her displeasure at the proceedings and they would leave early. It would just be a sick, twisted joke. If he wanted to frighten her, he’d already succeeded.
She jumped as the car door ripped open, gasping as the seatbelt dug in between her breasts. “Jesus–”
“Don’t let the bishop hear you blaspheme.” Malice gleamed in his pale eyes, yet he extended his hand to her in the show of being a perfect gentleman.
A snappy retort rested at the very tip of her tongue, waiting with bated breath to be released between them, yet she bit it back.
Her throat closed up as she snapped the belt off and stepped out. His hand was warm in hers, something that would have brought great comfort in the past. Now it only made her heart clench as though his grip around her fingers brought her soul along with it.
Her modest heels crunched on the gravel of the parking lot as they walked toward the entrance. Never in her life had she set foot in an establishment like this, for absolute lack of wanting it.
The short line up to the tall, muscular bouncer at the door felt more like how she imagined a prisoner’s last moments were while walking to the gallows.
It didn’t help, of course, that the arm Lysander kept around her waist was only a show of affection; ingenuine and cold. The dress he’d wanted her to wear got her attention in the line, even from the bouncer. Everyone looked at her twice, their eyes roving hungrily across her form as though she was prey, and the only thing keeping them from tearing her apart was the bigger, badder and meaner beast with his teeth already sunk into her neck.
“Keep walking,” Lysander whispered to her as the bouncer let them past once he’d double checked her husband. His fingers pressed hard into her back, forcing her to stay with him lest she wanted to trip in the darkened room.
“Ly, do they think I’m…” she couldn’t even get herself to say the word, cheeks flaring up with searing heat. Mortification truly didn’t even begin to cover how she felt about being reduced to something other than what she was.
For better, or for worse. In sickness and in health. Come hell or high water, it was supposed to be the two of them against the world.
“Don’t worry about a single thing, my little star,” he smiled at her and for a moment, one brief moment as the strobe lighting from the main stage hit him just right, she could have sworn it looked authentic.
Time moved slowly as syrup as they sat all the way up against one of the stage runways, right by one of the long metal poles. Up close, they were surprisingly thick and sturdy.
Lucille had a non-alcoholic drink at their tiny side table, half empty, when the lights suddenly cut off completely. Stiffening in her seat, she instinctively reached for Lysander as clapping erupted all around them.
He was clapping and hooting along with the rest of the crowd, as though familiar with the proceedings in these establishments. Was he? Every night he never showed up at home on time, or had to stay in at the office, was this where he was? Drinking the night away, throwing bills at dancers?
Lucille removed her hand slowly, vision blurring as she stared straight ahead. No one in their right mind took their spouse to a place like this, did they? Especially not when they had so many issues to work through.
God, was he shoving it in her face? What he had done, what he would continue to do, knowing she didn’t have the strength to ask for a divorce? Her family wouldn’t take her back… so without him, what was she supposed to do?
Microphone feedback screeched as the applause died down, stinging sharply in Lucille’s ears. The music that had been playing around the area died down slowly, leaving it with an eerie, oppressive silence for a few seconds.
“Good evening, wayward souls,” a sultry, feminine croon rang out from the speakers, “it is our great joy to open up today’s Halloween special at V-V-Vivacious with none other than Valentino.”
A tall, androgynous figure stepped onto the stage, skin painted purple beneath a long, red robe. A long, braided, purple mohawk sat atop their head. The dancer grinned as pounding bass began playing properly over the speakers Lucille’s attention remained on a golden tooth glinting under the lights.
By some miracle from above, time seemed to move quickly from there. Dancers came out in rapid succession, dancing one song each in which the endgame seemed to be getting as close to full nudity as possible. Some… some had even gone full frontal! Not wanting them to feel any shame from her shame, she kept her head tucked and reminded herself to keep her brows relaxed and her mouth relaxed.
They were doing their jobs. It wasn’t her place to judge them for it.
She’d seen more skin in the past two hours than she had in her entire life. None of it was of any enjoyment to her. She noted how often Lysander had to adjust himself, as though the spectacle turned him on, unless it was humiliating her that did it.
The lights cut off again, lasting only a couple of seconds before a single spotlight came on, centred on that barely noticeable split in the backdrop curtains.
“You’ve all been waiting patiently,” the same female narrator spoke up once more, a laugh hiding at the edge of her voice, “and now it is finally time for the finale. Hold onto your beers, heathens, The Demoness is coming for you.”
A lone figure stumbled backwards out from the curtains as a loud, echoing scream rang out from the speakers. The noise was loud enough the floor vibrated beneath Lucille’s feet.
Heavy bass pounded along the walls as the first lines of the song, a rhythmic sort of chant complimenting the underlying melody.
What’s wrong with me?
Up on the stage, the tall stripper struck a pose as the lighting changed. She wore a sheer, black robe, and as the light shone on her from below, the silhouette of her long legs were accented dramatically.
What caught Lucille’s attention, however, was the makeup covering her dark hand. They looked like bones. Delicately painted finger bones in pure white, stark against her skin.
Why do I feel like this?
The Demoness, as she was named, ran her painted fingers over her tied hair, and over the white paint at the back of her neck. She turned halfway as the intro of the song continued, then spun a round effortlessly on the ridiculously tall heels.
I’m going crazy now.
With all the grace of a feline, the stripper stretched out to grip onto the pole closest to her, swinging herself around it as the song started fully. Every movement was on beat and perfectly fluid. The sheer, black robe billowed out behind her as she swung around and kicked out her legs.
Lucille was mesmerized. The lights followed the dancer as she moved, changing in intensity and angle for the entirety of the first verse. It was clear this was much more than just pounding bass and wiggling her hips on a pole for money.
This was performance, it was art.
Better think twice
Your train of thought will be altered
So if you must falter, be wise
Your mind’s in disturbia
She dropped her weight to the floor in the splits at the last word, running her fingers through her tied hair once more as she bent backward. When the lights changed again, her head turned.
Lucille’s breath caught in her throat, cheeks growing hot as the glowing contact lenses the Demoness wore bore into her being, seeing her very soul. Her face was painted in a skull, white painting of teeth lining the swell of her lips.
Gasping quite audibly, Lucille hurried to slap a hand over her own mouth at the twisty, acrobatic moves the dancer did next. Never in her life had she seen a human move in such a fashion. Somewhere along the way, Lucille caught a glimpse of her stomach, where her spine was painted across her skin in vivid detail.
Every movement was smooth, yet purposeful, arms and legs moving with an eerie, yet mesmerizing fluidity. It reminded Lucille of ball jointed marionette dolls.
Disturbia, am I scaring you tonight? (Your mind is in)
Disturbia, ain’t used to what you like
Disturbia, disturbia
With a strut powerful enough to put most runway supermodels to shame, the dancer came down the runway of the stage. Approaching the pole right in front of Lucille, she stripped her robe and flung it right at her.
The light fabric was saturated with perfume and heat from her body.
Music pounded around them, yet she heard clearly when the dancer bent down at the waist, showing her whole backside to the people on the other side.
“Keep that safe for me and I’ve got a surprise for you,” she said, just loud enough to be heard over the music, “if you dare.”
Faded pictures on the wall (it’s like they talkin’ to me)
Disconnected, no one calls (the phone don’t even ring)
I gotta get out, or figure this shit out
It’s too close for comfort–
Lucille felt dizzy with the impressions shoved into her head, at everything that attacked all her senses. Her eyes were glued to the dancer as she continued her routine; without the cover, she was practically nude. The black thong around her slim hips left nothing to the imagination. When the light hit just right, Lucille could have sworn they weren’t even solid, but slightly sheer.
The small triangles covering perky breasts were no better and Lucille felt thoroughly ashamed both in her quiet judgement, as well as her enjoyment of it. Further spurred by the scents coming from the robe in her hands.
Was she allowed to sniff it? Was it expected?
Nevermind that she couldn’t so much as lift her eyes from the tantalizing performance in front of her. Every strip of paint covering the Demoness’ body was a new place to look as she moved. Her lips moved to the lyrics, never missing a beat.
Though Lucille knew well it wasn’t her singing, slowly but surely, the noises of the club faded away. The presence of her husband at her side faded away. Her universe cinched in like a corset, leaving only the dancer, the lights and the loud music beating through her body.
Without the robe she could see everything. Every lean muscle in long thighs and tense abdomen as the dancer worked through her poses and struts like it was second nature. Lucille’s eyes tracked the movement of her hands as they ran down the length of her body, teasing over small breasts before running down the plane of her stomach.
Shivers were dancing across her skin at the sight, sure as though it was a show all for her, and not three dozen men and women sitting around.
So if you must falter, be wise
She hadn’t so much faltered, as she had crashed head first into unknown territory and had no idea if she was drowning or flying. Regardless of how much she tried to breathe, it didn’t give her any more clarity. The flashing, overlapping lights and pounding bass threatened to throw her sanity to the wind.
As the chanting in the song progressed, the dancer dropped to the floor of the stage again. On all fours, she slowly made her way toward Lucille. Her heart rose all the way into her throat as the Demoness came all the way forward, leaning into her personal space.
Even over the eerie skull makeup and the glowing contact lenses, she knew this was a woman of obscene, utter beauty. She sat up slowly, gyrating her hips right there at the edge as she pulled the pin out of her hair. Wild, curly tresses flowed over her back and shoulders.
“Untie my bra?” The dancer said over the music as she leaned forward into Lucille’s space once again.
Oh, Lord. She would combust.
Nodding dumbly, possibly rattling what little was left of her brain right out her ears, Lucille leaned forward. The dancer’s skin was impossibly warm, and she smelled like absolute heaven as she fumbled with black strings once before pulling the knot free.
Lucille barely caught a glimpse of the painted ribs hitting just over the dancer’s freed nipples when she turned in beat with the drop of the music, flicking both her legs up into the air to kick them. Her back bent so far Lucille had to wonder if she even had bones.
Release me from this curse I’m in
The dancer twirled, coming to lean against her shoulder, reaching for Lucille’s hands as she kept swivelling her hips, likely all part of the routine.
Trying to maintain, but I’m struggling
If you can’t go, oh-oh-oh-oh–
Interlacing their fingers, the Dancer ran their hands down the length of her body, starting all the way up at her clavicles. A meek, startled sound ripped from Lucille’s throat as hardened, pebbled nipples ran over her palms.
I think I’m gonna ah-ah-ah–
Running her hands over the dancer’s flat, tense stomach felt illegal, yet she let herself be guided until her fingertips just touched the edge of that same tiny, half-sheer thong she’d eyed earlier.
Put on your break lights
You’re in the city of wonder–
“Thank you.” The dancer whispered into her ear and kissed her cheek before lifting herself back up onto the stage properly.
Lucille could only stare at the other woman with absolute bewilderment, body thrumming with unfamiliar feelings. Her fingers tingled with the phantom touches of the dancer’s skin, and the feeling of the surprisingly thick, crusted paint.
If she had struggled to breathe before, it was now impossible. Her eyes were glued, wide as saucers, to the way the Demoness moved with the final verse of the song. The rapid changes that still retained their fluidity. The way she was seemingly entirely unbothered by the display they had just put on together.
If fire ever took a physical, humanoid shape, Lucille was staring right at it.
Your mind is in disturbia
It’s like the darkness is the light
Disturbia, am I scaring you tonight?
Disturbia, ain’t used to what you like.
Disturbia, disturbia
The lyrics reverberated in her mind as she clenched her fingers around the soft fabric in her lap that belonged to the dancer. Upon finishing the song, she’d gone to exit the stage to a standing ovation from everyone seated around.
“Ah, wait, you–” Lucille tried calling after her over the whistles and roaring applause to no avail.
What was she supposed to do? Keep it? How on earth was she supposed to allow herself that?
The final shock of the night came as the dancer was about to duck under backstage, where she turned and their eyes met once more. She mimicked putting a robe on and mouthed to keep it.
A smile played on her painted lips, the teeth having cracked in places with wear and the kiss. Oh, God, the kiss. The ease with which she accepted the gift for what it was left her feeling stranded on a beach, with nothing but the vast ocean around her.
All around her, the scent of beers and various other alcohol and fluid barely registered. Her nose was filled with the dancer’s scent beneath the lingering puff of perfume on the material.
Lucille lifted the material slowly to her face, keeping her eye on the dancer in the distance as she did. What compelled her to do it, she couldn’t say. It was worth it to see the dancer’s eyes widen.
Were her cheeks flushed beneath the makeup? Lucille hoped they were.
The dancer finally ducked under the curtain and out of sight, but not before Lucille caught a glimpse of her digging her teeth into her lower lip in an attempt to hide a smile.
“See, was it as bad as you feared?” Lysander chuckled at Lucille’s side, running a hand down the length of her back. His cologne mixed terribly with the scent from the robe, spice and sickly sweet fighting for attention in her olfactory senses.
“The next time you wish to take me on a date, Ly, I would appreciate it being a nice meal at a proper restaurant, one you like, one we’ve been to, one that got good reviews, it doesn’t matter,” she turned her head up to look at him.
For so many years she’d found him strikingly handsome. Sharp jaw, high cheekbones, fine nose, perfect hair and bright eyes, everything about him was a drug for her senses.
Or, more correctly, had been.
His smug smile faltered. “Duly noted, darling,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Thank you,” she smiled brightly as she laced her arm with his, “what else did you plan tonight?”
“When we get home,” Lysander said quietly, finger at her chin to tilt her head up, “wear the robe for me?” he whispered against her lips, smelling intensely of beer.
She longed to deny him, even if she knew that keeping the robe to herself after getting singled out by the dancer would only cause further trouble. Agreeing was easier, it always was. He would take his fill, and she could escape to the guest bedroom for a shower, where he could not hear her sobs.
It was strange, though. At the moment, she felt no urge to cry. There was only the righteous anger bubbling in the pit of her stomach. If she had to live a life chained to the ground in a field of belladonna, she would become the aconite. In the end, they would both fall.