the Grey - Chapter IV - Darkness pt.2
If you’re new here, you may want to start from the beginning.
This chapter contains vivid depictions of psychological distress, dissociation, and emotional trauma that may be upsetting to some readers.
Nothing much, just a bit of poison to sting the lips. A shy first step.
The bar’s colorful lights stretched across the promenade, painting streaks on the sand and asphalt. Rhythmic thump of the bass drum pounding deep in the chest. The sensation of disgust pulled his lips into a curl. A chaotic crowd mindlessly turning, to shout into someone’s ear to be heard, projections of what it looks like to be cool, to feel cool, their puff chests, shoulders overstretched. Their elbows cocked, hand on hip, fingers limp around the cup. An exhausting narcissistic performance, here appearing to belong mattered more than actually belonging.
Familiar faces stood at the edge of the patio-turned-dancefloor. He approached, Chiara sat on the low wall enclosing the dance area. He hugged her from behind, his arms around her waist. His gaze fell to the tiled floor, large blue slabs interspersed with black ones, still mostly empty despite the incessant beat blaring from the ceiling-mounted speakers.
Still. Embraced amid the commotion. He felt everything recede, shrinking to a pinprick on the horizon.
The urge to leave this place gripped him. A coldness nipped at his ribs. But he didn’t move. He didn’t move an inch.
Perhaps I really do want to prove, just a little, that I belong, that I am part of something, even if I hate that something. A small compromise. Surrender a small piece of myself to show that I can be part of this microscopic society. The one I so clearly despise. The one I don’t want to be part of, and yet here I am, paying tribute to it with my time and presence. A ritual sacrifice to prove I’m worthy. To not appear suspicious. A conspicuous foreign grain in the magma of normalcy. Perhaps I am the narcissist. Just like the others, and in a different way. Fighting the inadequacy and the desire to hide by cloaking myself in superiority. Maybe that’s it. Maybe. But I can’t explain it only that way. As much as I can admit to being arrogant, how can I think I’m on the same level as those around me? I surely have my flaws, and I can count them, though I’d run out of fingers. But I can’t accept being compared to this rabble. Immersed in their instincts, devoid of complexity. Immersed in the stream of their insipid lives, unable to comprehend or even wonder about the grand scheme of things. A life spent waiting. Without control. Letting life happen to them. Perhaps it’s her. Perhaps I stay here not to upset her. Maybe she wants to stay here, just a little longer. I’m afraid to ask. Maybe that’s it. Maybe she enjoys this. And what if she’s part of all this? What if she were like the crowd around us?
He shook his head trying to get rid of the parasitic thought.
What the fuck are you thinking, man? You know it’s not true. You know. You know how she is different. She is built different. She reacts, she is tuned in. The way she makes me feel, alone when we talk. When we are not here. But there in our space. I am certain, I have proof. Overthinking hurts.
They remained still, letting the minutes pass by, slow enough to count the fractions of seconds. Chiara placed her hand on his face as she rested her head on his shoulder.
“Want something to drink?” She asked.
“Yeah, why not.”
She moved away.
He faced the sea, so dark it seemed empty, yet he heard its hush, or imagined it, beneath the club din. Foam flickered at the shoreline. He calmed himself with its cadence.
She pressed a cool bottle into his hand.
“Here you go! A nice cold beer for my boy!”
He took a sip.
“What’s wrong?” She asked.
“Nothing.”
“Grumpier than usual tonight.”
He pressed his lips.
“It’s written on your face.” She said, tapping gently his cheek.
Luca leaned back, his smile widening.
“That’s better. Now tell me, what’s going on now?”
“Well, it’s this place.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“I don’t know. It’s all so grim. It’s like a dumb ritual, everyone meets at the same time every week. But what happens every time? Nothing. It all feels so pointless. I’m sure some people have fun dancing all night, but I…” He paused, glancing at the dance floor, still half-empty but slowly filling up. “I don’t know, I don’t feel part of this. All this noise is a fucking mess.” He covered his ears with a disgusted expression. “Anything worth doing should be done for profit or pleasure, and here I feel I can achieve neither. Besides, I couldn’t care less about mass rituals. If it were up to me, I’d only go out on Wednesdays, no lines, no traffic, no elbow cramps waving for the waiter. I’ve always moved away from crowds, and every time I’m caught in one, I don’t enjoy it.”
“Then let’s leave! I don’t care about this place either!”
“Are you sure?” He asked, relief flickering. “I want you to have fun tonight! I don’t mind staying a bit longer.”
“Look at me!” She stepped back and spread her arms “Do I look like I’m having fun? Let’s not end up doing what neither of us wants, just to please each other, okay?”
Luca laughed heartily.
Th hit of the season crashed over the patio. A cheer rippled like a wave from the console to the walls where everyone sat. All around, people moved toward the center of the patio.
“Everybody is going crazy.” He said staring at the wild crowd.
“Are you gonna go crazy with me tonight?”
Energy shot into his limbs. He vaulted the wall, grabbed her hand. “Let’s go. Let’s dance”
“With great pleasure!” She replied.
They plunged into the crowd at the center of the patio. Heat and sweat mingled with the pounding, the bass pressed against their ears. Chiara raised her hands in the air, together with everybody else. Shouting the chorus at the top of their lungs. He held her by the waist, pulling her close. Her head tilted back, then her gaze met his. Her arms around his neck. Nodding with joy. The grin that scrunched her cheeks. So beautiful. A dream. And so, the night began.
Letting go of dark thoughts. Not worrying about anything for a moment. Just taking what was certain. Her skin under his hands. Her scent so close. Feeling alive with her. And everything else was just a backdrop that didn’t matter much. Because the universe revolved solely around them. And she, the most beautiful comet, revolved around him with her brilliant and colorful trail. Wrapping him like a fresh sheet of life. Honest. Fearless.
Enjoying the moment. Making it eternal.
Piece after piece, they moved together. Time flowed both fast and slow, smiles reflected on faces, friends joined in. They nudged each other, widening the circle. Dancing together. Every time a familiar song came on, their hands shot up to the sky. Pointing, calling, performing special moves, cheering one another on. Someone handed him a drink. Laughter bursting out, carefree. In one hand, Luca held Chiara’s; in the other, a vodka Red Bull, then another, and another. It felt like happiness, and maybe it was. He hoped it could last forever.
Sweating and panting, they moved away from the center, catching their breath. Chiara stopped to chat with her friends, laughing loudly, doubling over. Luca was grabbed by the shoulders. He turned to see the mischievous grins of his friends.
“What the hell are you fuckers planning?”
Guilty laughter. They motioned for him to follow. They wandered a little further from the patio to a wide clearing. Four of them ducked behind a thick bush, one pulling out a bottle of rum.
“Alright, people, it’s time for the death round!”
The boys’ eyes sparkled with excitement.
“Luca’s starting! He’s been out of the club for way too long!”
Roaring laughter. A couple of hard slaps on his back. Luca shoved them off, smiling.
“Gentlemen.” Luca declared, taking the bottle in hand, “I believe the occasion calls for a speech.” Clearing his throat, he began. “I, Luca, after much reflection, have finally made a momentous decision.”
“Here we go.” Carlo muttered.
“Shut up and listen!” Another said, playfully shoving Carlo aside.
“A very important decision! I’ve decided to return to the good old days, when we all had traces of blood in our alcohol! So, here’s to our future cirrhosis!”
He opened the bottle to a round of applause, the growing cheers erupting into wild shouts as he took his first swig, then another, and a third, before passing the bottle.
He felt the fire coating his throat and cheeks. Shaking his head once, twice, his chest burned intensely. A constriction rose to his temples.
“Damn, I’m so out of practice.” He wheezed, sticking out his tongue. “This stuff hits hard. What is it, the worst rum in the supermarket?”
“Shut up and drink!” Carlo shoved the bottle toward him again. Luca pushed it aside.
“No way. It’s your fucking turn.”
The bottle passed from hand to hand, everyone laughing and shouting encouragement. By the end of the first round, it was nearly half-empty. Luca shook his head as they urged him to start the second round. Amid boos and whistles, he left the lively group and headed toward the patio, looking for Chiara.
The bass thumped loudly. With each step, he noticed a new detail in the music filling the air: the relentless bassline, the sharp synthesizer notes slightly to the left, the nonsensical vocalizations dead center. A nearby speaker near the bar distorted the sound slightly, an electric slant, unpleasant. Everything blended into a coherent whole, pulling him in.
Step by step, he immersed himself. Pressing his hands against the wall, he savored the strange sensation rising within him. Colored lights divided the air into circular patterns and spirals. He watched the beams illuminate faces, their outlines expanding and contracting. A comprehensible, almost predictable game. He followed them one by one, then all together. Again, it felt as though he understood.
Understood what?
Isolation and unity. A dance of details forming a comprehensible whole. As if the lights and music merged, and the people and objects beneath them were made of the same substance. Long streaks unfolded before his eyes, losing their solidity. Only the perception of repeating patterns remained. Everything else a mere decoration over them, as if he could see the skeleton of this reality. Pattern upon pattern upon pattern. And it was good. Pleasure dissolving like sugar in his mind, colors pulsating. It was good. Like an inner smile nodding, aligned with the beat of the music.
He jolted his head back.
What a strange thought. Could he already be drunk? Was that rum that bad? He felt himself being lost in the auditory and visual stimuli that bombarded him. Slowly disappearing into it. Merged. Only eyes to see. Skin transpiring sound, vibrating in response, the harmonics colored from violet to red. Suddenly, they became aggressive. Exploding in intensity at random intervals. Stronger, wider, closer to the face. Swinging for his ears. His eyes. Pulsating. Ever more acute. Ever more close. Reality slipping. Seeing it laid bare and violent. Unable to grasp fully what he was observing, he recoiled from probing further. Fear of being consumed by it.
He searched for Chiara in the crowd. He longed for her arms to rest for a moment. Yielding to the urge to dance with closed eyes at the center of the floor, while simultaneously wanting to flee. To look into her eyes and choose together, shutting out everything else.
Scanning the faces moving in the center of the dance floor, he saw only strangers. His brows furrowed deeply. Why did they all seem so familiar? His gaze moved to the right, to the low wall. Two people arguing heatedly. Their words filtered into his mind one by one. Her rage glowed red in her chest. His coldness, a gray gleam in his throat. The light of anger turning purple, then red, enveloping his head.
“What the hell do you want, bitch?”
His voice. In Luca’s head. Clear as morning air. Far too distant for him to have actually heard with his ears.
“What the hell is this?” He muttered.
His voice disappeared into the void, forgotten almost as soon as it was uttered. He couldn’t recall its sound. The argument continued, full of rage and violence. He turned his gaze away, disturbed. Refusing to be part of it. Fear and pain consuming him in fire. He searched for a moment of comfort. The sight on the dance floor. Inundated, overwhelmed by a torrent. A sea of sound and light. The faces of the dancers shone like suns. Their thoughts drew themselves within Luca. All at once. All intelligible. One by one. All together. Himself disappear, submerged by the humanity surrounding him. His heart pounded hard, clenched by fear. He pressed his hands over his eyes, as if to shield himself. Closing them tightly, with all his strength. A long, noisy breath of fear. His lungs burned.
Terror gripped him as he realized he could still see everything exactly as he had with open eyes. The hall, the low wall, the DJ booth, the speakers, the music, the spinning lights. A muted gasp of horror. No longer limited by his eyes, he now saw more. Every face, every sensation, every thought, every word spoken, unspoken, potential, real. Each with its emotional weight. Each colored. The dynamics. The connections. The network of links. Love, hate, envy, desire. All spinning in perfect harmony in his mind. He was lost in it, drowning. His breath caught, stuck at the edge of his diaphragm. And still, it expanded further.
Everything vibrated. Everything danced. Everything in sync. Wild screams at every conceivable frequency.
He gasped violently. The sound startled two nearby boys.
“You okay, man?”
Their distorted voices echoed like monstrous reverberations in a cold, dark cavern. The nightclub before him expanded and contracted with the pounding bass. It exploded in colors, then annihilated itself into a black and white singularity, only to become enormous, infinite, stretching beyond his sight. Every detail became exquisitely clear, so much so that they blinded him, only to shrink again, disappearing into a single point.
At the mercy of this tide, completely lost in its waves. His legs trembled, weakened by the effort to stay conscious. Fear clung to his chest like a malignant cancer. Himself teetering on the brink, ready to give in. He could have let go, surrendered to the abyss. Maybe he would disappear. Maybe collapsing right there would save him, or maybe it would dissolve him completely, washed away by the storm. His ego erased, his mind nullified. Maybe he’d wake up again, or maybe never. He feared losing himself, feared disappearing forever.
A guttural growl seared his lungs. Mustering every ounce of willpower, he pushed himself up on his knees. He turned away from the nightmare, facing the dark sea. Behind him, the voices, sounds, and emotions clawed at him like voracious hands at the edges of his vision. He took three long steps, climbed the wall that separated the beach, and started to run.
He ran as fast as he could. His shoes sank into the sand; his ankles ached, but nothing else mattered. All that mattered was getting away. Away from that hostile, aggressive place, that hydra with a thousand heads chasing his mind, tightening its claws around him. Running was all he had left.
Copyright © The MaDMan, 2000. All rights reserved.
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Thanks for the goosebumps. I didn't realize they could last that long! lol This was so visceral I could feel his panic. Thank you for sharing this!