Something Beautiful Between Heaven & Hell

Hell

I t's funny how things change.

How life can alter in the blink of an eye.

Things were so different now.

It didn't feel so long ago that I found my fucked-up father in the basement with a bloody woman at his feet. Threats fell from my tongue in a rush of screams. All of them landed on his face with hints of saliva. I was ready to out him, to who the fuck knew who.

The woman was chained down there, beaten and abused, and she wasn't the first. Wouldn't be the last, either.

It made my stomach roll, but he offered me a bribe, and I took it. And some poor girl was taken from her vacation, her father, who, unlike mine, was a good man, killed as he tried to protect her.

I should have said no, but I was a fucked-up teenager who'd said yes, because fuck, I had no one else. The idea of a person belonging to me. It felt nice...for me.

She didn't share those feelings.

I never thought there'd come a time when she'd willingly sit at my side. But here we are...

Jolie

"Make a wish...and if it's for my death, just know you're coming with me." His electrolarynx gave him a voice, and it was followed from his lips by a smile.

"Let's not create animosity, huh, Hell."

Anger swirled in his gaze as Hell's pretty eyes moved from me, sitting at his side on a comfortably padded chair, to Ollie, who sat opposite us at the dining table between Remi and Dec—the brothers Hell had developed through tragic circumstances.

It had been eight months since this place became my home. Hell had only been present a few times, mostly when I asked Woodrow if he'd neglect taking the anxiety pills that helped suppress him. I needed to talk to him...to understand if I was crazy to think I could trust him. But I did trust him. He'd given me no reason not to since returning to his life.

His anger was no longer directed at me. Maybe that was just because he was so mad at Ollie. He couldn't understand why someone he considered family had left me at the facility for months, subject to the fear of the abuse. He didn't care that Ollie somehow prevented it. Me being there was still too much.

It was hard for me to understand, too, but I knew Ollie's options were limited when I first arrived. Woodrow was struggling, and Ollie didn't want to risk his well-being. It was a poor choice, but I wouldn't hold a grudge, as he'd step into my cell seconds after anyone else, always before they touched me. Always in time to hear their cruel taunts as they pulled away the bag that covered my face.

The memory of cold gray walls took me back in time as they built up around me, my view of them compromised by the bag over my head.

The door creaked open, and then a bang followed as it closed. Feet moved toward me. The shoes didn't bend at the toe like Ollie's, and they weren't shiny and fancy like them, either. Beat-up boots stood before me. Knees clicked as the man lowered to his haunches.

I closed my eyes, and worse images of my life a few months earlier flicked behind them. I wasn't at the facility yet, I had no Ollie to protect me. Dirty hands landed on my legs, the fingers pressing into bruises left behind from previous attacks.

I fought back. My hands flew out in defense as the creep manhandling me forced his dirty dick into my mouth. I looked up at the monster, dressed something like a man. His face stared down at me, smirking over my poor attempts at fighting him off with a hand full of broken bones. I hated him and his ugly face as his lips curled more. I forced myself to see something different...someone different. An image built around me, and a daydream thrust me somewhere else. In a fancy Vegas hotel with a more desirable abuser. I pictured Hell. But even the image of his beautiful face couldn't get me through this. My teeth closed, crunching through the man's flesh. A rush of iron filled my mouth as his blood mixed with my saliva. A heavy blow landed against my temple, and everything blurred as I hit the floor.

My eyes blinked, and I was back in my cell. The man in boots was still before me. My eyes leveled with his—the sympathetic golden stare on me.

"I wish I could take you home with me right now." The man's voice was vaguely familiar but without a personal pull. Maybe he just sounded like someone I knew from TV.

"That can't happen. Now, out," another voice said. It belonged to Ollie. I hadn't even realized he'd entered, following yet another man in here.

But this man felt less like a threat...and as he silently stared at me with that golden stare, I almost wanted to beg him to do that. To take me home with him right now.

I blinked back to reality—a place that had taken me the full eight months of being here to feel semi-comfortable.

Those golden eyes were on me again, looking a richer shade as the light from the candles he lit reflected there.

I took a glance to my side, checking Hell's reaction to the little flames.

They didn't prevent his finger from trailing the swirls of vanilla frosting, his scars just visible beneath his sleeve as he stretched to claim more.

Batting him away, I see him looking amused with himself.

"Make a wish," he mouthed, holding my attention at his mouth as he sucked his fingers clean.

I couldn't help but smile as my gaze returned to the cake. I picked a knife from the table and cut it right down the middle. I pushed half in Remi's direction, and his golden eyes landed on me again.

"Make a wish."

"My wishes don't come true, Jolie."

"Wishes can come true."

"Then save them for yourself."

"My wishes already came true, Remi. So, come on, birthday twin. Make your wish."

"I wish," Dec began, "you'd share your half of the cake, Remi." He used his spoon to scoop a chunk from the layers.

Remi's eyes dipped to the cake, a flicker of hope dancing through his gaze as he blew out the candles, all slowly shrinking in size.

I blew out mine, too.

"What did you wish for?" he wondered, eyes back on me.

"For you to get your wish. What did you wish for?"

As devious as ever, he just smiled for a moment before saying, "It's a secret."

He took a spoon to the cake, scooping through chocolate and vanilla. That hope in his eyes twisted into fear as he blinked down at the cake. He froze, like his appetite had vanished.

"You'll get your wish, Remi. Trust me, they come true."

"Speaking of wishes coming true..." Hell's robotic voice cut in. "Get your ass up. We'll eat this in bed."

He pulled me from the chair by the wrist, not my hand, and led me away from Remi, who was already pushing his cake toward Dec, who was practically drooling over the damn thing.

Inside our bedroom, Hell closed the door, pointing to the bed for me to sit on as he went digging through one of his drawers.

"What are you looking for?"

His finger raised into the air, indicating he needed a minute.

I picked at the cake with my fingers because I didn't have the sense to grab a spoon when leaving the table.

Distracted by the cake, I didn't realize Hell was done digging for his treasure and had returned with it until his shadow loomed over me.

"I have a gift for you," he mouthed, opting against reaching for his electrolarynx.

His hands held something else. A book bound to perfection. Gilded edges shone as light from the dimming sun peeped through the window.

"Is it another journal?"

I didn't think so. Just like in our teens, he had a diary beneath the bed. Though, this one was collecting dust and hadn't been used for years. It was full of painful memories from his first year in Ollie's care. Memories of loss for me...for Nessie...and a baby he had to bury without ever knowing her. Not one entry included his parents. His reason, they didn't deserve to be eternal. Ink would outlive him, keeping their memory alive after he was gone. He didn't believe they deserved that. I didn't, either.

I caught a glimpse of the writing on what was no doubt a faux leather cover. A silver title.

Taking the book from his hands, I trace the holographic words, careful not to smear them in cake crumbs.

Somewhere Between Heaven and Hell.

"I never told you about the book from my daydreams." Shaking hands flipped the cover, revealing a story told through not words but a series of sketches, showcasing the heartbreak of a man, the confusion of a child in the wrong body, and someone who was seething with the world and everyone in it.

"We told you about the book. Maybe." The electrolarynx was against Hell's throat again. "Ollie said he thought you were picking up bits from his calls to Remi. Calls about Woodrow. About me."

"Maybe." A tear ran from my eye, landing on the face of the drawn man, fitting in well with the sadness penciled into his expression.

"Whose idea was this?" I already knew.

"I started the book, unsure if we'd ever see you again. But recently, anxiety meds muted Woodrow's need for me. I wasn't here as often. So, he helped. Woody, too, but the situation was the same for him. It became mostly Woodrow in the second half. That's why so many of the drawings are shit."

"They're perfect...even with the depressive emotions. I like that the idea was yours. I knew you had a softer side...deep, deep down."

"Do you not remember our past?" A dark eyebrow raised.

"Our story was tragic...but you weren't the villain."

"No." He focused on me for a second.

I was still fingering the drawings, moving towards the end of the book, eager to get there—to see everything—but still wanting to take my time and appreciate it all.

Hell dropped to my side, his fingers picking at the vanilla layer of the cake.

Light vibrations of need rattled his body. He ignored them, his greasy fingers flipping the pages to the back of the book.

The drawing of an elderly couple wrapped in each other's arms with their eyes closed was on the final page. The words, for eternity, stood out around the framed sketch.

"Are we dead here?"

"No. Just sleeping."

I nodded, noticing that a very old Woodrow was pulling up the blankets on the drawing of me.

"He's showing he'll still love you. Even then. That he wants you forever."

"The book kinda makes it look like you want that, too." I flicked back to the middle, to Hell, around his current age, in this house and surrounded by destruction, and the words, where could she be?

"Ollie sectioned us for that little outburst."

"What happened?"

"We were still trialing pills to help with Woodrow's anxiety...they weren't working, and I came to protect him from things he wasn't ready to feel. Thoughts about what you were going through, wherever you were. I wasn't expecting to see my father. But he was here, standing in the kitchen, telling me we'd never get you back. And I just lost it. I started smashing up the room, but I wasn't hitting him, just everything fucking else. I broke Remi's nose, a few of Dec's cups, and three of my fingers. And yet my father was unscathed."

"Because he wasn't really there, Hell. He's dead."

"I know, and I'm glad. I only wish it had been more painful."

"You didn't kill him though?" I was almost sure.

"Woodrow did. Your golden boy has a dark side, too." He smirked, popping a dimple on his cheek. "I wish it was me that did it, though."

"Why?" I asked, leaning over the cake to touch his denim-covered thigh.

"Because I hated the prick. Because of what he did to Woodrow, my sister, and—and all the other shit he did."

"To me?"

"My father was a cunt, but he wasn't the one to hurt you most of the time. I was. Because of what he turned me into. I had no idea what he was doing back then. I knew he wasn't making me better, but I was too fucked to realize he was making me worse."

"Do you regret it? The stuff you did to me?"

I waited for an answer, staring at him through my hair like I always did.

"As awful as it sounds, no."

My shoulders slumped, hating his cold words.

"Why?"

"Because you belong to me. You were chosen to be mine. Maybe things would have been different if you'd just given in."

"And you wanted that? Wanted me to be yours?"

"You are mine." There was conflict in his expression as he looked away from me. It had me asking...

"How do you really feel about me, Hell?"

He paused, his nostrils flaring. "Woodrow loves you."

"I know." It was palpable every time he looked at me. "I know how Woodrow feels about me. I want to know how you feel."

"We're not going there, Jolie."

"That bad?"

His sardonic smile returned, evolving into a silent laugh.

"I'm not on par with your dad, though, right?"

"Not even close."

A smile was on my face before he answered. I knew I was right about him. I knew, despite any future delusions or whispers in his head, our life wouldn't be like before.

"Will you give me a birthday gift?"

"Are you not happy with the book?" His face twisted, showing every bit of offense.

"I love the book." Tucking it into my chest, I held it tight, like I was protecting that perfect future. "I just have a question."

"If it were a question I'd want to answer, you wouldn't be asking if you could ask it."

"On your seventeenth birthday, I was given to you as a gift. It's my birthday. I've lost so many years. One more gift. One question."

He shrugged, allowing me to push on with the question that would prove to me he trusted me, which would prove we could live in harmony, and these lighter moods I'd been encountering weren't just temporary.

"What's your name?"

"You know my name." He shrugged again.

"Hell isn't your real name."

He was silent for minutes, and I didn't push. I joined in with him, mauling my cake and even pushing frosting between his lips.

Holding my hand, with a touch so soft, he sucked my finger.

I tingled everywhere.

"Why do you want to know?" he asked once my hands were back in my lap.

"I want to know everything about you."

His questioning gaze softened on me.

"I'll still call you Hell."

Another minute ticked by, the slowest one of my life, while he accessed my body language and relaxed expression.

"Hell isn't my real name. My father said I wasn't worthy of the Heaven name. Hell was fitting." His lips curled. "Flip to page seventy-two. There's a drawing there of you and me. Where you ask me that question, and I tell you the answer."

Rushing to the book I'd placed at my side, I didn't even consider any cake crumbs or grease as I hurried through the pages.

"When did you draw this scene?" I still hunted for it.

"Around three years ago."

"You wanted me to know?"

"I guess that answers your question on how I feel about you."

I couldn't speak, too wrapped up in the image in my hands. The drawing of Hell and me. I was on page seventy-one. And there we were, hands joined, faces confused. I read the speech bubble around him. "I won't hurt you until you're ready. And I'll do it in the best way. I want you to get off on the pain this time, too."

Believable words, as we still hadn't gone all the way, me and Hell, or me and Woodrow.

"Who knew evil could love, right?" he added.

Trembling, I flicked to seventy-three. Another drawing of us, surrounded by a conversation about secrets and feelings.

And there it was, in big, bold writing...his name.

Gayge.

I twisted toward him, ready to tell him he wasn't evil. He was healed, at least enough for us to move forward. But it wasn't Hell staring back at me. With his head dipped slightly and a boyish smile, it was the man who shared his body. My Woodrow.

"Happy birthday, Moonlight. I hope you like your gift."

We both froze, a viscous memory of his mother invading both of our minds.

I pushed her away, finally wanting to move away from my trauma...to start over with the man I loved...and his alters.

"Tonight's our night, Woodrow." I smiled. "I have every part of you. I want you to have every part of me. I love you."

"I love you more." He winked before pulling me up the bed, the cake, too, smearing frosting on my lips to suck it back off.

I smiled against his mouth, not fearing that sexual excitement would bring forth another personality because if it did, that was okay...

Because somewhere between Heaven and Hell, I found something beautiful.