Chapter One: Dancing In The Dark

A cool, crisp breeze echoed through my bedroom window, fluttering the curtains as it made its way towards me like a gesturing, comforting blanket - shrouding me in its cold embrace.

A sudden shiver made its way up my spine, knocking me out of my transfixed state.

With a heavy shudder, I sat back letting a heavy sigh escape my lips followed by an exasperated tone in which lingered within the audible sigh.

"Who the fuck are Sally and Johnny, and why the fuck do they have so many apples?" I quarrelled with myself as I chewed the end of my pen, twisting the pen around, taking harmless bites around the soft plastic.

"Fuck homework! What absolute mind-fuck came up with the idea? Did they hate children? Were they sadistic?" I said aloud as I threw my arms up in the air in defeat, after battling the mathematical problems of edible perishables.

I graciously accepted defeat as I threw the pen to the side, eyeing my half-assed attempt of figuring out why the fuck Sally has thirteen apples and why Johnny has four or was it about bus times and other bollocks that was a failed attempt to make math more leisurely?

I stopped trying to figure out why they're trying to make Math more enjoyable.

As I haunched back against the chair, my bedroom door creaked, announcing to the world of the intruder. "Have you finished?" my mother asked as she popped her head into my room with a towel wrapped haphazardly around her head, thankfully the door was hiding the never-ending therapy sessions that would ensue.

"Please tell me you're not naked?" I snarled as I turned away from the door in disgust, my face heating up from the embarrassment.

"Well, I'm hardly going to shower with my clothes on, am I?" she retorted in the sense that walking around the house in nought but your birthday suit was okay for your child to bear witness.

"You know there are these amazing inventions called, towels and bathrobes, they are fantastic for hiding your bits from your fucking children!" I barked as I rushed towards my door, shoving her away before closing it behind her.

"I was just checking if you want something to eat?" she said from the other side of the door.

"Nah, I'm good. I'm gonna head out for a bit. If that's okay?"

"Just don't stay out too long, you have school in the morning," she sighed.

I sighed in an audible agreement as I made my way towards the window in which overlooked the street below.

An eerie cast of an orange glow illuminated the street below, highlighting the potential extravagant nightlife. I scanned further down the road, half expecting something to happen, wondering where the piss-heads were.

The scene which laid before me presented houses on both sides of the road, mirroring each other in an almost perfect setting, bar a few gaps for alleyways and small rural parking areas.

Parking areas were a bit of a stretch for describing what they were. They were just plots of tarmac that had been long forgotten about by the council and worn down by the continuous use of cars and the scuffling of teenage feet.

I heard them before they fully emerged from one of the alleyways, a few of them were clutching plastic carrier bags, hollering and laughing at each other as they attempted to look sober. It didn't take a genius to take a guess of what the contents within the bags were.

I sighed heavily, "I want to drink, too," I contested as I contemplated the activities of other people play out like a movie reel below me. They come and go from the multitude of alleyways, like a swarm of ants pillaging whatever was available on the menu.

The obvious actions of the alcohol showed in their strides as they stumbled across the road almost tripping over the curb.

The nightlife is something that I found immense comfort in. It's like a shroud of mystery, waiting to be discovered and explored by the ones that had yet to experience it.

The ambience, the mystery, the danger; the list is endless, but nonetheless thrilling.

I watch from my window as older teens and people in their early twenties shamble past my house, shouting and singing out of tune, hollering for their distant friends, waving their hands frantically in the air, desperately trying to get their attention.

While the guys lead the out-of-tune cacophony, a few girls take their place on a nearby curb, crying over something or each other. What that was, I can't say.

All that I do know was that it was over something fucking stupid, a boy, a breakup or even a stupid spat between friends. For them, the following morning shows promise that the night before was nothing more than a bad dream and poor life choices.

There were the odd few girls emptying their stomach, all the while revealing the nights' activities of fast foods and an abundance of alcohol.

Their designated wingman/wingwoman were holding their hair behind their heads all the while rubbing their backs, ushering sweet nothing to make them feel better about the shame they were displaying in the middle of the street for the whole world to see.

The sickening sound of their stomachs slapping against the pavement reverberated through the air, panging against my eardrums. I recoiled against the sound, slightly turning my head away.

For the girls who could hold their alcohol were hand in hand with the guys, joining in on the out of tune caterwauling.

"Piss-heads," I comment as my breath hits the window and condensates.

As I squander the entertainment and distraction that came in the form of other people's misfortune, I push myself up from my chair and grabbed hold of my now cold, half-consumed cup of coffee taking a small mouthful before cringing at the bitterness of cold coffee.

"Shit." I sigh in irritation as I made my way out of my room, the kitchen and a new cup of coffee, warm coffee on my mind.

As I stumble down the stairs one hand on the bannister, the other clinging the handle of my cup of coffee, I overhear a somewhat serious argument between my father in his drunken stupor and the news report that clearly can't hear his contemptuous remarks.

I slowly saunter into the front room nudging the door open with my shoulder.

My footsteps pressing gently on the carpeted floor, trying my hardest not to startle my pathetic excuse of a father who was nestled lazily against the armchair.

I approached him gingerly, thankful he only had his eyes set for the television. Noticing his frustration, I followed his gaze towards the screen and spotted the news report.

"Another riot?" I ask, my voice was soft and my body trembling slightly.

The fear of a slap or an insult circulated around my subconscious mind, like a sixth sense, a premonition of what could transpire.

I wait patiently for a witty retort of some kind. A retort that - in on its own would likely be somewhat hurtful.

Surprisingly, the retort never came, nor did he flinch at the sound of my voice, he just grunted his response, keeping his eyes glued to the events transpiring on the television.

I stare at him, an obvious scornful snare painted my expression, I quickly hide my hatred for him and force a smile before returning my attention to the television.

I began to watch with such intensity that I had let my guard down and completely blocked out my surroundings.

I watched as the cameraman shifts his focus on the scene that had failed to be presented, failing to rely on the chaos that I caught only slight glimpses of.

The camera began to move around sporadically, shifting its focus irritability.

It was as if the camera itself wanted to focus on anything that wasn't the riot, veering away from the horrific scenes that we had only a small taste of, tiny snippets of what could only be described as pure and unadulterated pandemonium.

"Who the fuck hired this asshole?" I ranted within a shallow breath.

Then the scene landed upon am elderly couple fleeing. No, not fleeing, running towards others, they seemed so determined, so indignant.

There was something about these people that seemed off, it made me feel as if I had lost all my youthful hope, my dreams, aspirations - all were devoured and gulped back down their mouths, ridding me of a promising future.

I raise my hand to my mouth, in an attempt to hide the concern of the events that were transpiring before me.

It felt as if I were standing in the very precipice of the end of the world, a cold horrifying sensation crept over me, like an ominous cloud overlooking an unsuspecting city to unleash it furry upon them.

The sensation of hopelessness and futile endeavour to build a future with her seemed almost impossible for me to comprehend, it was too much to bear.

I shook my head, casting out the unwanted thoughts before returning my attention to the television.

The rioter's movements were fast and arbitrarily. They seem as if they had no ambition, no cause to justify their violent outburst. They clenched onto no main focus, they were just mindlessly attacking bystanders.

As far as normal riots went you would find the odd teenager or two would maybe join in, but this?

This was different.

People are running.

They were running away as fast as their legs could carry them.

Running away from the so-called rioters, perplexed expressions were etched on their faces as a discernible utterance of fear was engraved on their bodies, which showed in their movements as they frantically tried to escape the mayhem.

It started to look a lot more of a gang war, or rather a collocation of people, high on bath salts, shambling around and attacking anything that wasn't like them.

Then it hit me, there was something more to be seen as if there were something more about these so-called "riots," the media is letting on.

Making us believe that the riots were taking place in a singular area. Then it hit me, something that set my mind unease.

A gut feeling was telling me that this was only the beginning and it wasn't not going to stop wherever this was happening, it was inevitably going to arrive at our doorstep.

My mind began spiralling out of control as I stood in the middle of the room and felt the world around me gain speed, spinning faster and faster, tilting from side to side.

I tried to take control of my emotions, but it was a futile endeavour on my part.

The world began to feel like a spinning top, spinning wildly and free. I only had to wait until it ran out of momentum before things could return back to normal.

Something had snapped me out of my panicked state as soon as the camera had finally found something to focus on - a young girl who was buried under a mound of debris.

Her body was limp, broken.

The spark of life and colour had been extinguished, usually, something like this would cause a standstill, but that never happened as people ran past her, their own safety came first.

The chaos only continued, leaving the girl alone and probably scared.

The camera tilts to one side for a moment as the cameraman hunched over, the sound of dry heaving echoes throughout the background as the camera lands with a thud inch in front of something, or someone.

In the half-light, I could just about make out the young girl's face. She was no older than I.

Her once delicate face was now one of distance and hatred. Somewhere on her facial expression, there was bloodlust.

There was a lingering craving within her milky, pale eyes that stole the warmth of my blood and turned it into a river of ice-cold panic.

The lingering expression within the girls' eyes was that of famine.

Her tongue began to dance around between her chapped and swollen bruised lips which revealed sharp discoloured teeth, stained with a yellowish-red hue.

It was if she could taste my fear, which only encouraged her to thrash against the debris she was trapped under as her hands shot out, desperately trying to lay claim to something or someone. Her fingernails were chipped, her broken fingers were caked in a drying red gooey substance.

Her haunting deep raspy gasps reverberated through the speakers of the television.

The cameraman picks up the camera, before shambling back a few paces, revealing that the young girl was trapped underneath a mound of debris.

The way she acted was as if the situation she was in, was nothing more than just a nuance to her, just a minor obstacle as if the rubble would suddenly disappear, ultimately setting her free.

She shows no sign of relenting or giving up on her unknown mission. A mission she kept only to herself and didn't want to be revealed to anyone, the mission could only be found in the pale milky orbs of her eyes.

She demonstrated no signs of distress or pain just autonomous hunger and hatred. The hunger holds no discernible target, it seems to be aimed at both, everyone and no one.

I take a step back. "What the fuck?" I murmur as goosebumps began to explode along my skin as I witness as the inexplicable scene plays on, I turn away, willing my brain to forget everything that I had just witnessed. It was just too much information for my brain to process.

"Where is this?" I ask shakily, my voice trembling as most of my words tried to escape my tightening throat, as if my body tried to contain my words, trying to pull them back into my mouth.

I was still fixated on the scene that was impossibly unravelling before me.

"Dublin," my mother replies flatly as if it were just an everyday occurrence - just another amusing television programme.

"How many of these so-called 'riots', have been reported?" I sigh, a sigh that drew out longer than I desired.

"Who the fuck cares!" my father snaps, cracking another can of beer open and slurping loudly at the foam.

I shot him a look that held a hint of disdain and a wave of anger.

People are in trouble and possibly dying, and yet he is only concerned with the tin of alcohol clutched tightly in his hand like a prized possession.

Dickhead! I scoffed within my head.

"Well, I'm heading out," I sigh heavily as I shifted away so that I was facing towards the dark brown door that led out to the hallway.

"Going to see that boyfriend of yours?" my mother cooed, "when are you going to bring him home so we can meet him?"

I shot her a begrudging snare, "Seriously? You expect me to bring the only good thing in my life here?" I snorted a sour laugh.

She just shrugged it off, "Just take the keys with you, we can't have you waking up your father, again!" my mother calls after me as I begin to exit the uncomfortable situation.

"Fine! Just don't leave the door on the fucking latch again!" I say, making my way back upstairs.

The worn-out carpet crunches beneath my feet. I stare down at the numerous stains caused by dirt tracks dragged in my muddy shoes and high heels, along with various wine stains and other unidentified materials.

For the sad period of my childhood, me and my sister sometimes played a game of, "guess the stain." it was a simple but eloquent game.

It mostly held a promise to many wondrous nights of guessing, bantering, and crying.

It's been an age since I last cried, it never seemed to make much sense to show your emotions to people who barely recognise your existence, so I gave up trying to express myself.

I couldn't allow enduring any kind of a pain to render me obsolete, I had to put up a hard resolve.

The carpet was once a beautiful cream with spirals and delicate designs, the carpet was related to the nineties panache.

Now? It's barely recognisable. The carpet had been worn down to a fine flat surface, it didn't have that bounce the new-ish carpets held, it had lost that quality ages ago, along with the carpet went the fragile memories that me and my sister created.

As I reached my bedroom, the cold air was a welcoming change, with promises of a peaceful night's slumber.

My room was still illuminated by the light dangling from my ceiling, which is still barely hanging for dear life, held intact by a few wires.

I slip my shoes on and tug my coat over my shoulders before jumping in front of the mirror and quickly examining my hair. My hair was short and blonde, long enough that it lies in front of my light blue eyes.

I wore the traditional lazy teen attire, a white t-shirt that was two sizes too big and loose grey baggy jogging bottoms.

I smile to myself as I suddenly recollect my plan for tonight's activities.

A mischievous grin is tugged against my cheeks, deepening as I venture and map out the possibilities of tonight, taking mental notes as I outweigh the possibilities.

I pull out my phone briefly to see an unread message.

It read: "Where are you?"

Clicking on the small message icon, and typed, "On my way, be there soon!"

Hitting send, I pocketed my phone and I gave my reflection a quick wink and brief kiss before making my way back down the stairs with lights thuds. Well, as light as I possibly can when all the remaining essence of the carpet had almost seemed to be vanishing beneath my feet.

As I reached the bottom of the stairs and made my way towards the front door, I pushed down on the golden door handle, the strenuous effort that was required just to do that, was a clear indication that this house needs refurbished - or demolished, either way, would work.

As the handle gives way, letting the door open wide, a brilliant, cool breeze resonates within my body sending a chill throughout my body as a shock hits me from outside.

Gently closing the door behind me, I make my way down the path and begin my venture towards the seafront.

The cool ocean breeze holds a somewhat relaxing vibe, it always has. Maybe that's just what I needed after seeing the news report.

A newfound vigour from thinking about being near the sea had given me a new burst of energy as I quickened the pace of my strides.

The thought of the waves crashing down upon the rocks was as if the waves smashed down upon all of my problems, slowly but surely, cleansing them from my mind.

"Where are you going?" someone calls out from the darkness of an alleyway.

I stop in my tracks, my heart thumping against my chest, my breathing ragged and laboured as my mind began racing, trying to place that voice, why was it so familiar?

I smile as I let out a heavy sigh as I suddenly recognise it. There was something about that voice that brought me to ease - a soothing comfort even.

I smile as the dark figure emerged from the shadows, a female emerges from the shadows. She wore skin-tight jeans and a plain white loose T-shirt that dwarfs her torso, and crowning her head was her trademark beanie, black and white with winter details stitched into the fabric She was the embodiment of a girl punk or skater girl. I could possibly offend her by suggesting either of these.

Her slender figure was hidden underneath the oversized clothing, that she somehow pulls off and wears it with such panache.

She wore the trend like a badge of honour, even while she wears her school clothes, she somehow manages to it look more trendy than it usually is.

Her black hair had distinctive pink tips outlining her fringe which dance loosely within the slight breeze as it passes us by, gently kissing the brow of her forehead, her ocean blue eyes and pale complexion stood out more than her other traits

"Victoria," I smile warmly at her.

"Hey, you took your time," she chuckles softly while walking towards me, wearing that brilliant, bright smile she reserves just for me. There is something about that smile that simply makes everything else feel insignificant. As if every single life around us has just been washed away and replaced with a blissful sensation, a sensation that I could conquer off of for the rest of my life.

Completely forgetting where I was going, I start moving on autopilot, following her like a river flowing down a corrected course - engraved by nature, unable to change its path.

"So, what took you so long?" she asks, snapping me out of my trance-like state.

"Sorry," I chuckle softly, running my hand through my hair, "It's just these riots, this one was bad. Then again, I've never really watched one or actually seen them up close before. So, I don't have anything to compare it to, but from what I have seen, they're bad, really fucking bad." I commented as I shift awkwardly.

She nods, "As excuses go, that's not as shit as I was expecting," she laughs softly.

"So, shall we?" I smile as I hold out my arm out for her to link onto.

"I got us something to drink," she says with an emphasis on the word, 'drink' as if this was code for all those prying ears who didn't know what she was on about.

Of course in her not - so - subtle emphasis, I'm pretty sure everyone knows that she's got alcohol in her bag.

With her arm linked within the mine, we venture down the road, watching as the cars drove by, as some honked their horns, shouting random remarks and sexual innuendo towards us - others continued on their way, minding their own business.

I guess whatever this is, between me and Victoria, is a school-girl crush. It never went any further than snog, fondle or petty caressing.

It is what it is.

We don't hold a torch to the labels society holds and tried so desperately to categorise us within.

I know I am a lesbian, it wasn't a matter of choice, or some great overwhelming desire to be interested and emotionally invested in the world as a lesbian. It is - again, what it is, and that's, that.

It doesn't take long before we reach a special place. The place where we would go on days where school seemed irrelevant, or a place where we could escape societies clutches, even if it was only temporarily, it was our place and that in itself meant the world to me.

We climb up a small hill that overlooked the ocean and promenade. The promenade allowed people to walk along the shore, to enjoy a walk with their dogs or to go for a run.

The reason doesn't matter. It was an escape for most people. Myself included.

Falling down in the damp grass with a small thud, an exasperated sigh escapes my lips as Victoria jungles through her bag, eventually pulling out a large bottle of vodka. I laugh at the spectacle, unable to stifle the bubbling giggles. The giggles turn into a cacophony of laughter.

She unscrews the cap and takes a few mouthfuls, grimacing at the sharp burning, yet succulent taste that I have been craving. She must have sensed my desire as she immediately passes the bottle over to me.

I look at her admirably as I take the bottle, tilting it up and allow the liquid to rush into my mouth, feeling it instantly heat my chest and burn my throat as it went down my gullet.

I cringe against the texture then shake my head, "Fuck!" I laugh as my head suddenly begins to feel slightly numb.

We sat in comforting silence, watching the clouds creep across the sky, covering the moon for a moment before releasing it from their clutches as they shuffle along with their business.

"So, you're going to school tomorrow?" Victoria asks after a beat of silence, her gaze transfixed on something in the distance.

I nod stiffly, "Aye, I have to. The school's berating my parents because of my low attendance," I sigh as I took another mouthful before retiring it back over to her.

I have never asked her as to where she keeps "finding" the bottles of alcohol she miraculously ends up with.

A part of me doesn't want to know, and the other part knows that she steals it from shops or her parents, she's probably going to get caught one day, hopefully not too soon, but it will inevitably happen.

"Same here. Fucking cunts of an educational system keeps hounding my parents and they aren't that bothered about it, but you know how they are." she breathes a sigh before continuing her rant, "Seriously I just want to live my life the way I want," she says in a childish tone.

It was a tone that sometimes makes me doubt the feelings I have for her. It wasn't one that makes you tilt your head to the side and smile dreamily as your eyes glaze over.

It was one where you looked at her and fought against the sudden urge to slap her.

Instead of slapping her, I slouch back and drank from the bottle as it was passed to me once again, relaxing as the world around me began to spin.

"Aye, I know that feeling all too well. There's not much we can do, is there?" I sighed as I lingered on a fleeting dream.

Maybe, just maybe we can run away.

Together.