I do wish to serverly apologise for taking so long to update - but don't worry from now on I should be updating weekly until it's finished. I went overseas and had exams etc. so I was very busy, but I'm a little more free now.

So without further ado, here it is.

Jess

8. My Prince

I knew where to go. A place where nights and days melded into one, the only difference being the way the light changed and how loud the streets were. Anytime was good for sleeping, eating or shooting up. A place where the world disappeared in a pinprick of pain and problems vanished in the reflection of a dusty mirror. A place where dreams faded, hopes fell behind, light crumbled and people were ruined.

Johnny's. The Shed.

But then, the people were pretty ruined before they entered the house. Damaged. Broken. So, couldn't it be reasoned that the drugs actually saved those people? If only for a few trippy hours.

I walked slowly from the train station, droplets of rain running from hair and down my back, watching people on mobile phones or dragging young children away. Consumed in their lives. I thought of how easily mine was taken away. What could have been. I picked up my pace, disgusted that I could have let myself think those depressing thoughts. But no matter how fast you run or walk, your mind isn't something you can escape that easily. Some schoolgirls passed by, laughing and giggling. I couldn't help but think of my own life that had once been. The pain wasn't so bad this time. And only a few memories flashed into my mind before I subsided them. I was getting better at this.

The house was dirty. Johnny's house. Full of old pizza boxes, beer bottles, clothes, left over Chinese and broken glasses. On the table were a small square mirror and a tiny blade. On the kitchen bench top was a bong and ashtray full of old cigarette butts. I, from experience, knew that in a cupboard above the sink was a small kit. Inside were syringes, a piece of cloth and large spoon.

"Who are you?" Johnny asked from the doorway of his room. The lights were off and I could only see the dim light of a digital clock filtering from his room. There was someone in the room, hastily putting clothes on. I couldn't see who it was, but I got the feeling that it'd be a girl with dilated pupils, flushed cheeks and track marks.

"Giselle," I answered stiffly. Johnny ran his eyes over me, drinking me in. I could almost see the images of me he'd be creating in his head.

"How'd you get in here?"

"The door was open."

"So you just walked in?" Johnny tried to look angry, but it didn't suit him. He was just too much of a pathetic no-hoper to pull off anger. He was all about half living through the haze of drugs. He was good looking – in the drug dealer way. Thin, scrawny and pale with a lip ring, a stud in his eyebrow and a nape piercing. His hair was cropped black and fell at strange angles. He wore thick chains around his neck and had tattoos running shoulder to shoulder and down his spine. His eyes were a foggy golden hazel that I'd always loved. At the moment his face was flushed, meaning he'd either just had sex with some girl, or snorted a line of coke. Maybe both. Wouldn't surprise me.

"I heard you were someone to see for a good time."

"Well," Johnny smiled, "you have that right." At that moment, the girl who'd been in the bedroom with Johnny came out, closing the door behind her. She wore a shabby shirt and shorts, her hair wild and looking ragged. I was right about the track marks. But what I hadn't been prepared for was the not-so-plump figure and heart shaped face.

Mix turned to face me, nothing registering on her face except the effects of whatever drug she was on. She was thin and gaunt. Death seeped from her. She was different. So different to anything I remembered. And in that moment I hated River so much I could've killed someone. My hands shook with rage while inside my heart died just a little more. I wondered how long it would take till there was nothing left.

"Who's that?" Mix asked Johnny, nodding her head towards me.

"Giselle," he smirked. Mix nodded and found a seat, flicking on the TV and not paying any more attention to me. Johnny grabbed the mirror and blade from the table and passed it to Mix. Then he went to the cupboard above the sink and pulled out his kit. He shuffled around in his room for a bit before returning with two small jars. He threw one to Mix and then sat, gesturing for me to take a place next to him. I did.

Mix looked jealous for a second, but then she pushed it aside and began tapping the small jar, full of white powder, onto the mirror.

Johnny, on the other hand, tapped whatever was in his jar into a large tablespoon. He spat into it and mixed together the powder and slag with the tip of a syringe. When he was satisfied with his creation he carefully sucked the drug into the syringe, seemingly hypnotised by the upward motion of the top of the needle.

Mix used the blade to push the coke into two neat lines.

Johnny took out the piece of cloth and tied it carefully around his left arm, just above the crook of his elbow. He open and closed his fist a few times, watching the veins in his arm. I could see the few partially healed puncture wounds at his elbow. They made me sick.

Mix, finished with her lines, took out a thin plastic tube and placed it over one nostril. She covered the other and leant over the mirror, snorting slowly, moving the tube across the line of coke. It disappeared and she pulled the tube away from her nose, giving one last sniff and rubbing her nose.

Johnny picked up the syringe he'd placed on the coffee table beside him and put the tip of the needle next to his skin on a wound that was almost completely healed. At an angle, she slowly inserted the silver metal under the skin, into his vein. He pressed the top of the syringe and I watched the liquid disappear into his body. I imagined the path it'd take. To his heart, then to his brain. Poisoning it. Poisoning him. Johnny removed the needle and threw it on the coffee table, relaxing back into the couch with a sigh, closing his eyes and folding his hands over his chest.

I looked back to Mix who now held the mirror out to me, looking at me impatiently. I took it from her and placed it on the coffee table.

"Do I know you from somewhere? Do you go to school?" she asked me.

"Even if I did, would you notice? Somehow I get the feeling you spend most of your time snorting coke and screwing Johnny." I wasn't entirely sure as to why I was directing all my anger towards Mix. It was River I should be angry at.

"Gee, sorry," Mix said with a roll of her eyes. I closed my eyes for a second and took a breath.

"Are you gonna do that line?" I heard Johnny ask me. "We don't give out freebies often."

"Yeah," I muttered. I sat forward on my chair and leaned over the mirror. The gaunt, paled face that stared back at me, scared me. My hair slipped out from behind my ears and hung down the side of my face like an auburn curtain. My golden charm fell from the place under my shirt and dangled over the mirror. It lost its gleam looking through the scratches and dust. I picked up the plastic tube and stared at the small white particles of powder being reflected off the mirror.

It was only a few months ago Johnny had been offering me anything I wanted with this. He'd called me Belle. I'd hated it. Refused anything he'd offered. I'd never taken any drugs before now. He had particularly wanted my virginity. It seemed to be some novelty to him. Now, here I was, ready to give my mind to him. What was I doing?

I took a breath and placed the tube on my nose, blocking the open nostril. I brought the plastic tube just above the mirror and hovered it there. I waited. What for, I wasn't sure. I could see my eyes in the mirror. Blank. Lonely. Hopeless. Doomed. Anger crossed my face and I sniffed, moving the plastic tube along the line. It burnt the inside of my nose for a few seconds. But I pulled back and sniffed again, rubbing my nose like Mix had. I placed the tube back on the, now clean, mirror and sat back, waiting for the effects to kick in.

"Have you guys ever heard of faeries?" I asked.

"Yeah," Mix said, lighting up. "One lives in the mansion. You know, the one on top of the hill?"

I desperately wanted to say, "Well, yeah, considering it's the only mansion in the town, dah." But I didn't.

"Don't get her started," Johnny groaned. "Especially when she's high."

"He steals girls," Mix said.

"Yeah? How?"

Mix shrugged. "Just does. Makes them his slaves." She frowned, as if she were trying to remember something. "I've said this before." She looked carefully at me. "I could've sworn… you look familiar. I remember being at the gates… I was waiting for someone. They never came out." She paused again. "I was scared. But it was okay. I left."

"Do you know you're still talking?" Johnny said rudely. Mix sunk back into the couch.

I stood. Quickly. "I need to go."

Johnny raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

I shrugged. "Thanks." Then I left.

As I walked back through the streets, my brain seemed to be clearer than it'd been in a long time. I was twitchy, and I felt too itchy for my skin. I wanted to run. The fey I was seeing looked even more surreal that normal. I saw a woman, made of bones and ribbon.

"Come, come, pretty girl," she said to me.

I stared at a wall and walked away.

A man faery watched me walk through a park and asked, "Would you like to join me in a dance? No harm will come to you."

I kept my head down and sped up. Sometimes little sprites would whisper things in my ears, and I would feel so confused. I wasn't sure if it was the drugs or the fey magic. Maybe a little of both.

"You're the second," one said.

"You need to tell," another whispered.

"Death will come."

"Angus will bring it."

"You can't save anyone."

"Magic begins with blood."

"You're not like the others."

"There's something about you."

"He will catch you."

I lost track of time and spent most of the day walking around the streets, getting lost and trying to avoid the pixies that wanted to play. Finally, I made it home, feeling cold and subdued. The world had dulled again and everything seemed darker.

"What did you do?" I heard River growl from behind me the instant I opened the door. I was startled by his sudden presence and surprised by his tone.

"What are you talking about?" I asked defensively, not actually knowing what he meant. He grabbed me and spun me to face him, holding my shoulders tightly.

"You – your blood – smells wrong. What did you do?" River snarled. Oh, right. He meant the coke. The fact that River could smell my blood only reinforced the fact that he was more animal than human. He moved his nose near my neck and sniffed the vein there.

"Just a little something to… keep me sane," I told him. A rumble ripped out of River's throat and he pulled me into him.

"You did drugs. What were you thinking?"

"Honestly, I was thinking of you."

"And that drove you to poison yourself?"

"You're surprised?"

"How could you be so reckless?"

"Mix was there."

"What?" River asked, startled by my change of subject.

"Mix and I made a pact. We both said we'd never go back to the Shed. We promised. Because we knew Johnny was dangerous. We knew that what he did was dangerous. We promised that we'd never do any of that stuff. We promised we'd never sleep with Johnny or any of his drones." I felt the tears before I actually knew I was crying. "But she was there. She was sleeping with Johnny. She was doing coke."

"I'm sorry, Giselle," River said. He pulled me into him. Anger surged through me and I fought against him. I pulled and pushed till he let me go. I stumbled out of his reach and pointed at him.

"No. I don't want you to be sorry. It's your fault. You did this to her. You're killing her. You're killing me. I don't know how you manage it, but you destroy everything you touch. Have you noticed that the only thing that's stood up to you over all these years is this house? And it's obvious how much comfort that's given you. Now, you're just a bitter monster. A bitter monster with no one. No one. And it isn't just because you can't love anyone – it's because no one would ever be stupid enough to love you." I hadn't noticed I was shouting until silence cloaked me after my rant. My breathing was fast and my legs felt heavy. I was suddenly tired. I sunk to my knees and sat there. River's face was hard. He looked down over me with his jaw set and said,

"You touch drugs again, and I promise you will regret it."

I looked at my reflection in the mirror. I looked cold and empty. The dark circles that hung precariously under my eyes were a startling contrast to the pale white skin I harboured. What I was, wasn't normal. I couldn't sleep, for fear of slipping into a nightmare. For weeks, my dreams – nightmares – continued. I'd wake at 2, 3, 4, 5 shaking and sweating. Too nervous to go to sleep, to tired to move. Until one night.

"Perhaps you would like to join me in the ballroom after dinner?" River asked. It was more of a demand than suggestion. "It would be nice if you wore the ball gown in your closet." We were both in the dining room, eating a stir-fry I had prepared.

"Is that what you did to all your little human pets?" I asked spitefully.

River didn't lose his temper; as usual he was calm and collected. He simply smiled and cocked his head. "I have a beautiful ballroom, a beautiful woman who has a beautiful ball gown. Why not use them? You might enjoy it," River said.

"It's the use part I'm worried about," I said dryly, my tongue sticking to the back of my throat as I thought back to my many nightmares. The ones with River's hideously white body pressing upon mine, his hips, waist, legs, rubbing against me awkwardly. His corpse-like mouth on mine, tongue opening my lips. His cold, scratchy hands running over my body. The bottomless eyes drinking me up greedily. Him grunting and moaning in pleasure – the fear that I would too. I shuddered unconsciously.

"Do you really believe I would do that you?" River asked, looking hurt.

"You've abducted me and forced me to work as your slave. I expected that…" I couldn't even say it aloud. Sex. Rape. What was the correct phrase? "That there would be other pleasures you wanted too."

"If there is one thing I would never force upon a woman, it is me. No one wants me. And I would never enforce that. Not on a woman who is frightened of me; of how I look." River looked stung; as if it was horrible I could think such a thing. But also he seemed… self-conscious. I felt guilty. And I knew that was irrational, because River was nothing short of evil and crazy… still, I felt something for him. Maybe he hadn't always been like this. Maybe he hadn't wanted this. I'd never know.

Silence followed, and we stayed silent for the rest of the evening. River didn't bring up the ballroom again, and I didn't say anything.

After dinner, when I was in my room, I did actually go to my closet. Not that I had any intention of going to the ballroom, I just took out the midnight blue ball gown out of the cupboard. I lay it softly down on my bed and slipped out of my jeans and t-shirt. I pulled the dress over my head after undoing the laces of the corset at the back. I tried to do up the laces once I had the dress on, but found it immensely difficult.

Then I felt hands behind me take the ribbon and gently pull the corset tight, fastening the laces so I was straight backed and thin. I turned my head to the mirror, seeing River standing behind me. The dress, was beautiful, and fitted perfectly. I looked like a princess, or a royal in a fancy court. River looked surprisingly stunning too. He wore a beautiful blue shirt – loose fitting, falling around his body easily, coming into a high collar at his neck, sleeves tumbling over his arms and coming in at the wrists – that tucked into his pants, flopped over the elastic and buttoned up to his neck. It was beautifully embroidered with gold and silver lace to match the beading on my dress. His shoes were black and slightly pointed, sitting under white pants that fell just above his hips. We both looked like something out of the eighteenth century.

He stood behind me, one hand on my lower back, the other crossed behind him. My hands were on my stomach, touching the fabric of the material. We looked like a couple. Like a painting. It was bizarre.

"Have you reconsidered?" River asked me softly.

I couldn't speak. Instead I just shook my head.

River nodded. "I assumed so. In any case, you look beautiful." Then he was gone, and I was left, standing in the ball gown, looking at the reflection of River and I.

That night I dreamt of a prince.

He stands in the ballroom I am so familiar with, under the red rose, his silhouette beckoning me. I walk forward and realise I am wearing the beautiful midnight blue ball gown from my closet. It sways around my body, making me look as if I float over the marble floors. When the prince steps out of the shadows, I am shocked beyond belief. It is River. But not my River. Not my patient hideous master. This is a River from another time. Another world.

He is tall and beautiful. Magnificent. More beautiful than anyone could imagine. His pasty white skin isn't so. In fact, it is a deep honey brown. I'd been wrong in my assumption that River was Caucasian with the pale skin. No. He's closer to Middle Eastern or Indian. And so beautiful. So… perfectly gorgeous it doesn't fit with the pasty, blue-eyed, black-tongued River I am used to. He has a thin face with prominent cheekbones and a square jaw line. His eyebrows are no longer scaly ridges, but only a thin line over his beautiful – human – blue eyes. His skin isn't calloused; it is smooth and silken. Instead of the deathly blue lips, they are full and pink. And he is in his mid twenties.

My Prince River wears something that looks like it was from the same eighteenth century my dress has come from. His shoes are black and slightly pointed, sitting under white pants that fall just above his hips. He wears a beautiful blue shirt – loose fitting, falling around his body easily, coming into a high collar at his neck, sleeves tumbling over his arms and coming in at the wrists – that tucks into his pants, flops over the elastic and buttons up to his neck. Though, the top few buttons are undone, showing off that beautiful chocolate chest. The shirt is beautifully embroidered with gold and silver lace making the whole effect of the dark skin, blue eyes, white pants, blue shirt, all the more alluring. My prince smiles, and I am relieved to see there is no black tongue or pointed teeth, just a jaw dropping smile.

"If I may have this dance?" my prince asks in River's voice. And yes, this voice deserves the body it is coming from. Alluring, silky and mesmerising. I almost fall into River's arms. He looks down at me, like a stunning angel, and smiles. My knees feel weak as my prince takes a proper dancing stance – one arm around my waist, my hand on his shoulder, my other hand enclosed in his palm. As soon as he takes a step, a soft melody begins playing from the piano across the room. It is full of long notes, deep and soothing, with a softer, lighter melody over the top. It isn't the same melody I heard after my nightmare when River had been playing; it is something different all together. My prince spins me around the room as if the dance has been made for us alone. I rejoice in my prince's presence, savouring every touch and breath. Then, as the song comes to a close, out entwined bodies slow. We finish in the centre of the room, my prince smiling down over me. My prince leans down, brining his lips to mine in a light feathery kiss. Then he pulls away and whispers,

"For now, this is all the time I can spare. But I will be waiting tomorrow." And then he is gone.

And I awoke with that pressure on my lips, unsure if it were real or not.

Every night I no longer had the nightmares that my life was over or that I was hopelessly lost. From that moment on I only ever dreamt of the beautiful River. My prince. And every night it was the same dream. In the ballroom, me wearing my midnight blue gown, River wearing the white pants and blue shirt. He would ask me to dance, and then the same melody would play, before it would end and River would repeat the same words to me before leaving. And even though the dream was the same every night I never got bored. In fact, I anticipated sleeping just so I could see my prince; savour his touch, his kiss.

He was mine during those times. He was mine.