The Devil\'s Dance

Dante. The sound of a click tore me from hell. I refused to allow the nightmare to dwell any longer inside my thoughts so blatantly invaded, where before was a dream. Not just any dream. A fantasy—the kind I’d never conjure up by my own accord. Let’s just say it involved Azalea, and fuck it, did I have to wake up in trade to suffer in pain? Fuck my life. More importantly, why the fuck was I having this kind of dream over her? I sure as hell didn’t do flowers and kisses and any of that kind of stuff, which I’m undoubtedly certain is exactly what she was about. That dream was an exact representation of what I’d do if I ever decide to go that route. It was pretty tempting… “For fuck sake,” I murmured to myself as pain slammed through my chest. “What the fuck?” “Cursing continuously isn’t going to help lessen the pain,” Azalea’s voice supplied nearby. “But non the less, I’m glad to see you’re awake.” I dragged my eyes open to find her standing by the bedside, peering down at me with a half