Swing From A Chandelier
Stitches had always loved the night. In her life as Brandi, she felt free when all others were asleep, and in those dark hours, a few hours before dawn, she always had a moment of true peace. Even now, she found it to be true, the euphoric mind-numbing exhaustion giving way to a small moment of weightlessness, where she was both invincible and all too raw. Where death and life both sang the same song, and all she had to do was take one of their hands, and dance.
And that is what she did. Floating on tiptoes down the hotel halls, reveling in silence, in the way no one knew she was there. No judgment, no cold shoulders, all of them just blissfully sleeping in their rooms, assuming she was long asleep, locked in her room, as she had been for 10 days. Drunk on the silence, drunk on the pain of the blade on her body, and most importantly, simply drunk.
Every night, she would sneak down to the bar, steal a bottle or two of liquor, and then float back to her room, cutting and drinking until nothing else could hurt her. She would sleep most of the day, and then drink and cut until it was time for another trip to the bar. An endless cycle, keeping the darkness at bay, the memories locked out, and the emotions nothing more than a low buzz in the background. And it’s the best way to be.
A few times a day, there would be a knock at her door. Someone would call out to her, ask to talk and apologize. Sometimes they left a tray of food, sometimes some sort of gift. It was rarely the same person, though some came more than others. Even Alastor had tried, once every few days, though she had pretended to be asleep each time. She would wait for his shadow to slip into the room, watch her “sleeping form”, and as soon as it confirmed she was alive, it would go back to its master, and Alastor would leave. She made sure to clear the trays of food and leave signs she was alive. No one needed to know the food was scraped directly into the toilet. Her stomach had stopped growling and cramping days ago.
Tonight was the same, no one out and about, only her in her white, ankle-length nightgown. Alone. Invincible. Unbothered. She wandered to the bar, leaned over the counter… and frowned. There were no liquor bottles. The hell…
“Ah, so I was right.~”
She groaned, still too drunk and exhausted to even care that Alastor was behind her. She pulled herself off the bar, carefully not looking at him, and wiped the front of her gown of the fake dust she was pretending was there. Guess they figured out that the booze was running out too fast. I’ll have to find some other way to get some. Fuck, that’s so much work… She ignored the Radio Demon, and eyes, staying on the ground directly in front of her, and started walking back to her room.
Until she saw tell-tale, black boots in front of, causing her to pause. “Kiddo, we need to talk.” Lucifer’s voice was soft, kind, and fatherly. There was the smallest hint of pain buried there. A few weeks ago, she would have fallen into his arms, and buried herself into the safety and warmth of his embrace. But she was too numb to care. So instead, she merely changed course, going around him. Maybe I should just go stay in my room since they figured it out. No point in coming out anymore.
She only walked a few feet before multiple arms grabbed her, one gently yet forcefully making her look up into Angel Dust’s face. She blinked at him slowly, as though he was not even there. She wouldn’t fight, too tired, too drained, too drunk. “Hey, look at me.” His eyes looked sad, then he turned to look at someone behind her. “Fuck, she is wasted. I’m shocked she was even able to stumble down her’.” He turned his attention back to her. “Hey, can you hear me? Brandi-”
She shoved him away, rage boiling to the surface. “Don’t fucking call me that!” Her voice was hoarse from disuse, and she was huffing from the exertion, her body having long spent what energy she had stored, but her rage kept her going. “Don’t act like you motherfuckers actually care!” She spun around, stumbling, and saw them all there, looking at her with a mix of concern and hurt. She sneered, her face contorting in rage. “What, I don’t fucking talk to you for a while, and suddenly, your bitchy empathy kicks back in? Don’t give me that shit!” She laughed, the sound hollow and cruel. “Oh, wait, I get it. It’s the booze, isn’t it? You don’t give two shits about me, I’m just drinking the bar dry, right?” She laughed again, it taking on a maniacal cadence, “Well, fuck, so sorry. You don’t have to worry about that anymore. I’ll go back to my cage like a good little waste. I’ll be sure not to break out again.”
Angel Dust’s hand squeezed her shoulder. “Brandi, listen-”
She spun and slapped away his hand. “I TOLD YOU NOT TO CALL ME THAT!” She glared at him, her eyes struggling to focus as she trembled from the exertion. She was swaying, from the exhaustion or the alcohol, she didn’t really know for sure, and she really didn’t care. The only thing that she was aware of was Angel’s hurt face, twisted in sorrow and regret, but he didn’t answer or look away.
Lucifer spoke this time, softly, as though she would break. “What do you want to do? We need to have this talk, but if you don’t want to have it now, or if you just want to talk to us one at a time, we can wait until you are sober…” She looked over her shoulder and glared at him. “Please, sweetheart, let me help you.” True empathy, actual warmth. The fatherly endearment, a hand reaching towards her, begging her to accept him. She craved it, she needed it, and it made all the fight left in her fade, though not enough for her to reach from him.
“I… I will go to my room. We can talk tomorrow. Give me at least 24 hours, and you can come see me for breakfast.” It sounded robotic, forced. Because it was. But he smiled in relief, hope twinkling there.
“Okay, no one will come to bother you until then,” Lucifer assured her. “Get some rest.”
She nodded and they finally let her leave. She turned back to look at them all one more time, before turning away and rounding the corner. She wanted their faces, the look of concern and hope, burned into her mind. She needed that memory. The warmth of believing, even falsely, that they cared. To remember this feeling, that even for a moment, they had worried for her.
Because she was going to make sure it was her last memory of them.
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Lucifer watched her stumble away and waited until the elevator door dinged before he turned to the others. Charlie was crying in relief, Vaggie holding her. The others seemed to be in various shades of concern. Angel, however, was looking at his hands, and there was a frown on his face. Lucifer walked up to him and touched his arm, making the spider look at him.
“Angel, what’s wrong?”
“I- She-” He frowned. “I could have sworn she felt thinner all of a sudden. She was paler too.”
Lucifer tilted his head. “That can’t be right, she has been eating everything on the trays.” He tried to remember back, but yeah, not a single tray had come back with any food. “And there’s been nothing in her trash except for tissues and liquor bottles.”
Angel sighed and shrugged. “I don’t know, I could be overthinkin’ it. I just…” Tears started falling. “I just want my siste’ back,” he whispered. “I miss the fuck outta he’. I hurt her in my ange’, and now…”
Lucifer patted his arm reassuringly. “We all did. It’s going to take time, but she’ll come around. This was the first step.”
He looked at the others, and they all nodded their heads in agreement, even Alastor giving a curt nod. Stitches wanted space, and they could give that to her. She had been hurt when she was most vulnerable, and they understood that she deserved to wallow in her feelings. At least now, they had finally gotten her to look at them. To speak, even if it was drunk and in anger, she had agreed to try tomorrow. They had a goal, a plan, and she had agreed to it. Things were starting to look up after all. Finally.
I’ll let her rest today, and then I will make sure to clear the air at breakfast tomorrow. I got you, duckling.
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Stitches glance at the clock. It was now one in the morning. After stumbling back into her room, after being cornered at the bar, she passed out until late in the afternoon. Thankfully, there had still been some vodka left in her room, so she drank enough to cure the hangover, and then sat in her bed and started planning.
She was on the 3rd floor. That made it fairly difficult to get down to the lobby and out the front door. She had debated trying to go out during the day when they wouldn’t be expecting her, but there were just too many eyes. So, her only other choice was to sneak out at night. But going through the halls would also not be wise, because who knew if someone would be watching her hall. So, she had come up with another option: Out her window.
Directly out of her window, at the back of the hotel, one floor below, was a huge balcony, with stairs that lead to the ground. It was connected to the large ballroom for hosting events and was actually really pretty and romantic, but that wasn’t important right now. No, the fact was, the drop wasn’t that high, and she had just enough blankets and sheets to make a rope and get down there. If she could make it down to the balcony, then she could leave.
She had a purse Cherri had given her, for when she decided to eventually go clubbing. She had been collecting some cash for months, not a lot, just a little that Charlie had given her here and there for her “freelance” work, helping around the hotel. If things hadn’t gone south, there was a chance Charlie might have actually hired her as a member of staff. That was all gone now, crushed by the reveal, destroyed with the loss of her friendships. But she had enough money to go drink all night, and thanks to Cherri, she knew a place fairly close by.
So here she was, dressed to impress, in a strappy black dress and matching thigh-high boots. She’d applied makeup, put her hair into a half-up bun, and memorized the map of Hell Charlie had given her months ago. The club, Cocktease, was just outside the cannibal district, close enough to get there safely, but far enough away that no one from the hotel would be able to track her down. She took a deep breath, put the purse on her shoulder, and grabbed the giant ball of tied-together cloth.
She went to her open window and threw it outside, a light breeze swaying it gently as it unfurled. She double-checked the anchor point, which was tied to her bed, and then quickly scurried out the window and down to the balcony below. It gave her a sort of thrill, reminding her of the times when she was young and had snuck out at night to wander the countryside. Crazy how she had only been caught once, and she had been good enough at gaslighting (learned from her adoptive parents) to convince them that she really hadn’t left at all. But, the skill to get out of a locked room was sure handy now. Guess all that trauma was good for something after all.
She took a moment to catch her breath on the balcony, pressed against the building, just in case someone came by. The lack of food made her dizzy if she moved too fast or for too long. But all was dark and quiet in the hotel. She took a deep breath and turned to face the building, running a hand on the beautiful brick. If this worked out the way she hoped, she would be long gone by the time anyone noticed her missing, lost among the millions of Sinners, hiding in the wilderness outside of Pentagram City. Maybe she would try to get to one of the other cities (or circles, as the 9 areas were called), like Imp City, since Sinners couldn’t leave the Pride RIng. She could probably hide out there. Or maybe she would be attacked on her way to the club, and all of this… would be over.
God, I need a fucking drink. My thoughts are getting fucking dark again.
With that, she pushed away from the building, and using caution, made her way off the Hazbin Hotel grounds and down into the city. Tonight would change everything, and yet again in her life, she was ready for that free fall into the unknown. Because all she knew was that she couldn’t face the others again, and that was okay. She could just cherish the time they had together, and she would be fine. The pain would fade with time, and eventually, this would just be another memory, a sad blip on her endless timeline of loss.
Now that was something she could drink to.