RA: Episode 2

As I walk down the busy strip, I notice people are clad in all kinds of ‘slutty’ variants of costumes. There is not one sober soul around—everyone is drunk out of their asses, picking fights with passersby and laughing at fire hydrants for no reason. 

Who knew? The first night in my new place of residence turned out to be Halloween. No, I did not plan for it; the days just happened to coincide.

Among all the neon lights adorning the boulevard, there is something that looks like it’s just shoved there by mistake, completely overshadowed by the headache-inducing lumen count of its titanic counterparts. It steals my attention. The flickering blackletter sign reads Rock Hard. I burst out laughing because I could not ask for a more apt name for the intents and purposes of tonight. I make my way inside without a second thought. 

The smell of napalm in the morning. The smell of a faded club at night. They are the same for me. 

This is where I do my most magnificent work. 

Heavy guitar riffs and hard drum kicks assault my ear as soon as I open the somewhat rusty iron door. The crowd inside looks like a smaller sample size of the entire downtown area. Everyone is fucking gone, yet still banging their heads and screaming their lungs with the band on the stage. Who the fuck knows what they ingested, but the conditions are optimal to make some mistakes. My eyes naturally dart to the bar since the low-hanging fruit always waits for me there. As I walk towards the area embellished with UV lights of blindingly bright shades, the music stops and is replaced with a song emitting from speakers at a tolerable volume. I can finally hear myself fucking think. 

I scan the area without a drink in my hand for a hot minute and dodge some futile advances in the meantime. I’m not here tonight to simply whore out; I’m looking for that extra oomph that will make me throb at the mere sight. Not her. Not her. Not him. Not her. Not him. Not him.

I turn around to order a drink, slightly disappointed that my expectations are not met even at the bare minimum level. Maybe a couple of shots will do the trick. Or maybe an entire bottle, I don’t know. Before I can utter a word, however, I feel a gust of wind to my left, and it almost knocks me off my feet. One look at you feels like a gunshot right on my forehead. 

“Five Kamikazes. Double the vodka.”

Jesus fucking christ. 

Wow, okay. You’re… You’re pretty. Fuck pretty, you’re beautiful. Are you in exile, too, by any chance? You totally look like the Aphrodite whore’s distant cousin or something, no disrespect.

You’re the only one without a costume in this freak show. There are beads of sweat on your forehead, your makeup is slightly smudged off, and an intense heat radiates from you. You chug on the green drink that glows like toxic sludge under the blacklight one after the other. People approach you to pay you compliments, and you thank them with a stale smile. There is no sincerity in your voice whatsoever. You even reject the offers for free drinks. You are heavily uninterested. You look bored. Are you waiting for someone in particular, or are you just enjoying turning people down?

Or are they simply not intriguing enough for you?

I think we can have some fun together. Sorry for what I’m gonna do to you later tonight in advance, but look on the bright side. At least you’ll die feeling extremely good.

Turn around. Turn around and look at me. Perceive me. I guarantee you you’ve never seen something like this in your life.

You’re pulling me to yourself like a magnet, but I can’t flat out pay attention to you. That’s just going to blow up in my face, and my pride can’t have that. I gesture to the bartender and place my order instead.

“Whatever she’s having.”

Fucking finally you turn to my direction. When I sense your movement in my peripheral vision, I lay my eyes on you, and the moment we establish eye contact, a buzz of electricity jumps from your gaze to mine.

You felt it too, didn’t you? Something is happening between us right now.

Your boredom cracks a tinge. You’re looking at me differently. You like what you see, but I can’t reciprocate the sentiment because that would be a huge fucking insult to your beauty. If you were a god, that would be a punishable offense. You would be entitled to kill me if you wished. 

And I think I’d like that.

I wanna throw up. I wanna punch myself in the face. I’m so overwhelmed, you are too much.

“Hi.”

The club is loud, but I can hear you perfectly. I have one question, though, what the hell is up with your voice? Do you practice illicit magick or something? You’ve barely said a word, it qualifies as more of a sound than a syllable, yet all of a sudden I feel consumed?

I need to fucking chill.

“Hey.”

“I know why I’m not wearing a costume,” you point at my clothes, “Why aren’t you in one?”

Would you look at that? We have so much in common already. I got my foot in the door, now I gotta make you open it wide and invite me in.

“Don’t you think a shirt is much easier to take off of me?”

You’re checking me out. Now that I’ve planted the seed in your brain, you’re actually picturing yourself undressing me. You’re wondering what I look like naked. 

Just so you know, I look fucking fantastic.

“What’s up with the overconfidence?”

“It’s a reflex,” I respond, “It jumps out in the presence of someone I really want.”

“Does that ever work for you?”

“I don’t see you leaving.”

You don’t want to enjoy this but you do. You roll your eyes, but a faint smile forces itself out no matter how much you’re trying to hide it.

I almost have a fucking heart attack.

There is no way you’re an ordinary human. How do you smile like that? I felt that shit in my bones.

“What’s your name?” you nod at me.

“Does it matter?”

“Would you rather I scream something else when I cum?”

God…damn, you don’t fuck around, do you?!

I’ve changed a lot of bodies over the course of time, but the name I chose for myself stays the same. I’m attached to it for some reason. 

Anyway, this isn’t about me.

If I can be brutally honest, I don’t think whoever named you did you justice, though. They should have called you the singular object of everyone’s desire or something. The lust wrangler. The unmaker. 

Vin’s gorgeous plaything would also work, but I digress.

“You don’t look like you’re from here,” you look me up and down while chewing on the straw in your fresh drink, “Where are you from?”

You’re gonna think I’m fucking with you if I tell you the truth, but my official registered address is pretty close to what you refer to as hell. 

“Around,” I give you a very unsatisfactory answer, but I can clearly see your interest is piqued.

“What do you do?”

“Sorta in between jobs,” I spit out a bold-faced lie, “You?”

“I’m a hitwoman,” you answer me. 

You’re being very nonchalant about it. I don’t think you’re being truthful, but I get a kick out of the fact that I can’t really be sure. I don’t ask any follow-up questions. Your grin grows wider. So does mine.

I like you. I like you a lot, beautiful stranger.

You’re fascinating. It seems like it would be an utter waste to spend you for nothing. Pretty, enthralling, devil-may not-care, and I fucking love that sinister vibe you’re exuding.

I think a change of plans is on the horizon. 

“Wanna dance?”

Your response to me is getting off the stool and walking towards the dance floor. We disappear into the crowd of sweaty bodies. The key of the song is sultry. The rhythm is sensual. The kicks are hard, the drops are low, and the lyrics are obscene. It’s a rock hard slow jam.

Just like you.

I’m turning you on, I can feel it. Your eyes are all over my face. You’re staring at my lips while licking yours. You’re wondering what I taste like. You’re wondering what it feels like to cum in my mouth. You’re wondering how I like my eggs in the morning.

Scrambled with cheese, by the way, not that I wouldn’t sate my appetite with cyanide from your hands.

Your arms are around my neck. My hands are on your waist. They slide down your hips, and you let me. I’ve had my fair share of intimacy with your kind, but you’re something else. I feel pathetically weak for some reason, gradually giving into this feral urge to fuck you right here right now.

And you know.

You turn around, lean into my chest, and wrap my arms around your waist again. I get much harder when you start grinding against me. You tilt your head to the side and expose your neck for me. I’m looking at that pulsating artery like a vampire about to turn a human.

You want me. 

You need me.

I have to get you addicted to me, and I know just the way to bend you till you break.

Wanna die with me?

I give you what you want, but I pump the breaks. Gotta ease you into it. I just softly peck your skin, but even this much is enough for you to throw your head back. If it wasn’t this loud, I know I’d be able to hear that moan you just let out.

You turn around again and grab me by the collar of my shirt. Your breath is warm in my ear, and you speak very clearly, not even slightly slurring for me to suspect any intoxication.

“Take me to the alley where the staff entrance is.”

You should know, it turns me on beyond control when I watch a woman get what she wants, especially if it defies that useless thing you call a moral compass. 

Before I can do anything, your fingers are already intertwined with mine, and you’re dragging me to the exit with firm steps. Like you know what you’re doing. Like you’ve done this before. As if we came here together in the first place and now we’re leaving together again.

The fog machines loudly hiss and emanate some aromatic smoke as we walk past them. The stuffy air that clings onto us disperses once we walk into the night. There are people outside, chatting, smoking, waiting to get in at this godforsaken hour in their costumes. We look like narcs next to them. You pull me into the alleyway. We barely take five steps into the narrow, dark path. You lean against the fire brick wall right next to the green iron door and hastily reach for my belt.

“Not so fast,” I immediately stop you. 

“Why the fuck not?!”

Your frustration is so cute. I’m not rejecting you. Why would I follow you here if I had no intention of ruining everyone else for you? I just have too many tricks up my sleeve, and I don’t want you to freak the fuck out right from the get-go.

You don’t know the power I hold.

“Feisty,” I press my palms on the cold wall behind you and trap your body under mine, “You just don’t take no for an answer, do you?”

The distance between us is closing. You’re laser-focused on my face, trying to calculate the exact moment my mouth is going to be on yours. Your lips are wet, but your throat is dry. You’re trying to brace yourself, but little do you know nothing can prepare you for what’s about to happen.

Now watch this, beautiful.

Back to Masterlist

© 2024 Feelfolio. ⁞ Ko-fi

Translations & reposts of any kind are prohibited.