Sweet Serial Killers (Ariana/Lana/Marina Fanfiction)

Psychos

Startled back into color, I breathe in the crisp fall air. Leaves fall as slowly as the smoke and chemicals exhaled out of my mouth dissipates. The warm vapors decorate the air. "Come on, Marina. We need to go." A hand grabs my arm, and I pull it back. I glare towards their direction. "Don't fucking touch me."

"Marina, you're going to be late if you continue this. Come on." They try to make eye contact, but I try to avoid eyes. This causes my eyes to take notice in the littlest of things. Like the dirt filled cracks in the sidewalk, and the patterns of speckles, or lack thereof, in the concrete below my pink pumps. "Who the fuck is Marina?" "Very funny. Come on." "What am I late for?" They grab my arm this time and begin to lead me to a foreign off-white Camino, and I struggle to break free of their grasps.

-

"Tell me, love, do you have a plan for when you get out of this place?"
The lightly colored brown haired woman, late teens early twenties at most, leans over the counter and taps her long pastel pink fingernails towards my direction as if she's anticipating a response. I ignore the comment and repeat my statement as I take another drag of my cigarette.
"Room 88."
"That room's non-smoking, love."
"88."
She grabs a pair of keys that's under the label 88 and drops them on the counter that's separating us.
"Name, dear?"
"DN."
"Just DN?"
I look towards her with a glare. 
She smiles stupidly, like a kid would, and begins to speak again. I look annoyingly away from her direction and with one swipe grab the pair of keys before exiting. She was cute, though. Sweet, too. But naïve as hell. Who the hell asks what's on another's agenda? Especially if you're working at some rundown druggie motel in the middle of fucking nowhere. Figures.

-

I willingly walk towards the Camino harboring a knife up my sleeve from my pocket, backpack slung off my shoulder a little too loose. As he turns to face me, leaning up against the vehicle, I stab his thigh. I gain slight distance from him before grabbing the gun from my backpack. "Come on, Marina, this don't make no sense." "What don't make no sense," I mimic his voice, "is you calling me Marina, old man." He begins to slur his words as I watch blood spill out of his mouth, and then I watch it reverse back in, as if nothing happened.
We both stare at each other, guns pointed, ready to shoot. I begin to back away, firmly stating one thing.
"Don't fucking disturb me again, or I'll cut off your dick and shove it down your dead throat."