GIN. NEAT. PART 5

31 1 0
                                    

My fighter was gone. I waited for her. She never returned to me, I kept coming back, night after night watching her empty apartment and her abandoned car. And every night I drove away frustrated with my insides twisting. I would find another girl, another useless, waste of space to attempt to fill the void, but it never worked.

SALSA, a spicy, overweight, self-conscious woman who had foolishly surrounded herself with thin, fit, confident women. I called her Salsa for the sauce she had spilled on her cheek while chomping down on nachos as the bar. Her friends laughed behind her back, never telling her it was there. It was still there when the light left her eyes. She actually seemed relieved that her pain was over, that she wouldn’t have to slap on the thick layer of makeup, wedge heel sandals and pretend that she was comfortable when she so clearly was not. I swear at the end she seemed to be smiling. Of course that took away from my enjoyment. Just like a woman, selfish, even if she wasn’t the Belle of the ball.

SMACKER, she choked on the gum, that pink rubbery mess that she wouldn’t stop popping. Tiny little bubbles going off in succession. She had to have practiced it, because each pop sounded like ten. I helped her and she thanks me for saving her life. It appears her death was always intended to be by some sort of disruption of her air passage. So in a sense I hadn’t chosen to take her life, I was sent there to fulfill her own destiny. Better I get the enjoyment than some piece of latex that would never be able to appreciate the pleasure of those last few moments of life. That beautifully erotic moment when the realization hits, this is the end, it is over. Any time I thought of it, I was instantly aroused, and it was my fighter who satisfied my fantasy.

HARD WORKER, she kept saying that. Sitting at the bar alone, still in her work clothes. Apparently she had just been fired that day, she had no idea what she was going to do. How would she go on with her life? Lucky for her, I had the answer. She was more reluctant than any of the other women. She kept touching her large fro and chewing on her bottom lip while she considered the options laid before her. Join a handsome stranger or return home to safety. Just a second before I actually achieved a level of respect for her, (hell, she was the only one that processed the idea of danger before it was too late) she said “What the hell?” threw her hands up and hopped in the car. She kicked me, almost got away too. As I fell to the ground holding my stomach she hit the stairs but the door was locked. I laughed, satisfied that she would not get free, but then she started kicking the door and nearly broke through. I had to run up the stairs after her. I pulled her back and sent her thin body flying down the stair. She hit the concrete floor beneath and I heard a crack. It was loud and it gave me chills, the good kind that leave Goosebumps behind. By the time I made it down to her, she was gone. I lay with her, until her skin turned cold, he full lips blue with death. I whispered to her my reasoning, my frustrations with my Fighter. She wouldn’t tell.

RED SCARF, draped around her neck, a temptation of a new tool. I could not pass it up. I did not enjoy this, not as much. I missed the struggle, the feel of the pulse slowing, the closeness, the complete and total connection between me and my love. I felt like I had betrayed my art, my passion, the very thing I had worked so hard to perfect. I kicked her, in the side of the face, she was already gone, laying on the bathroom floor. This listing had no basement. I don’t know why, maybe it was my frustration with the lack of contact, possibly my growing disappointment in my Fighter. It doesn’t matter. I threw away the shoes. Drove them to a dumpster two towns over behind a Wal-Mart.

Finally, after struggling with my conscious afraid of exposure, I found her. I asked her associated at the studio where she worked. Apparently she had decided to go home to mourn the loss of her friend but she would come back. I had to be patient. My Fighter, my love, she would return to me.

RECEPTIONIST. That may or may not have been her job description, and I had no intention of ending her, but she saw me. I had gotten excited about the news of my Fighter returning and in my moment of elation, I drove to her apartment, got in her car and smiled to myself. I knew she had left it open for me, so I could enjoy her a bit more while she was away. While sitting in her smell, aroused by the very thought of my short spunky woman, a little brunette walked by. I wouldn’t have noticed her either, but she stopped and stared. Rude the way she invaded my space, my personal time with my Fighter. She tried to run, but her path led her right to the passenger door of my car! I was thrilled, not only had my Fighter planned to return to me, she had delivered to me another gift. This woman was similar to her, in shape and size. Their features were even the same, wide eyes with small pouty lips.

This transport was a bit different. I had to knock her out. Much like RUCKUS only this time with no blood. She looked like she was sleeping, peacefully. There would be no added charged to my bill the next time I went to get it cleaned. Believe it or not they charged me 10 extra bucks saying the stain had set and it was an additional process to get it out! I paid the bill of course, but made sure to mention how I thought that was a rip off. I ignored the asshole when he flipped me off as I headed back to my car. Receptionist was not the joy I thought she would be, outside of their few physical similarities, she was nothing like my Fighter. There was barely life in her to take, a mercy killing. She cried but I doubt that it was for herself. A classic doormat, she let me have my way with her. I pushed her further, making her think my intentions were not pure, I ripped her shirt open allowing her breast to fall free and gave her the hungriest look I could manage. I just knew I would get it, that fear I wanted. But no, she simply turned her head and stared at the ceiling, erasing my existence from her mind.

I slapped her for her disrespect, and she finally cried out. Tears poured freely from her eyes, not from fear, but from pain. That would have to do, that would get me through. I slapped her once more before wrapping my hands around her throat. I held her tightly and she released her last breath, a thank you, for something I would never understand. 

You've reached the end of published parts.

⏰ Last updated: May 28, 2013 ⏰

Add this story to your Library to get notified about new parts!

GIN. NEAT. PART 5Where stories live. Discover now