Beauty is a Beast (UruhaxGazette)

Beauty is a Bitch

Five hundred dollars is what I can get for the pearls. After leaving the hotel, I went straight to a 24 hour pawn shop. I wanted my money now. I hide the money away in my Coco Chanel purse, knowing full well I am not in the mood to sleep. I've spent too many hours awake while most of the city slept. It was too early for me now. But I didn't feel like going home either, so instead I walked down the empty street, gazing at the shops with no lights on, each barren. There seems to be only one other shop with its lights on, a dingy looking 24 hour coffee shop. That should do. 

I walk in and order a chilled coffee, sitting in the cracked leather of an old red chair. This place was made in the eighties and it died in the eighties. The once neon coloured walls and counters have faded to a dull pastel, faded posters hanging on the walls, the painted light bulbs flickering. The barista makes my drink, looking neither tired nor energized. He lives and breathes the night, just like me, working until the sun rises and the city awakens. Their dawn is our dusk. All is reversed.

There's only one other person in this café besides me and the barista, a small dyed blond man who is drinking an espresso and speaking loudly into his phone, complaining about working this late. It doesn't look like working to me. I ignore him, playing Chopin in my head, a nameless nocturne in which the piano sings in sorrow. 

The barista brings me my coffee and I sip at it quietly, Chopin ringing in my head, even as the blond man ends his phone conversation. He has only now noticed me, his seat giving him a particularly good view of my face. I let him observe, let him feast on me with his eyes. With barely a glance, lips on my straw, I already know he thinks me beautiful and is considering approaching me. 

After a moment, he does approach me, the barista going to the back, leaving us alone. I wonder if he does it on purpose. The man seats himself across from me, smiling in as friendly a manner as he possibly can. "I noticed you and can't help but wonder, is your name Uruha by any chance?" 

I look up at him, calm expression hiding my surprise. "Yes, I am, and may I ask, how do you know my name?"

"I've heard about you from a colleague of mine." His friendly smile turns wry in an instant. "He said you were very beautiful but also very talented. Thus far, I have confirmed the first half of his statement."

A colleague? Was it Yuu? I eyed him a moment, taking in his expensive but also tasteful suit, his messily styled hair and black laced eyes. He was handsome, I decided. But that did not make him trustworthy. "And what is your name?"

"I apologize, I have not properly introduced myself. My name is Takanori." he smiled a whole new smile. This one burned with lechery and desire.

"I don't think I've ever heard of you." I say.

"Oh?" he laughs, seemingly in a good mood. His frustrations about working so late seems to have slipped his mind, eyes enjoying gazing at my lips, my bare stomach. "That doesn't exactly surprise me, I'm not exactly well known in his more intimate circle."

"Who is it that you work with?" I ask, trying to hide my impatience. This man knew what I really wanted to know, but he was slow to say it. How annoying. 

"I've heard you've been on... dates with him before. A man named Shiroyama, you know him right?" 

A colleague of Yuu's. Would it be wrong to sleep with him, when Yuu was so fond of me? This man was handsome, he clearly had money but more importantly, he intrigued me. Yuu might get angry, but I knew he was not one prone to fidelity. He told me I was his favourite, but I knew he had others. I was not the only one he called beautiful, he probably said the same thing to his wife and two infant daughters. 

"I do know him." I say after a moment's consideration. Another breath of silence before I ask, "Would you like to go on a date?"

~*~*~*~

I could tell from the sound of his moans that he had indeed confirmed the second part. I was talented. 

We're at his parked black Audi, my knees on the pavement while I suck him off. From this angle I could see the barista through the shop window. He's watching and I let him, eyes occasionally meeting his. The barista doesn't look away, wondering if I'll be generous enough to blow him next. I won't be.

I close my eyes, lips approaching the base of his dick. He's moaning even louder, hands pulling away from my hair and then I hear a very distinct click. I open my eyes, face to face with his cellphone. He took a picture of me. Almost from instinct, I bite down on his dick.

"Fuck!" he screams in pain, pushing me away, until my back hits the pavement. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" He's angry now, but so am I.

"You took a picture." I frown, standing up. "Why did you fucking do that?"

His anger subsides as well as the initial pain and he smiles wryly. "To show my colleague just how lucky I've been tonight."

I can feel my anger shift to disgust. He laughs, before saying; "Come now, you're not done." he waves me over to his still hard cock.

"Yes I am." I say, turning to leave. He hasn't paid me yet, but I don't want his money anymore.

"Will I see you here again?" he asks. I can hear the wry smile.

"Probably not." I swear to myself. He will not. "And if you try and follow me home, I will make sure you don't live through the night."

He laughs. "Will I see you at La Habitación then? Or perhaps a dance club?" That wry smile in his voice lingers.

I don't answer, walking down the empty sidewalk. I made a mistake in trusting him. It will never happen again, I will make sure of it.