Lamia [NaNoWriMo 2018]

Chapitre Cinq

But torment followed her into the bar that night, taking her hand and pulling her to a table in the corner where the liquor flowed as freely as the lyrics of the Ripsy's current song of choice.

The world was on fire

And no one could save me but you.

It's strange what desire

Can make foolish people do.

And I never dreamed that I'd meet somebody like you.

And I never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you.

And I

Don't want to fall in love...

Her voice was both sandpaper and satin, scratching over the fresh scabs of everything these people were running from and soothing them over with a salve of sweet distraction. But all it did for Divinity was remind her of that which she sought to forget.

Perhaps, that was what accounted for the slight harshness in her voice as she said, "A little maudlin, don't you think?" upon the song's end. She fluffed her black motorcycle jacket as she took her seat, fully aware of the heated gaze she was garnering from the bar's patrons. One gaze, in particular, made her both regret and delight in her choice to pair the jacket with a thin grey t-shirt dress.

"You like to play tic tac toe with your wrists; I like to sing. You're not the only one who can cling to the banalities of humanity," Ripsy implied with a condescending smirk. Twins, a man, and a woman, equal only in their blondness and their glazed-over red eyes, lifted their heads from where they'd been suckling Ripsy's neck and threw their heads back in hearty laughter at the small demon's wit.

Ripsy returned their ass-kissing merriment with fake laughter before pushing their heads back to her collarbone. With an eye roll, she mouthed sycophants as though the very existence of her lovers disgusted her when Divinity got the feeling that they were her favorite part of the day.

"That's our little Tipsy Monster; only happy when her mouth is open," slurred a tall, lithe man in the corner, the only one at their table who was neither a sex demon nor prey. Carter and Ripsy weren't strangers to the art of the argument and usually, there was love behind the barbs and stabs. But that night, there was true, unadulterated bitterness in his tone that could have rivaled the tenth shot he'd downed that night. He was smashed!

Ripsy, who had tossed her caramel brown bangs out of her smoky copper eyes and opened her legs a little to grant Blonde Boy Twin's hand access to her inner thigh, cooed, "Aw, someone's just being a salty bitch because his little fuck toy's mommy grounded him and now he's forced to sleep on the streets."

Divinity ignored the twins' sluggish cackles in favor of turning toward her best friend, concern shining in her eyes as she put her hand over his. "Oh, Carter, baby" she murmured, trying and failing to hide the moroseness in her voice, "what happened?"

Last she'd heard Carter had come home to find his seemingly straight roommate with his hands down his pants in nothing but a pair of boxer briefs, an open dress shirt, and a pair of black socks. An open beer completed the image as dishes piled up in the sink behind them: plates, glasses, forks, and knives all digging a hole in his nerves, because really, mother fucker? He'd had enough energy to walk his lazy ass into the kitchen for a beer but couldn't pivot the forty-five degrees that it would have taken to put himself in front of the sink and wash the dishes?