Suspense Thriller Teens & Young Adult

This story contains sensitive content

CW: Minor use of adult language & suggestions of violence & abuse.

    Flames flowered wildly from her follicles. Everything behind her would appear to catch fire as she danced across the bar. She was warm with her words and involved with her eyes. She never made you feel inconvenient or needy. It was always, “Hey, honey! How was your day?” with such genuine inflection. As if she honestly wanted to know every single detail. And before the words could even whirl completely from her lips, she had already cracked open your favorite beer and placed it before you. 

    She paid attention. (We have that in common). I notice everything. I’ve always been like that. It’s a real skill that I have. Helps me better understand those around me. I truly know people better than they know themselves; and oh, how I knew her. I could immediately sense that she was special the first moment I stepped into her domain.

    That’s what the place was. Hers. Her territory. You could instantly gather that as soon as you saw her smile, and how people reacted to it. The smoke-filled, run-down establishment of low lights, cheap booze, and music that was always just a little too loud was only still up and running because people came down to see her. Melanie. Sweet, stunning, sexy Melanie.

    Her hips cascaded beautifully into long legs that perfectly thickened at the thighs. That was the best part of her figure. She knew it too, because she’d always wear provocative shorts that highlighted her curves. And at the right bend of her body, you could sneak a peak of dimpled flesh that wonderfully spilled from the tight and revealing fabric. As if it was begging to come out and be touched.

    What was truly magnificent, was that even though she was essentially a waking and walking Goddess, she had such humility, and carried herself with grace. You knew that she knew that she was drop dead gorgeous, but she’d still blush when you’d tell her. I’ve met far uglier women who were stuck up bitches. Not Melanie though.

    She was patient. She was sincere. And she was mine.

    I’m sucked back into a tornado of moments we had shared with one another. Remembering her star-kissed eyes. Her strawberry hair. Her promiscuous body language, coupled with a taunting coyness, that would both captivate and enrage me.

    It was our little game though. We loved teasing one another. An unspoken agreement. I’d express my yearning for her, and she’d pretend to be “unavailable”. She was at times irritatingly committed to our play. But I could read between the lines. She had to come off that way too, for tip purposes. I totally understood. This was how she created and carried on her livelihood. 

    Though, I had offered her a plethora of times to just let me take care of her financially. She was far too independent and self-sufficient to accept that suggestion though. I respected that. She oozed such quiet confidence and certainty. How could anyone not be completely mad about her?

    That thought would haunt me, every once in a blue moon. I’m not a jealous man. But what’s right is right. I didn’t mind sharing her in the spotlight, for her job’s sake. But, God damnit, sometimes I had wished that she would openly tell people about us, and advise them to just fuck right off. 

    She didn’t appreciate that kind of talk though. I recalled one of our first “fights”. 

    “It’s not fair.”, I playfully pouted.

    “What is it, sugar?”, she asked, her voice pouring like honey, slowly and sweetly, from her plum colored lips.

    “Because I have to share you with all these idiots!”

    She had laughed. A full bodied, deep-bellied laugh. I remembered wishing I could bottle her voice up and carry it with me in a plastic container.

    She reassured that most of her other guests were completely harmless. 


    I had prodded for more details. Just how many disgusting men were trying to take what was mine? These weren’t dunces or “harmless” fools. They were competitors. Thieves. Perverts. Preying on my poor, naive Melanie. 

    I then leaned in, and whispered, “Want me to kill ‘em?”

    Her eyes had narrowed. I remembered never seeing them look so small. Her mouth tightened as she told me she didn’t think that was funny. I told her neither did I. A silence had fallen like a thick layer of snow; a deep, suffocating quietness. More than uncomfortable. A…an uneasiness was apparent in her eyes. 

    I had felt as if ever since that interaction, that she had just slightly been different towards me. I get it. She was probably used to bums and losers who never even dared to defend her honor. They didn’t know how to handle a real woman, they weren’t suited for her the way I was. And she knew that, and it terrified her. I really think it did.

    I’ve dizzied myself into a daze, trying to figure out how it all went so wrong so fast. Like smelling salts, I’m brought back to reality, because her womanhood lingers on my hands. I can still hear her whimpers. I can taste her sweat in the air. The vividness of the delicate vessels within her neck, thumping vigorously, then slowly, then not at all both excites and saddens me.

    She is just a memory now. This realization is almost paralyzing. The only part of me that remains coherent and in motion is my right hand, as it lightly plays with a lock of her fire. The feeling of her hair weaving in between my fingers ignites me with short bursts of life.

    I bring the tuft of hair up towards my face, caressing the base of my nostrils with its feathery ends. Her scent remains amongst each strand. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before. Even in this minuscule way, through just a clump of her, Melanie is still magnetic. 

    I hope she understands that I really did love her. That I still do. I always will. And I know she loved me too. Still does. Things just got…messy. Confusing. Scary. Love is funny like that.

    My temples begin to throb. And it feels as if somebody else’s hands have cupped themselves over my ears, as the muffled song of sirens grows closer. I stand up from the chair I’ve been glued to for what feels like years now.

    My face is struck with flashes of red and blue coming from the other side of the window. Each pulse of light mirroring the crimson stained to my palms, as well as the indigo that’s slowly painting her lips.

    The duality of the situation, dressed in those details, brings to me a slight feeling of amusement. Not the time and place, I know. But I can’t help but notice. I’m also incredibly impressed with how fast the police show up after you call. And just as well, I am astonished by how time can feel as simultaneously fast as it does slow. I told you, I pay attention to everything. 

    I kneel down beside her, gliding my hand across her face one last time. I kiss her ear and say, “Goodbye, Melanie.” I stand up, tucking the clipping of hair into my pocket, and I calmly walk out the front door.

August 12, 2022 14:14

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