First Meeting
A little WIP Blurb of a fic idea i've been having for a bit!
!CW! Brief moderate/ extreme Gore
Walking down a dim sidewalk on my way home from the bar, a vice of an unusual kind. I wasn’t a patron but rather a performer. I basked in the gaze of customers. Their gawking eyes and shifty, hidden hands electrified me. Knowing that I was what entirely occupied their small minds lit a fire deep in my core stronger than any Vodka or Gin. More intense than the high of opium or my sweet, snowy dust. It was my addiction, the attention of these men. I craved it, and when I wasn’t working I would go through the withdrawals, wanting to rip my clothes from my body and seduce the first man I found and leave him wanting in the end. A really very unfortunate way of thinking. But what can one do? Bad habits envelope us, some more than others. Some worse than others.
As I passed an alleyway I heard a strange slapping sound. Like the sound of bare feet slapping against hot summer pavement. I paused, gazing curiously between the red-bricked buildings. Squinting, I was able to make out the shape of a man, something angular in his hand. He was swinging it up and down with the same cadence as a nailing a rail spike requires, his breathing rapid and crazed. A car passed, the light from the head of the car bleeding into the alleyway, my shadow shielding his crime from the harsh light. His weapon now clearly recognizable as a shotgun, disgustingly sawed off. As I saw the bludgeoned corpse of a large round man, blood leaking like a busted pipe from his unidentifiable face, I could not help but allow myself to produce a guttural, high pitched gasp.
The perpetrator whipped his head around, barely illuminated by the passing car anymore, yet I could still piece together his abnormal features. His bulbous cranium, endowed with golden curls that flowed in tandem with the curve of his deformed skull, his large, bulging bug eyes that locked themselves onto my shivering figure. He walked towards me, slowly, deliberately. I faltered, my feet stumbling back against the asphalt of the road, careless for passing cars. A vulturine gaze taking over his features as he careful reloaded a single shell into his shotgun before cocking it and holding it up to my head from several feet away. He stood just within the shadows of the alleyway, but I could still make something of him. Piecing together the moving shapes of his face, I saw a smile, misshapen toothy grin.
I brought my hands up surrendering to him and spoke, a subtle quiver to my voice.
“What’s the problem Mister? I’m just walking home from my shift at The Veil” He quriked a brow at my sheepish words. He lowered his gun barely, looking me up and down skeptically. His tongue venturing out past is lips to coat them in salivic lacquer. His gun droppped to his side, he motioned with his leather-gloved hand to the side.
“Well then I suppose you best get going.” He stated. “There’s criminals in these parts, you know? You wouldn’t wanna get tangled up, would you?” I shook my head negatively.
“Have a lovely evening sir, my apologies for disturbing you.” I shoved my hands into my pockets and walked the opposite way of my house. I felt his eyes on the back of my neck the whole walk down to the edge of the block.
I knew that man, everyone knew him. Well, knew of him at the very least.
“Il Bambino”
Franco Barbi.
Once I broke through the door to my loft, I gasped and collapsed to the ground slumping against my door. I felt as if I had just impossibly reasoned with death, baited a tiger away from a feast with a single mouse. As much as I have been a fiend for the attention of men, the attention of this man is not something any woman wants. It’s known, the things he’s done. Two women in the past few months have turned up ravaged, torn apart, blown to pieces. Whether it was an act of maliciousness, or a kink gone too far, no one really knows. All that we did know, when this man is provided a service, unlimited access to a woman, it does not end in her favor. His eyes, the curiousness within them, it churned my stomach in nauseating ways. His interest was not desired.
Oh My God.
I told him where I work. I told him the name, I told him my club. I was less than a few blocks away from it when I saw him, he knows. He knows where to find me, how to get to me. He has unlimited access. But then again what man doesn’t if they’re brash enough?
The very next night in my dressing room at The Veil, a small room with my name on a gold plaque on the door. My hands shook as I expertly applied my makeup. My heart thrumming so deeply within my chest I could barely take a full breath. The vertigo overtaking my head worried me for my performance. I pulled my corset taut onto my body, cinching my waist tightly. I slipped into my heels, and grabbed my ostrich fans. Backstage I ascended the short stairs to the thrust stage. I posed behind the curtain, shielding myself from the view of the patrons as the velvet parted like waves, and the crowd erupted into a cacophonous applause. The jazz band struck their first cord and I flung open my fans. Sounds of approval from the audience rang out like a melody, but I paid them no mind. My eyes scoured the crowd for a specific visage, as I fell into my routine my pupils dilated and pin pricked as they darted from man to man, table to table, as I tried to ensure my own safety. He was no where, dangerous men were littered within my view, but none like him. A weight lifted from my shoulders, fluttering away like a ceremonious dove. My movements became less rigid and more mesmerizing as I drowned myself within my dance.
I retreated to my dressing room. Tossing my fans aside as I plopped down on my cushioned chair. Still basking in the after glow of applause and praise. A soft rapping on my door pulled me from my high.
“One-” The door opened and a leather gloved hand wrapped around its rim. He stepped into the room, a sly expression plastered across his weathered face. He leaned against the door and it clicked shut, he crossed his arms over his chest, his head tilting to the side.
“I didn’t think you were actually dumb enough to tell me the truth.” He took a cigar from his left pocket and a lighter from his other. He ghosted the flame under the foot of the cigar. “You know, you’re a real class A slut.” He chuckled as he drew the aroma of the cigar into his mouth and letting it creep out of his grin. “I ain’t never seen a woman move like you do. You really had my attention there.” He stepped closer. “But that’s what you want ain’t it?” His eyes shamelessly devoured my body, flicking to whichever place he desired to objectify most. I simply stared at him, wide eyed, I was helpless. There was nothing I could have done. “Why didn’t you go run and turn me in, huh?”
“I ain’t stupid, I knew you would’ve killed me.”
“Still might.” He chided, a twisted sense of playfulness to his words. It irked me. “I kid, I kid. You don’t gotta worry about that sweetness, promise.” He sized me up. “You’re to pretty to die.” I looked at him suspiciously, his cadence had a strange quirk to it. I knew he was just leading me on, he had to be. “Why don’t you and I go on upstairs and have a fun little time, hm?” I could not help the visible terror that took over my features, his mimicked my own. “You know, I’m a fuckin’ prince!” He stomped towards the door, looking back at me over his shoulder. “You’d be so lucky.” It promptly swung open and slammed shut and he was gone. The air felt stale without his suffocating presence, the thick, muggy smell of his cigar melding with his cologne permeated the air. It made me absolutely sick.
