Brutally Beautiful

Chapter 2

The puddle of blood that lies beneath the limp bodies of my friends is quickly spreading thickly across the floor. There’s a heavy pool of blood in my mouth that spills out over the corner of my lips to mix with the seeping blood bath along the cold slabs of tile. My breaths are noisy, raspy and there’s no oxygen in the room. Did someone turn the oxygen off? Why can’t I breathe? Why can’t I get enough air? I want my mum.

My math notebook is lying near my head and pages of my algebra equations are scattered around the room. All at once, they absorb a swell of thick red blotches that cause the ink to blur and disappear. The pungent smell of some sort of acrid odor lingers thickly in the air, weighing heavily on my stomach.

Haunting, mumbled singsong crooning, whispers through the room. “Did you ever think, when a hearse drove by…that you might be the next to die…they’ll cover you with a big white sheet…after I splash through the puddles of life beneath my feet…”

I can hear the clip clop of footsteps. The squish-squash of two boots squeaking and sliding over the bloodied tiles. “Pl…ple…ease. Please, don’t.” I hear a shaky voice whimper. I can’t tell if it’s a female or a male’s voice, but I know it’s an older voice, so it can’t be one of my classmates. I know it’s not Mrs. Turner’s voice, because Mrs. Turner is lying in front of me with her dead glazed eyes staring at me. She tried to shield me from what was happening, but I don’t think it made a difference, something still got through. My body trembles with the coldness that is drifting up through the tiles. “Please! NONONO!” The voice begs as a loud click echoes across the room. Then POP! POP! POP! POP! Click! Click! Click! Click!

Click!

Click!

Click!

Click!

CLICK! I jerked against the steering wheel, my pulse pounding against my temple as I pulled up to the parking lot of the bar with heavy anxiety. Yanking the gearshift into park, I ran my hands over my face to focus back on reality, trying to bury the flashback in my head. My mind was heavy with thick red images as I tried to rub the blur of them from my eyes.

Focus.

I told my brother I would stop at the bar.

I have to go in.

I hated going there. I hated the long day I’d been through already and I just wanted to be alone, but I promised my brother. So I stepped out, still dressed in my tuxedo, the one my agent said I had to wear to the prior day’s festivities, and I dragged myself into my brother’s den of hell.

I knew I was being irrational about everything, especially about the awards dinner the night before. Any normal man would have been rattled with pride receiving the highly coveted Bram Stoker Award, but I was far from normal. I was barely able to sit next to Gary, my editor, and his wife Mable with her glazed over eyes that reminded me of a corpse staring vacantly into the nothingness. Every time she spoke to me, her whiny voice clawed at my self-control, which I had very little of to begin with. It took just about all my energy not to shove my napkin down her throat, and watch her gasp and flail about for breath.

When I was finally introduced, I tried to shake off my fury, but the twisted tension that followed me everywhere gripped deep in my muscles and seeped into my bones. My speech consisted of a wave and a whispered thank you. I wanted to flip my audience the finger, but I held myself back. I always held myself back, but I was always one bullet shy of self-destruction. The prize was thrown in the bottom of my suitcase awaiting its poor fate of being shoved in the back of the extra closet in my guest bedroom, never to see the light of day again. I hadn’t even stayed the night in the hotel my assistant booked. I just jumped right back on the next available flight and headed home. Now I have to pretend to be sane and normal and visit my brother.

I just needed to focus on now. I’ll have one drink then leave. Leave society for as many months as I possibly could. The bloody images of my flashbacks faded from my thoughts slowly as I walked through the door, but they always lingered in the outskirts of my mind, waiting for the most inappropriate times to peek out.

Stepping my foot in, I instantly scanned the room, taking inventory of the number of bodies, exits, lighting, and furniture. Then I watched the patrons in their various states of expression. It is a subconscious action now, as thought provoking as breathing is to me, but it’s ingrained in me nonetheless.

My brother’s place was packed, of course, it was, and there was a bloody tart gyrating on a glittery pole in the middle of the stage shaking her ass to the sounds of Lady Blah Blah or whatever the hell her name was. I didn’t see my brother, Dylan, anywhere as I sat myself at the back, farthest away from everyone, back to the wall, nearest table to the exit. Looking at my watch, I saw it was almost eleven.

I’m staying exactly one minute.

No more than sixty seconds.

Screw it, time’s up.

I was just about to sneak out and hide from my brother and the rest of humanity for the next damn six months, when I glanced up and froze. A small fluid movement caught my eye. A flutter of something, someone, who shouldn’t belong, grace and poise, yet strong and vicious. It pinned me to my seat.

The deep throb in my temple that always accompanied my flashbacks disappeared instantly.

Thirty feet away from my dark corner stood some sort of angel. Backlit as she stood in front of the illuminated bar, I had a perfect view of her silhouette. Dark black hair tumbled wildly over her creamy white neck, falling to her tiny waist as if it were liquid silk. Petite, yet voluptuous, with soft curves that had me instantly, thinking about sinking inside deeply and riding her hard. She was wearing a high collared, tight black long-sleeved t-shirt, which hugged her shape but was covered by a torn up apron that coincided with the idiotic name of the bar. She was dressed excessively conservative for being inside a strip club; it was as if she didn’t want anyone to see her flesh. Like she was hiding. The sounds of the bar seemed to fade into low murmurs and Lady RahBlahGah, whatever, was now quietly whispering that she was born some stupid certain way, as I watched the woman move.

That’s what I’m extremely good at, watching people. Reading them. I was always more of a voyeur when it came to social situations. Notoriously introverted, I have mastered the art of hiding myself and detaching from everything. I learned an invaluable lesson once. If I stayed silent for long enough, and just watched long enough, people and life would pass by me, as if I were invisible. Or dead.

Her nails were short, just a bit longer than the pads of her fingers, and were devoid of any colored polish. She leaned on one of the tables in the middle of the bar and tapped them on the table, waiting for a bunch of drunken guys to make their orders. She wrote nothing down, wasn’t even holding a pad. She was listening intently as the men seemed to banter back and forth in their blatant inebriated states. Her lips smiled at them, full and lush, the kind of lips that when they speak to you all you hear is sex. Any man could look at those lips and think sex. Hell, her whole mouth would be any man’s fantasy. I shifted in my seat to ease the pressure those thoughts brought against the zipper of my pants. It wasn’t even that she was beautiful, though she was in my eyes. It was the way the features on her face melted together in a delicate balance of strength, intelligence, and sensuality that had me intrigued. And the fascinating way she tried to disguise it, working in a strip club and looking as plain as if she didn’t think anything about her lack of attention-grabbing appearance. Yet, she stood confident and hard, like she knew her hidden attributes were better than showing her tits to the patrons.

She wore no wedding band, no jewelry of any kind and not a stitch of make-up. Then, one of the men placed his hand on her ass and I waited for what always happened in shitholes like this, the worst of humanity. My lust immediately ceased to exist for the woman. She’ll move her ass against his hand and flirt with him to try to make a few dollars extra tip from him. Maybe she’ll give him a lap dance, suck his cock in the back of his pickup truck for twenty bucks or for a line of blow in the bathroom. I’ve seen it a dozen times here already. I fucking hated visiting my brother. Although, I must admit, I wouldn’t mind witnessing the sucking cock part, which might be mildly entertaining, especially with those lips. I slumped back in my seat, already gutted that I wasted time thinking the whore looked like an angel.

I was caught off guard, though, when the woman in front of me froze. The second the guy squeezed his fat fingers over her ass, she went completely rigid, and pretended to spill an entire drink in his lap accidently. I chuckled out loud. I guess she didn’t need the tip. Another waitress was there in an instant, a gorgeous blonde one with her tits almost bursting out of her shirt. She stepped in between the raven-haired waitress and the drunk. I leaned forward in my seat to watch how this would play out. The dark-haired waitress moved her blonde friend out of the way, protectively. The show of courage and safeguard for her friend interested me.

It took him a few trips and falls, but the drunken guy eventually jumped out of his seat and stood up, puffing his chest and enormous beer gut at the girl. She had to be about half his size and he was leaning his face down into hers threateningly. I scooted forward in my seat a bit to hear the conversation, but couldn’t make out anything that was being said.

The drunk raised his hand, pointing at her. I pushed out of my seat in a flash, aching to rip the skin off his face if he touched the girl in front of me. With my teeth grinding hard, a heat flushed through my entire body, my fingers itched to grab the beer-gutted moronic imbecile and choke him dead blue. But, then the dark-haired waitress leaned in closer to him, reached into her apron and jabbed the man in the gut, as if she had a concealed weapon, poking it at him. She whispered something, calmly and very controlled, in the man’s ear that made him freeze, lean back and lift his hands in surrender.

What?

How?

What the hell did she say to him?

The fact that she was almost attacked by some drunken dolt didn’t show in her expression. As a matter of fact, nothing showed in her expression, nothing at all. She was calm and in full control of her composure; it was almost unnatural. Then the woman smiled tightly, walked away backwards from the table, and moved back behind the bar. The blonde followed her and rubbed her back in a friendly way. I had no idea what I had just witnessed, but that little-bit-of-a-wisp waitress seemed to have put that wanker in his place with her presence and words. Unafraid and confident. Fearless. Impressive and deadly sexy.

Beyond sexy.

That was the sexiest thing I’d ever witnessed outside of porn.

When I sat back in my seat, Dylan was leaning over me; chuckling and holding a brandy out for me. “Hey bro, how was your day out with the humans?” He sat down next to me, slid my drink over and sighed.

“Overrated.” I sipped my brandy and enjoyed the soft smooth burn at the back of my throat.

“Congrats on the award,” he chuckled.

“Sod off,” I said, still watching the waitress liquefy herself around the bar.

He looked at me and then back to the scene in front of us. The drunken guys were back to gawking at the dancer on stage and completely ignoring the one dark-haired waitress that was behind the bar, who was now glaring at a bottle of whiskey as if it personally offended her in someway.

“Does she dance here?” I asked.

“No. Neither of them do,” Dylan answered me, but his eyes were still watching her.

“I wasn’t asking about the blonde,” I stated.

“I knew exactly who you were asking about, Kade,” he murmured. “She’s not your classical beauty, yet stunning in her own way, yeah?”

I just nodded. Then…silence.

Shit…I wanted to know more about her. Just keep your damn mouth shut. How do you think getting to know more about her is going to end? Ugly. Fuckin’ ugly…

“They don’t look like the kind of women who would work here. What the hell are they doing here?” I snapped.

“Intriguing situation. They both showed up here about two months ago, beaten to bloody hell. The one you asked about is Lainey and the blonde is Bree. They work here a few nights a week. Both are really sweet. Both are the most intelligent women I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet, and the blonde is sexy as hell, yeah? Both of them have tried to change their appearance as if they’re hiding from something. That’s all I know.”

Lainey looked up from where she was standing behind the bar. Her eyes collided with mine for a few gut-twisting moments before she darted them to Dylan. I wondered if he was sleeping with her. It angered me just thinking about it.

On one side of her face, her long hair was pinned back with a soft lilac ribbon that made her look indecently innocent. Shiny waves were cascading down from the little clip and fell around her face framing soft porcelain features. She wore a familiar emotion on her face that I knew all too well, haunted. The plain raw intelligence of her face was utterly breathtaking and for the first time in my life, I couldn’t find the correct adjectives to describe something. No mere words would have done her natural beauty justice or could have described the way she moved.

It was like…liquid.

That’s the only word I had for her.

Flowing, fluid, melting into everything with a precision that seemed naturally calculated. I felt like Adam looking at Eve for the first time, having never seen another woman before her.

What the hell did I just let myself think? I just need to drown myself at the bottom of my damn brandy.

Fucking…hell… I caught myself leaning forward, almost falling off my daft chair trying to watch her move around. Brilliant.

“Jesus, Kade. I never saw you look at anybody like that. You want me to tell her to come over here?” he asked.

“Fuck off,” I laughed, angrily. “You know I don’t play well with others.” I forced my fingers to relax their tight grip on my drink before it shattered under all the pressure. I didn’t clearly understand why I was unable to keep my eyes off the woman, or why my body reacted the way it did to her, or why my gut feeling told me she was more than she appeared. I took another pull on my brandy.

My brother’s mouth opened to say something but thought better of it. He raked his hand through his hair and hung his head in his hands. “How have you been, really?” He mumbled into his hands.

I dropped my head from my line of vision of her. That’s it for the next six months, no, year…I was already fed up with people. And talking. Talking with people. Stupid people.

And who the hell cared about a freaking waitress?

Yeah, she was pretty in such a different way, and intriguing, so damn what.

Dealing with thoughts about her would end up like all my thoughts did, in sickening violence. I would need to find more words to match her beauty and somehow mar her fictional existence in my head with the exquisite release of her last breath, or possess her with demons, slaughter her by the hands of a delusional lover, disfigure her in a gruesome accident or something equally horrifying.

That’s how I deal with my issues. That’s how I deal with my anger and my rage. I live in a world of lies, fictitious characters I dream up and breathe life into, just to break, for the enjoyment of horror readers throughout the world. I wondered what lies this woman had told; what her story was, not that it mattered if she had one, I’d gladly make one up for her. Everyone was just a character to me. Each person was just another empty name I would put to paper and control with my whims, develop into people I wanted them to be. Complete and unconditional control.

I glanced my eyes over the waitress again.

For a small second, she looked fragile, a tilt forward of the head, the small slump of her shoulders and I wanted to protect her. But the thought was nonsense in my head. I wiped it away as fast as I thought it. Who would protect her from me?

Guzzling down the rest of my brandy like it was a cheap shot, I left the bar without even saying goodbye to my brother. He was used to my idiosyncrasies. I drove home wondering what color her eyes were, which is the single most asinine thought ever to cross my mind, so I cancelled any more thoughts of the woman. It wasn’t like I would ever see her again.

I stormed into my empty house, slamming the heavy wooden door behind me, locking myself away from the rest of the world and bring new meaning to the word recluse. I won’t lie to myself as others do and pretend I have any control over things. It’s easier to find and gain control if you stay in a very small space and let no one else in.

Yanking off my tie and jacket, I threw them over one of the leather chairs in my den and sat myself in front of my computer. I poured myself another brandy and sat it beside my keyboard, sipping at it slowly every so often to cherish the thick warm burn.

I brought up the screen to my work in progress and the last scene I was working on.

Words had always come easily to me. Violence and hate were in my veins. I was rage personified, and horror and malice were my only friends. We had lived together peacefully since I came to terms with being me. Yet, as I sat before my desk, with a bright white empty screen in front of me, cursor blinking and mocking me, I didn’t see the red of an award winning horror writer. All I saw was silky black liquid hair and pale pink lips.

Temptation.

Damn, this wasn’t going to be good for me.