Fascinating Villains

{7} - Kind

Two supernatural-evoking, sparkling green emeralds, profoundly anchored to me. Cheryl's clone is grinning mischievously, nonchalantly supporting her whole body with her right side propped against the bar.

"You look like you've just seen a ghost, savior." The young woman smiles, before sending beer down her throat from the amber bottle she is holding. She licks her lower lip and adds: "Tanza, right?"

The quick interaction felt like a full half-hour of slow-motion actions, flooded in flashing lights. I am... Speechless. She is breath-taking, figuratively and literally.

"You."

That is all I can manage to gasp out, with my breath hitched in the back of my trachea. I want to watch the details of her face and make sure it is her, but my eyes are fixated on her stomach. Toned, smooth, fair, without the slightest scratch or the tiniest stitch. The orangey lighting is dim, but there is no lack of lighting in this world that could hide the damage she underwent yesterday. Her mid-section was ripped to shreds.

"Cheryl," she specifies.

My pupils whip upwards and I open my mouth, unsure about what to say. Instead of speaking, I swallow nervously and observe as she casually sips on her beer. Not even a minor scar is visible on the skin of her face or upper body, although it was scathed by shards of glass less than 30 hours ago.

I blurt out, "How?"

My tone was slightly aggressive, but mostly disbelieving. What's the catch? This is... Impossible. It logically, simply, cannot be her.

"What?" she innocently inquires, smirking furthermore.

I snicker skeptically, before asking her, straightforwardly:

"Are you wearing some kind of prosthesis to cover up your scars?"

"You don't beat around the bush, do you? I respect that."

Her wide smile is contagious, but I keep my composure.

"You're also a terrific paramedic... Clearly," she says, finishing her idea.

"And you're a terrific comedian," I reply, amused.

Obviously, she must be wearing some type of expensive and insanely well-crafted prosthesis... It does not really matter, though, and I do not need her to admit it to me. Instead, I prepare myself to investigate her, in all subtlety, of course.

The young woman sets her bottle down on the bar, telling me: "Not far off, actually... I'm an entertainer." She pushes herself off the surface, stepping a tad closer to me in her high heels.

"Yeah? What do you do specifically?"

A playful smirk molds her blood red lips. "I'm interested in many media. I sing, dance... And, just in case that's what you were tryna ask me..." She bites her lower lip briefly and leans in to say, standing three or four feet away from me: "I'm not a stripper."

I laugh, startled, and she joins me. I hope my face is not flushed, even though I can feel my cheeks heating up. I tell her, still chuckling: "I swear, that's not what I meant at all..."

It was.

"Don't worry, I'm not easily offended." She picks her bottle of beer up, sipping from it briefly. "Hey, do you wanna find someplace more quiet? I can barely hear myself talk and I know of some soundproof spots around here."

Her charming smile is very convincing, and I suspect she may be more interesting and useful to me than anyone else here, anyway. Therefore, I nod, grinning at my ex-patient.

"Sure, that'd be great."

"Great," she affirms, with a voice that seems slightly too sultry for my taste.