"That's it, baby," he continues, his tone almost soothing, despite the filth spilling from his lips. "Take my cock. Take all of it."
Baby.
My belly flutters, my heart soaring like a fool even though I know it's a runaway utterance. A thoughtless spi...
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Day 6
"Oh, my God, Trix, you've been at this for over an hour! Just pick one, already!" I admonish, my tone mirroring my exasperation.
My hands and feet drum and tap at whatever surfaces they can find, more fidgety than I can remember them ever being.
We're surrounded by a myriad of costumes, practically swimming in piles and piles of various outfits, accessories, and cosplay attire. There are all types of costumes—from various Marvel and DC superheroes, to milkmaids and leprechauns, to Disney characters, all the way to generic ones like cop and sailor outfits.
The place is literally littered with them. Some are hanging off racks and flimsy hangers, while others are still displayed in their rectangular packages—quite a few of which are halfway ripped from their plastic casings.
It's officially Halloween.
I really don't care for the day. Actually, I take that back. It's too much of an understatement. The truth is I absolutely loath Halloween.
As a matter of fact, I've hated it ever since some douche-bag in a Freddy Krueger costume thought it would be funny to scare me shitless when I went trick-or-treating at the tender age of eight. I was so scared that I'd actually pissed myself!
Yeah. It was that bad.
Needless to say, my costume got ruined, and my fellow trick-or-treaters wasted no time in turning up their noses at me and my piss-drenched outfit. I was devastated. My highly-anticipated Halloween was totally ruined within moments, and by no fault of my own—even if it technically was my piss leaving my bladder.
I mean, come on, what kind of sadistic asshat gets off on scaring eight-year-olds to the point of pissing themselves? As it was, my annual hunt for free candy got cut short and subsequently came to a permanent close.
So, yeah. That was it for me. Halloween and I had officially parted ways—with a brand new, piss-drenched Strawberry Shortcake costume to commemorate our separation—and we have not crossed paths ever since.
Until now.
Since I don't normally celebrate Halloween any more, I'd usually just work that night, and if not, I'd opt to stay indoors, eat candy that I got for free or on sale, and listen to Beethoven on repeat.
But I can't do that this year.
As much as I hate Halloween, I can't bear to be by myself, cooped up in my apartment all alone. Not tonight. Not when I have a million and one unsettling thoughts racing through my head—thoughts that all begin and end with a single person:
