I am uncertain whether Cheryl is sorrowful or frustrated.
I affirm heedfully, "It's just how things are, it's not up to me. You're the only one who can tell me about your book."
The flames of the candles are reflected as green sparks in her eyes and they illuminate her mildly glossy garnet lips.
The breath-taking woman demands, "What do you think is my title? What am I?"
I ponder over what sounds like a riddle, smiling thoughtfully. If she is challenging me, she cannot be terribly insulted.
"Well, you're... Fascinating."
My answer is calm and showcases my honesty.
The strip club manager suddenly clutches the kryptonite pendant of her necklace, leering at me, her emerald eyes smoldering and glimmering.
She presses me on, violently twisting her necklace between her fingers with every frantic request. "What else? What am I? What do you believe I am? Say it."
Her vivid dismay and incongruent motivations are making me hesitate. However, her stance, leaning over the table with one hand grasping at her necklace, is begging me to speak with candor.
"You're an addict."
My sentence is firm.
My friend lets go of her jewelry, it dangles from her neck as she approaches me, bent over the table. Both of her arms now support her, propped on the surface.
"Is that so?" she mutters.
Her gaze is drilling into mine, insistent and wonderstruck.
"And you know it hurts me to see you do this to yourself. Even if I'm the only person in your life who cares."
Cheryl simply nods at my heartfelt remark.
"That, you are... My cute little health nut. Your concern is touching, but pointless."
"Why?"
She backs away, settling in her chair once more. "Because there's a bottle on the cover of my book."
I am beginning to hate that metaphor.
The woman gobbles down her glass of wine so abruptly and with such carelessness that the red liquid trickles down the corners of her mouth. I watch, aghast, the alcohol dripping down her slender neck as she clenches both of her hands tighter around the receptacle. Half-gasping, half-moaning, she slams the glass down onto the table. I am unsure if she is panting with a grin on her face or laughing under her breath, but her thought is clear.
/... and wine stained tears on every page./
I diligently keep eating, finishing my plate. Meanwhile, my former patient is licking her lips, before she commands our used dishes to telekinetically recover their position on the cart. From the lower level of said-cart, she acquires a pack of cigarettes. Squiggly hearts have been traced badly with ruby red paint all over the small cardboard box. My friend's thin fingers extirpate the last cigarette from the packet, and she tosses the empty box to her left. My eyes are unequivocally drawn to her. She languorously inserts the cigarette between her lips, tilting her upper body towards the closest candle. Then, she lights the poisonous stick with its flame, backing away to blow out a controlled spiral of gray smoke. She fans the ashes and particles of tobacco away from us in the air, with her free hand.
"You could be a honey bee, Tanza. Did you know worker bees are neuter?" she teases me, her intonation soft.
"What?"
YOU ARE READING
Fascinating Villains
Action[ONGOING] "You're delusional. I should've seen it before..." ~~~~~~~ Tanza is an agender paramedic. They rely solely on themselves, and the last thing they need is for an incredibly attractive supervillain to disturb their (relatively) quiet existen...
