"What's your name sweetie?" he asked. His eyes bright were laced with intentions of which I wasn't going to stay around to find out.
"It's Jessica." I flashed him a smile small enough for me to stomach, but big enough to please him.
He slid his hand down my side and to my waist, without hesitation, I grabbed it and yanked it off of me. I pulled him in closer, the touch of his body against mine repulsed me, my skin crawled, but he needed to get the point.
"You touch me one more time and I'm going to rip your fucking balls off and force feed them to you sweetie." I snarled in his ear and pushed him off of me.
He staggered back a few steps taking in my words of warning. He looked up at me with his eyes now coated dull, his mouth still open with shock. I guess he wouldn't have expected such harsh words from an innocent girl like me, but then again who would?
"Why are you still here?" I hissed at him.
He took his feet and walked away with haste down the rain soaked street. The streetlights lit up my view of him as I kept my eyes on him, making sure he had gotten the fucking point.
I bounced myself off the brick wall with my foot and walked carefully in my Mary Jane heels on the pavement. I entered the pub again, it was perfectly English; decorated with textured red wallpaper, green leather stools and gold accents, it's probably been the same way since the 70's.
I sat on my grey coat, which was draped over the dark wood stool at the bar. It was where I sat before he had rudely interrupted me. My long chestnut hair flowed down to my waist, my make-up, nude with red lips, was just the right balance of innocence and danger. I bounced my finger tips on the sticky wood of the bar as I listened to the chatter around me.
To my right sat a man who seemed to be one of the locals, he greeted everyone like they were his own family. He was bald apart from a strip that circled the back of his head. If this was America, he would have had one of those silly little wigs to cover the bald patch. He was wearing an out-of-date England football shirt and Adidas shorts, like every middle aged man when England plays a friendly.
To my left, a guy dressed up in a suit sat, sipping his house whisky with a lime on the side. Notorious for being a finicky fucker, he made the barmaid re-make his drink three times. Honestly, I would have just poured it over his head and told him to get the fuck out already, but I'm glad she didn't. He was my target after all.
A/N: So basically I'm trying something knew and I wanted to know what you all thought?
YOU ARE READING
JESSICA
General FictionShe wears flower dresses and paints her lips red, but she's not who you think she is.