My Last Supper

E I G H T

I begin to protest as my mother gives a small smirk while pushing me out the door, but as I fall into the arms of the tree-like man, I instantly praise God for everything in my life that has led me up to this point. If all of the boys have such strong grips as this guy does, I think I'll be able to find other outlets to deal with all of the pent-up frustration that comes with living as fucking pathetic of a life as I do. Maybe this won't be so bad, anyways. I sure as fuck won't miss being forced to constantly clean up my backyard. How can someone expect me to pick up animal shit when I can't even get my own shit together? If only she knew that defending me in court was going to be a lost cause. Now that I think about it, she probably would've been able to cope with that knowledge considering that for the past 16 years, she's been tolerating the fattest lost cause known to this shithole of a species.

The fine ass concierge leads me into the ostentatious vehicle and I begin to wonder what the men will look like. Hopefully they're as tall as this tree over here. The short one unfortunately sits in the back with me to make sure I don't pull any shit, while the fine man in the front steers us to the destination.

"So, how did you get into this occupation?" I ask the mysterious man, trying to break the tension. He simply glances at my fat face with a dissatisfied look, and then puts his attention back on the side of the limo. Fine, bitch. Be that way.

"If you open your disgusting little mouth one more time, I will kill you with the handheld gun I have in the pocket of my jacket." He spoke with a thicc Russian accent. It was at that moment that I decided to test his words and present to him the sad excuse of an anecdote that has been my existence. Shortly after I began the saga, he held up his hand and said, "Stop this. I would kill you, but I think that letting you continue to live in the hellhole that is your life would be a much better punishment." Boy was he fucking right on that one. All I wanted to do was to see the newest love of my life driving in the front seat. I was tempted to ask the small Russian man if they could swap places, but not only was I now even more saddened and frightened, but I was also unsure as to whether his stubby legs could reach the pedals.

After a few more minutes of unrelenting discomfort, I discovered that if I rested my head against the window and pretended to be truly distraught about what was happening to me, I could actually get the perfect view of the spicy man's face in the side mirror. Was he traditionally attractive? God no. Was I absolutely obsessed with him? I don't think I've ever met a man that I couldn't settle for. Now that I think about it, perhaps developing some basic standards in regards to my lovers would have been a good idea. First I had a fucking (sexy) psychopath, followed by a pathetic whiny little bitch named Cap or something who, at the age of 22, still doesn't know the difference between the female sexual anatomy and the inside of an apple that his fucking mommy peeled the skin off of. I was broken out of that depressing daydream (nightmare) when the driver looked at me in the rearview mirror and said, "Stop drooling. You're ugly as shit, hoe" Did he just call me a hoe? Well, to be honest, I would be a hoe for him. Yeah, I fucking like that shit.

Ten more minutes passed before the sexy man in front announced that we were about to arrive at our destination. "Five minutes, bitch. Stop getting tears on the upholstery."

I looked down at my sodden lap and realized that I got my tears all over the seat with my depressed ass. I didn't even know I was crying. Now that I think about it, this might be the first time I've ever cried. Tears of joy, perhaps? I'll have to see how well my forbidden relationship goes with the handy man.

The vehicle halted its movements, and I looked forward to the moment when the man in front came outside and opened my door. Yet my dreams were shattered when the Russian man opened the door, grabbed me by my ratty hair, and whipped me outside. Landing right on my ass, I discovered that my will to live was at an All Time Low.

The three of us walked towards the entrance of the enormous house, and me and my fat ass were having a hard time keeping up with their warp-speed ass pace. "Can you slow down? I haven't walked more than half a mile in three years." I managed to breathe out.

The shorter man, unfortunately, turned around. "Little girl, I warned you twice on our journey here. Now, you must face the consequences. Now, due to your incompetence, I will be notifying Sir Hemmings about these stunts you've pulled. You will be very sorry." He turned back towards the mansion and continued walking. I noticed handy man a few feet in front of me carrying my bags in his sturdy, manly, veiny hands. I nearly fainted. In fact, I did.

I wake up under a heavy comforter. Wherems't the fuck am I? Peeling off the decorative quilt, I step onto the hardwood flooring and creep towards the door. Suddenly, I hear a low, attractive voice from behind me. "No, babe. Come back to bed." I turn around and spot a very, very tall, burly man in bed, shirtless.

"Who... are you?" I ask, both afraid and excited for the answer.

"That's not important, baby. What is important is you not going outside of that door."

I was in a pickle. I didn't want to leave this beautiful specimen in the bed, but I was also in a completely unfamiliar mansion with several other ~men~ that I had to meet. I grabbed the door handle.

"Don't. Leave. The. Room."