Dark Passenger ~ Chris Cerulli Fan Fiction *Short Story* {Completed}

Part 1

Chapter One

Coffee

Katrina's Point Of View...

Fuck, it's cold! I thought miserably, stamping my feet in my high-heeled leather boots and wrapping my arms around myself, trying to retain some warmth.

It wasn't easy in my current outfit: knee-high boots, black fish-net stockings with holes in them, a skin-tight red leather-look mini skirt, black bandeau top and a black faux-fur coat.

My red hand-bag, carrying a nearly empty mini bottle of brandy, some condoms and a can of pepper spray and a switch-blade hung off one shoulder. The money I'd earned tonight was tucked into the boots that never came off, and I was just waiting to go back home. Please God just let this night be over quick!

Just as two a.m. struck and I sighed in relief at the fact I was only making myself stay til half past, a sleek black car with tinted windows pulled up, making my heart sink.

I recognised the car; whoever drove it had been trawling the street for a week now, never picking anyone up but clearly looking, and when that happened...you knew what they wanted wasn't going to be good.

It never was, not with people spent that much time deciding on which hooker they were going to use.

The acts they wanted were either something so taboo that they were wary of asking someone who dealt in sex to perform them, or the driver was possibly a murderer (it'd happened, and I'd known the girl, poor thing) or they were cops.

Either way, the outcome wasn't going to be good for which ever girl they picked up.

And just as I thought that: the car pulled to a stop in front of me. I looked around, seeing that all the other girls were either busy or had gone home. I was on my own, with no witnesses to what was about to happen.

Fuck.

All the same, when the driver rolled down the window, I approached the car - albeit a little warily - with a perfect fake-smile:

"Hey, gorgeous, what you after?" I purred.

"Just some of your time." said a familiar man's voice, although the man's face was shrouded in shadows, leaving me unable to get a good look at him to see if I knew him.

"Well, sweetheart, my time's expensive. Can you afford me?" I told him, trying to put him off picking me up tonight of all nights at two a.m..

I wanted to go home.

"I'm sure I can handle it." he remarked dryly, and I bit back a disappointed sigh. He was clearly determined to pick up a girl tonight, and I needed the money. In the end, there was no real choice to be made.

I opened the door and slid into the car as gracefully as possible, making sure to keep the right happy-yet-confident-and-sexy expression on my face so I knew I'd have a higher chance of being tipped tonight. I might was well get as much as I could out of this.

"You...you don't have to...do this if you don't want to." came the hesitant statement from the man still shrouded in shadow.

"Now sweetheart, what gave you that idea?" I purred, like he was being ridiculous rather than astute.

"The fact you sighed when I pulled up, the fake tone to your voice, the forced expression - "

"Okay, thank you." I said, dropping the 'sexy' voice and reverting back to my normal one: "No, I can't say I was particularly enthused, but it's my job and I need the money, so yes: I do want to do this. Whatever 'this' is."

"I'm...I'm sorry."

"Sorry." I sighed: "It's two a.m., it's freezing out there and I haven't had the best of nights...I also have no idea why I said all of that."

"Because you're tired?"

"Probably." I said, resisting the urge to yawn; yawning was not at all attractive.

"...Do you want to go to Starbucks?"

"We'd get arrested." I commented dryly: "Although if that's your thing, then I know a park that no-one will report us in."

"No! I just meant for coffee." he exclaimed, sitting straight suddenly, throwing his face into the light of the street-lamp.

A very familiar face...the face of Chris Cerulli.

The lead singer of one of my favourite bands.

Fuck. Again.

Why on earth was Chris Cerulli, lead singer of Motionless In White, a band who were pretty famous and doing well financially from the expensive car we were currently sitting in, picking up whores on street corners?

It was actually I little...disappointing, I guessed.

I despised many of the men who picked up girls like me more than I hated me and girls like me. They were usually filthy, disgusted perverts who were verbally abusive more often than not and sometimes even physically so.

But I wasn't saying Chris was like that, I mean: hopefully he wasn't (I mean...I really, really hoped he wasn't) but...I didn't know that he wasn't, and I could only go on what I knew.

The very fact he was here made me worried he was like seventy percent of the men who picked me up.

Disgusting.

Tiring.

Perverts

"...You do know I'm a hooker, right? Not your date?" I asked, honestly confused about why this man (out of all the of all men walking this world) was offering to take me for coffee at a ridiculously early hour of the morning.

I was a prostitute. I got fucked for money, either in hotel rooms, or back-alleys, or wherever my clients preferred to do that kind of thing, so long as I wasn't going to get arrested. No-one (at least not any of my clients - ever) had ever asked me to go to Starbucks with them, however welcome the offer would have been

And it was a very nice offer I would be more than happy to accept...I just wasn't sure if this guy knew how getting a prostitute worked.

"Yeah, I do...when I said I wanted your time, I literally meant just that: I want to hang out. Not fuck."

I finally clocked on: he was taking the piss. I hated it when they did this, it was so fucking annoying. I could have had an actual paying client, and instead I was stuck with this joker.

"Ha ha, very funny. Now unless you're paying me, I'm leaving."

"No! No, really: I'll pay you, but I just want someone to talk to."

"Oh, really?" I said disbelievingly.

"Really." he promised. I was still skeptical, but...it did sound like a nice offer. It would be so nice to not just lie down, get fucked and leaving. And I did really want a coffee...and it was autumn now, so Starbucks were doing all their pumpkin stuff. Oh, and then there was hot chocolate...

"Fine." I nodded, "Lets go."

Even through the shadows, I could see the guy smile: "Thank you."

"Yeah, yeah. Let's just go." I grumbled darkly, hearing him chuckle quietly from next to me as he put the car into gear and drove off, turning the heater up slightly as he did. The action was sweet, and I noticed and appreciated that, I really did, but I just really hoped I wasn't making a bad decision.

If I ended up murdered, I was going to be so pissed off.