Lovely: Calla's StoryMature


This is how it began.

It could have been any night, anywhere in the world. I'd been all over, and if there was one thing I was certain of, it was that the stars always looked the same. It made it easier, somehow.

I was alone at the bar, sipping champagne and nervously crossing and uncrossing my legs. I wore a black dress with a lace hem, a mixture of innocent demure and an edge of viciousness. Though I was neither, really.

"I cant imagine who would have tried to ban this," I muttered, perhaps to the bartender but mostly to myself. I'd seen the days of Prohibition through, danced on bars and laughed wildly with the flappers. I'd be in all the speakeasies, dined with the royalty of the criminals.

But that had been years ago, and those days were long gone. New tragedies had struck the grand old city of New York. And still I was here, no younger but certainly no older. Just the same girl, a bit too skinny, with hair a bit too blonde and eyes much too wide for all the terrors I had seen.

"Excuse me, Miss." The voice appeared suddenly as a man eased himself up onto the bar stool next to me. He looked to be about twenty five or so, with curling, dark hair and eyes that moved so nicely over my body. "I cant help but notice you're alone, and no girl so beautiful as you should have to be by herself on a friday night."

I offered him a gentle smile. "Well, thank you, sir," I replied. "You're too kind."

"And you're much too lovely," he returned playfully. I turned in my chair to face him full on, angling my body in towards him ever so slightly. The poor boy didnt stand a chance; as he raked his eyes over me, I could feel the twinge deep within me. The one begging for the feel of skin against skin. For the taste of lips upon my own.

I was not made to love. I was only made to kill. To destroy. To lie and con and steal what I wanted. What I needed.

"I want to kiss you," I said quietly, in a hoarse whisper. What I meant was, I want to kill you.

He offered me up a dark smile. "We shall see about that," he answered me, before turning away to face the bar. A moment later, however, his fingers lingered slightly upon my thigh, just at the place where the dress met bare skin.

Poor boy indeed.

The End

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