Creative fun in
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Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Supernatural · #2174316
Watch who you call your lunch ticket, douchebag. Weird Tales, November entry
"If you keep it up, your face will stick like that forever."

I made faces in front of the mirror to apply my makeup. "Don't be jealous just because my last post got over 800 likes!" I called over my shoulder.

Cheryl smirked. "I have better things to do than duckface in front of my cameraphone documenting every detail of my life. No one cares what Jeff had for dinner yesterday, or which charity Sarah wants us to give to in lieu of birthday presents, or what new technique you're using to apply your eye makeup. It's all bullshit."

I fluttered my eyelashes. "Well it looks like 5,241 people care enough to view the bullshit of me applying my eye makeup. So suck it."

Cheryl laughed heartily. One of my favorite things about her was her ability to take it as well as she could dish it out.

"I don't want some weirdo stalking you, Kara. I especially don't want some weirdo stalking you while you live with me!"

"Noted. I'm guessing by the sweatpants and messy bun you're not coming to the club with me?"

"Nope. I'm in for the night, babe. PLEASE text me if you need me to come get you. Do NOT drive drunk and don't spend the money on an Uber, I'm right down the road, OK?"

"And you text me if you sink so far into that sofa that you can't get out, OK?" I blew her a kiss as I headed out the door. She laughed. I locked it behind me.

The drive to the club was short, but long enough that walking in club-worthy shoes wasn't an option.

The doorman greeted me warmly and opened the door.

Ahhh, the sacred space of electric nightlife. Those first steps in always made my stomach jump. You never know who's going to be there.

The night unfolded. It made me feel good to meet people who recognized me. ("I LOVE your tutorials on YouTube!")

A friend from the club strode across the dance floor arm in arm with a man whom I could only describe as dripping with self-importance.

"Kara! I've been looking for you!" she gushed. "This is Steven Sterling, he's a talent promoter for an agency in New York City! I told him ALL about your channel!"

I shook his hand, and we took our drinks and headed to a table by the bar to talk shop. Steven gestured to a server dodging dancers, artfully balancing a tray of empty stemware. She made her way to our table.

"Can you clear this table please?" Steven spat at her rudely. She looked at me incredulously, all I could do was shrug and apologize with my eyeballs. "Sure. I'll be right back," she replied curtly.

We sat, and Steven regaled me with stories of lucrative contracts with huge companies he had arranged for high profile clients. "YOU WOULDN'T BELIEVE THE MONEY THESE COMPANIES WILL PAY FOR PRODUCT ENDORSEMENTS FROM A PRETTY FACE!" He shouted into my year over the booming noise of the packed club. "WE OBVIOUSLY NEED TO DISCUSS HOW WE'RE GONNA MAKE YOU RICH, LET'S HEAD TO MY PLACE."

His place was the entire top floor of an enormous brownstone located two blocks from the club.

He poured a glass of red wine from a crystal decanter and handed it to me. "Aren't you going to have one too?" I asked innocently. "I hate to drink alone."

"I prefer whisky," he smiled.

We sat on an expensive microsuede sofa. He watched like a kid on Christmas morning as I finished the entire glass. He actually thought I had no idea what he had put in it. Moron.

He bragged about clients he had made into household names. They were all young, beautiful, and most likely filthy rich by now. His specialty was aspiring personalities in the beauty industry.

"Go figure," I thought to myself.

He rambled on, watching me for signs of intoxication. He checked his watch, looking increasingly puzzled. The GHB he had put in my wine wasn't kicking in. He brought me another.

God he was tedious, but I was in it to win it. "Contract, man. Tell me about my contract!" I thought desperately.

"You're gonna be a huge star," he crooned, moving closer. He twirled my hair with his fingers. "You have such amazing bone structure. You'll have to drop twenty pounds of course and probably get some injections for your lips, but that face is my lunch ticket for sure," he caressed my neck, then pulled me in to kiss me.

I smiled and moved to nibble his ear. "You just said the wrong thing."

He made a gurgling sound and tried to struggle when my fangs sank into his throat. The spray of blood reminded me of a shaken soda can.

I later regretted not taking a selfie next to his bloody corpse with that stupid look on his paralyzed face. The effect of the venom is immediate and leaves my prey completely incapacitated.

It didn't take long to cocoon his body, he wasn't a very large man. It took even less time to liquefy his innards and consume them.

I placed the wine glass I had been drinking from carefully in my handbag. Another to add to my collection. "Another notch in my belt," I thought, amused.

When I got home, Cheryl was dozing on the sofa. Her movie had long since ended and some infomercial about botox was offending the living room. I turned off the TV.

Cheryl woke with a start. "Kara! Where have you been? I tried texting but you didn't reply, I was worried!"

A wave of affection overtook me. She was such a good friend.

"My phone was on silent, sorry. Believe me, you really don't have to worry about me, OK?"

"I do anyway! There are monsters out there dressed up like normal people, I swear..." Cheryl sat up, stretching her arms.

"Don't I know it, sister."

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