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Rated: E · Short Story · Dark · #2193791
I wrote this story in my contemporary literature class to work on story writing skills.
An orangey-red haze flicked through the air as she turned around. We locked eyes. “Hey, I’m Meg. It’s nice to meet you,” she said as she extended her hand out for me to shake. I could tell that the embrace of my trembling hand complemented her beautiful appearance. “Anders, nice to meet you,” I said in a shaking tone. As I grabbed sight of her emerald green eyes, I found myself in an impressionable trance. Nothing at that moment could convince me that this glimmering, clear lake could be ruined by pollution. “Are you feeling alright?” she asked, pulling me back to the surface. “Sorry, I was just really distracted by the light. Your eyes reminded me of emeralds.” She giggled shyly at my attempt to impress her.
A natural impulse overtook us both as we headed to a booth as if it had a large, neon arrow sign pointing us in its direction. We fell into the ombre blue, leather finished seat. The long, black table made her feel as if she was now standing across that lake, apart from me, her cautious approach. I could tell by the way that she stayed silent while she stared at me that it had been a while since her last first date. My guess was at least a year. I broke the silence. “What kind of things do you find yourself doing when you're not on dates with guys from tinder?”. I think she took this less like a joke and more like a stab at her gentle persona. I laughed to comfort the awkward vibe I had just created.
“Do you like makeup? It really looks like you do, considering how well it is complimenting your eyes right now.” I asked. “I think makeup is just about the only thing I’m good at besides dancing” She laughed at herself. My eye contact became a cue for her to continue. “I used to dance in High School, I guess you can say I lost the motivation. Now I sit in my room making makeup video for the internet.” “Oh, really. You’re a YouTuber?” I asked. “Well, I wouldn’t say that. The most views I’ve ever got was 2.5K. I guess you can say my college psychology class is supportive.” She smiled at the thought. “So what you’re saying is you are in a class of 2.5K students?” She laughed at my implied stupidity. “No, silly. They just watched my video enough to get it in the recommended column.
An attractive man, around my age, approaches our table with a confused look upon his face. Nervously, he proceeds to take our order. It’s as if he’s trying to keep his cool. And then snap. I see his face change into a deeply rooted grimace. “Amanda?” I look at Meg in confusion. We lock eye contact. Her face is beet red. “Amanda?” I asked. The waiter starts yelling at her. “Amanda, who the heck is this?” “Is this a date?” “Are you seriously on a date right now?” It doesn’t stop. Assuming this is her boyfriend, I grab my things and leave.
3 months later, as I’m scrolling through my Facebook feed, a message request from Amanda Hill appears on my phone. Is this is Meg’s real name? I go back to the night of our first date. I hear the waiter calling her Amanda. Envisioning the look on my face, the screaming plays like a soundtrack in the background. I see her face. She must have felt caught, like a deer in the headlights. An overwhelming feeling of disgust overcomes me. I see her face in my mind. I split it, just as she did to her identity. I leave my phone in its indent on my polka-dotted blanket. I reassure myself, it’s for the best.
My mind slips back to the thoughts I had before I knew, unraveling her lies. After the date, I’d been feeling used, betrayed, and even dirty. I had almost been used as a weapon against the person who had loved her. She called me later that night. “Hey,” she said. I left her message alone. “I’m sorry for what you’d seen earlier. That guy is my ex. I know he called me Amanda and that’s probably strange to you. I changed my name after breaking up with him. Can we talk? I’d really like to explain.” She responded. There was something unsettling about the whole situation. I couldn’t bring myself to believe her. My gut just wouldn’t agree with her story.
A simple date, in hopes of finding the girl I’d devote myself to, resulted in a completely different array of events. Instead of devoting myself to someone, I devoted myself to running away from her. This girl and her “ex” were on the news. She wasn’t the only one with a changed name. They were being referred to as “The Date Trap”. The plan had fallen into place just as the newscasters had explained. First, she lures you on to a date through Dating Apps. Then she takes you on a date where the waiter makes her look threatened. At this point, I was supposed to protect her. After gaining her victim’s trust and manipulating them into protecting her, she takes them home. At home she continues to manipulate her victims by fulfilling their sexual desires, stalling long enough for the man to get home and take control. The man’s job was to lock up the dates in their own cell until he believed they were ready to be shipped off and sold as slaves across the world.
After 3 months, I was thankful for my instincts being so in tune, but I was scared of how I would run away. The cops may have known her intentions, but they were unaware of her location. There is a possibility that they might still be in the area. Even with my police report filed, they couldn’t predict her whereabouts. Even in hiding, she found a way to text me. Every message that she’d sent me solidified my thought that she still considered me her next victim. I would not allow myself to be preyed on like some animal. I knew I only had two options left, stay put and risk her finding me, or run. And so here goes the beginning of the end. I will not be her victim.
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