Six: Romantic Getaway
Missy awoke from darkness to darkness. It was so closely packed around her that she could not breathe and for a moment her disorientation was complete. She was spinning. In a panic, she glanced around and her eyes fell upon the unfamiliar green clock radio. Its very unfamiliarity jogged her memory and with a snap, darkness took on the shape of the suite at the Rialto Hotel.
She sighed and reached out her left hand to the bedside table. Her fingers found the switch to the lamp and a soft glow filled her corner of the room. She stared at the ceiling, feeling her heart rate slow back to normal. Again, her hand reached out and found her pack of cigarettes. She brought them to her chest and extracted one, tossing the pack back on the table and reaching for her lighter. She couldn’t find it. A sigh of exasperation and she levered herself up on one elbow, looking for the damn thing. She froze.
In the bed beside her lay a piece of meat in the shape of a man. It had once been alive, but its resemblance to human features was so vague as to be considered coincidental. Blood covered the sheets and slicked the raw flesh of what could once have been a face. What may have been a mouth gaped, and where a tongue could have been, the suggestion of a mouth gaped empty.
Missy’s eyes traveled up and down the lump in the sheets beside her, before moving back to the bedside table. Her lighter had migrated to the farthest edge and was in danger of falling behind the table. She snatched it and lit her cigarette, inhaling deeply before turning her head to gaze again at what was beside her. A vein was throbbing in her neck and her cheeks were flaming red, otherwise she appeared unperturbed. She was, in fact, contemplating the logistics which went into the manufacture of her cigarette, because if she didn’t think about something mundane, then she would have to think about what Princess had done…
The knock at the door brought an avalanche of memory to her, stopping Missy in mid-smoke. She had originally come to this swanky place for an evening of physical intimacy with the man she was currently seeing. She had come here early to wait for him, and she had somehow lost track of the time. Now it was later, and Dennis Nelson was knocking at the door, likely with a bouquet of flowers in his hand.
“Hey, it’s Denny,” the knock again. “You there, Miss?”
She stood up, stuck the smoke in her mouth, and swirled one of the Rialto’s white fuzzy bathrobes around herself before shutting the light off. Stopping at the mirror beside the door to the suite, she snapped the light on, leaving the rest of the suite in darkness. Taking a look at herself, she pulled the opening to her robe farther apart, down to the navel, then past it.
“Coming, baby,” Princess said, and answered the door.
Dennis Nelson stood at the door, a bouquet of cheap gas station flowers in his hand, a growing rod in his pants. Missy never said come over and bone, but he knew what it meant when she invited him to a hotel room to Netflix and chill. Sometimes they even watched Netflix.
The door swung open and Missy stood there, a fluffy white bathrobe open to the sash with a salacious grin on her face. “Hey.”
Dennis grinned. “Hey baby, these are for you.” He held out the flowers.
She took them, buried her face in them, inhaled deeply. “Mmm.” She looked at him. “They smell as good as I bet you taste.”
He blinked. “Uh, I—”
“Come in,” she said and yanked him across the threshold. Before the door snapped shut behind him, she was forcing her tongue down his throat as she rubbed his crotch.
“Whoa, Miss—” Dennis attempted to say around her tongue, vaguely wondering why he was complaining. “You okay?”
“I’m drunk,” she purred in his ear, chewing on his lobe. “You should be too.”
He chuckled, sliding his hands up her sides toward her breasts. “Okay, honey, where’s the booze?”
She kissed him, hard, and shoved him against the wall. “You stay right there, and I’ll get you some.” She went behind the bar in the first room of the suite and he heard the clink of glass and the swish of liquor in the gloom.
“This is a nice place, baby,” he said, surreptitiously adjusting himself. “You been here before?”
There was a crunching sound as she replied, “No, I just looked for the nicest place I could find, just to show you how much I appreciate you.” She smiled as she came around the bar holding two cups half full of brown liquid which reeked of whiskey. She handed one to him and tapped the rim of hers against his. “Cheers.”
He was touched and downed his glass, barely noticing the gritty substance clinging to the bottom of the cup as she did the same before launching herself onto him and kissing him with such force his lips felt bruised against his teeth. He had never known her to be so aggressive.
“I want you,” she growled in his ear as she steered him back into the darkness.
He tried to reciprocate but her tongue was down his throat again and all he could do was try to breathe until his feet stopped moving and he was tossed onto what felt like a wet sticky mattress. The sheets stuck to his skin as she crawled on top of him, shedding the bathrobe as she did. He tried to reach up and to her breasts but found his hands were moving in slow motion, and only with the greatest of effort.
“Mi…ss…y,” he said, his jaw feeling as though it weighed a thousand pounds. She laughed as she pushed his hands down to his sides.
“What makes you think you are speaking to Missy?” she hissed in his ear, biting it hard this time. A cry of pain escaped his locked jaw and his eyes bulged in terror as she straightened up, blood from his ear dripping down her chin.
“Welcome to the party,” Princess said and turned on the bedside lamp again. Dennis screamed, his rolling eyes taking in the gore-soaked sheets on which he was pinned and the body-shaped mass of flesh which once had been a breathing human being which lay beside him. His screams were muffled when Princess pressed her lips to his once again as she lifted the scalpel she had bought on Amazon to his face and began cutting.