What? What the fuck did he just say?
'Excuse me?' It's bitter outside and that's not helping, my fingers are stinging and my temper is rising. That prick. Who does he think he is? Look at him, narrowing his eyes and looking more smug than a conservative on payday. Explain yourself to me, boy.
'Well, I know your type-'
'My type?' I interrupt abruptly 'What exactly do you mean by my type?'
I'm trying desperately to keep my cool here but it's not working. I want to nub my menthol in his chest. I'm a fucking Goddess to fools such as him. Should count his lucky stars the jack ass.
'Can I finish?' He turns sterile.
Think he's reading my face a little too much. Think I'm setting off a little too much. Think this whole situation in general, is well, a little too much. Why do I care? I get called a slut on a daily basis. I get wolf whistles and bites from teenage boys lips all directed at me. I am the queen bee. Fucking 'cougar'. I nod anyway, breaking the pattern of thought here. Can't be falling too far behind in the game.
'A cougar is an mature, sensual, supple madame who preys on younger men for sex.
She's an animal, she has a thirst that cannot be quenched by nothing other than
hot...' he pauses
'young...' and again
'fresh...' Oh fuck
He emphasized the letters on every word there, darkened it by the tone of his voice. I'm wet. I feel it surge, I feel the bottom of my tummy clench and the delicious twinges I can't contain within myself make my toes clench up and I drop my menthol. Bastard. He's winning. He's playing. I wanna play too. I never lose. I can't lose. I lack the ability to accept loss. I can't handle it. I'd rather chew a used condom. Here's the thing about me, kiddos. I'm not exactly normal. Well, fuck those lose ends of description, but you get what I mean. I'm pretty malicious. A little sadistic. I enjoy the bitter ends of this life, I crave the tang in my mouth from last nights regret. I'm not saying I want that mad party animal life style but what I am saying is that I need destruction in my life. I'm like joker to batman. He needs chaos to live, he needs batman to have importance, batman needs joker just as much and vice versa. Without it I don't really have anything other than a lot of money. Family inheritance, few investments, it mounts up on its own, but the daily drone is dull. I swear I won't die a boring old fucker, y'know? I'm gonna eventually die and if I'm too much of a pussy to do it at my own hand then fuck it, die via heart attack in the arms of a hunked, sex object or between two Amsterdam orientated lesbians. Swing both ways,get the shots in two sides, two birds with one stone. I'm rambling. It's the coke. I need to lay off that shit. I'd be a pretty good joker though. Could get the laugh spot on.
I've just realized that I didn't reply to him. Been sat here staring at my burned out cigarette, dead on the concrete. Tonight isn't the night. I'm not feeling up to it. I don't like this, this is new and this is tormenting. I want to go home. I want my bed. Fuck this guy. What the fuck is wrong with me? No, what the fuck is wrong with him? Fishing out my phone now, calling a taxi.
'Something wrong?' it creeps on to my shoulders, his voice is like an alleyway.
'Yeah, no it's just fucking freezing, I'm impatient.' I lie. Something's happening. There's a swollen feeling in my chest and my heart is beating a thousand beats per minute, I feel like an acne cartoon.