Kill Me

by Alex Owens

  I sighed and tossed the phone on the worn table.

  I’d been wrong to blame all of our troubles on Pete losing his job though, I could see that now. We’d gotten complacent, lazy even, and started leading our own lives long before then. It had made us weak as a unit and at the first bout of trouble the cracks had widened into a canyon.

  I finished off my beer in two swallows and signaled the waitress for another round, one more to still the thoughts bouncing around in my head. Then I’d head up to my room and sleep it off. I had another full day of work ahead and even though I’d landed the account earlier, I still had other companies to court.

  The waitress brought my beer over quickly. I made a mental note to tip her well because despite being slammed, she was attentive and friendly. I’d been a waitress as a teen and I knew just how hard that could be sometimes.

  “When you get a chance, would you mind bringing my bill?” I asked.

  She smiled and shook her head. “Not necessary, you’ve been taken care of.”

  The waitress motioned to the corner of the bar before flitting off to the next table. Great, someone had paid my tab. That usually meant that I’d look up to find a middle-aged, balding man winking at me from across the room.

  As-if.

  I didn’t care if I was almost single. I’d had enough of all that. I’d rather end up eighty and living with a house full of cats.

  When I did look up to nod graciously, but without encouragement to my benefactor, I was completely taken by surprise.

  Bette was seated sideways on a bar stool, her long legs crossed with her toes pointed in my direction. Two men were chatting her up, but Bette looked bored. She brightened as she saw me staring and smiled. I heard her make excuses to the men as she stood and left them drooling.

  I could be exaggerating, but I’m pretty sure every person in the bar had eyes on Bette as she strode towards my booth.

  Not that I could blame any one of them. Bette wore a simple sleeveless black dress with matching heels, her hair flowing loose and long. The dress stopped well above the knee and had a dangerously plunging neckline, both of which called attention to her supermodel body. Suddenly I felt rather frumpy in my pencil skirt, cami and cotton blazer. Of course, I could have been wearing Versace and still pale in comparison to Bette.

  As she drew nearer to my booth, I felt equal parts of fear, excitement, and of course alcohol-induced fuzzy-brain. I expected to regret drinking in the morning, but damned if I wasn’t sorry a whole lot sooner.

  “Hello, Clara,” Bette said as she took a seat beside me, instead of on the opposite side of the booth. Clearly, personal space was thought of differently in Italy.

  “Um, hi,” I stammered. So much for not sounding like an idiot again, I thought.

  Bette signaled to the waitress and faster than seemed humanly possible she returned to our table with a deep red drink that resembled a cosmopolitan. I’m not sure what was in it, but it smelled tangy. I wrinkled my nose.

  “You look good enough to eat, Clara,” Bette said as she brought the drink to her lips and then pulled it away, licking away traces of liquid.

  “Um, thanks?” I said, managing to add one new word to my side of the conversation. This was going oh, so well.

  “Relax, Clara.” She stroked my cheek with her cool hand. Instantly my body felt lighter and less stressed. I wish I could take her back home with me. I needed a little bit of her calming juju for my talk with Pete in a few days.

  “You had a good dinner, yes?” she asked.

  “It went well,” I said. “In fact, I landed a pretty big account.”

  I wondered if Bette had that effect one everyone she met. Then I remembered the men at the bar, and decided that I wasn’t unique in being spellbound by her. She was the most potent, affecting woman I’d ever met.

  Bette sipped her drink some more, repeating the lip-licking thing. “That is fabulous news. We should be celebrating!” She signaled to the waitress for another round.

  I still had half a beer left, so I concentrated on finishing it before another arrived. As much as I hated beer, warm beer was even worse. Really what I should have done is cut myself off. Lots of alcohol was not my friend.

  “So tell me, Clara. Why do you look so sad, when you should be happy, happy?” Bette asked, leaning closer to me.

  I felt a small tingle behind my eyes and it stunned me for a second. It was like taking a q-tip to the ear—a little itchy but oddly pleasant. Then the feeling was gone and I felt instantly better.

  “I am happy,” I replied, “I’m especially happy that you found me here, out of all the bars in Orlando.”

  Where had Miss Perky come from? And why hadn’t she shown up earlier when I needed her? And how did Bette manage to find me? I’d not given her anything more than my name when we’d met earlier in the day? Curiouser and curiouser.

  Bette frowned, “We had plans, no?”

  “Sure. Yes, we did.” I seemed to have lost IQ points again. Damn. “But we never set a time or place.”

  She broke into a smile and placed her hand over mine on the table. A small, violet spark leapt from my finger to hers.

  Bette looked at me quizzically, and then continued. “Of course we did, Clara. How else would I have found you?”

  My fingers twitched under Bette’s and she grasped my hand more firmly. Even drunk, I could have sworn no such plans were made. I started to protest, but the words that came out of my mouth were not the ones I wanted to say.

  “Yes, of course. I must have forgotten.” I said.

  I was a little conflicted, more than a little drunk, and a lot confused, so I excused myself to the restroom to buy a few minutes to think. I needed to come up with a reason to call it a night.

  Standing at the bathroom sink I splashed water on my face and looked around for the paper towels. Movement in the mirror caught my eye and I gasped. Bette was standing in the corner by the wall, arms crossed with a scowl upon her face. Water ran into my eyes, blinding me.

  “Jesus, Bette! You scared the crap out of me!”

  Bette made no reply, so I toweled the water from my face and turned towards her. Only she wasn’t there anymore.

  Becoming a tad unhinged, I checked the bathroom stalls and they were all empty. I had been standing in the way of the door and I was fairly confident that she didn’t pass by me. And what was up with her grouchy face?

  At least I had my excuse for turning in— clearly I was losing it.

  I hurried back to my booth only to find Bette sitting there, sipping her drink and licking her lips, same as she was doing when I left.

  “How did you do that?” I asked, slumping into the booth.

  “What do you mean?” Bette said, turning toward me and putting her near arm on the back of the booth.

  “How did you get in the bathroom and out again so quickly? I blinked and you were gone.”

  Bette cocked her head to the side and studied me for a moment. I could practically hear her thinking. Her slight hesitation made me think that just maybe I wasn’t seeing things after all.

  “I do not know what you are talking about.” She was pouting. And damn if she wasn’t knock-out gorgeous doing that too. “Perhaps you are over-tired?”

  I wasn’t going to give in that easily. I shook my head. “No. I splashed my face with some water, looked up and you were standing there frowning. I wiped my eyes and when I looked again you were gone.”

  I tilted up my beer and let the amber liquid slide down my throat in several gulps, because what I needed was more alcohol, it seemed.

  Better judgment, why hast thou forsaken me?

  “I think you have had enough to drink. Come, Clara,” she said, standing and offering a hand to me. “Let us go to bed.”

  I took the offered hand without hesitation, noting how cool and smooth it felt against mine. My own had seemed to grow warmer in comparison.

  I was pretty sure that Bette had misspoken. She meant to say that I needed to get my ass in
bed before I stared to see little green men or Willie Wonka. Not that she was taking me to bed, with her. At least I hoped that’s what she meant.

  My skin prickled and the room swayed a bit as I stood. I was drunk, no doubt about it. And I was having doubts about Bette’s intentions.

  It had been a very long time since a man made a pass at me and I’d never had a woman do it, so I couldn’t be sure. Still, the last thing I remember thinking was that Bette wanted something from me. If it wasn’t sex, then whatever she wanted could be a whole lot worse.

  It turns out that I was right on the money, only I was a little slow figuring it all out.

  Chapter 6

  I was dreaming again, random snippets of things that made no sense. A blood-red turtle, fireworks, and a fog so thick that it had fingers. My mind blinked and I was standing on a stage, facing hundreds of people—all of them laughing and pointing. I was completely naked, except for some sort of instrument in my hand. Blink. I was gardening, holding up an obscene mutant clump of tomatoes. Grown together, they resembled a large-breasted torso, complete with a cleft where the legs would have joined. Then that scene left as well.

  I woke up without my normal slow, begrudging ascent into wakefulness. One moment I was floating in a serene purple light, entranced by the cadence of a million twinkling lights, and the next my eyes flew open and fixed on the ceiling. It was an odd feeling, like I’d fallen back into my body but didn’t yet have full control of it. That had never happened before. Usually, waking up was a bit like being lifted up slowly out of quicksand.

  Instead I lay flat on my back, with my arms and legs pinned to my sides and the covers neatly draped over me, which was not quite right. I’m a stomach sleeper and I remake the bed every morning after a night of tossing and turning.

  I’d expected a massive hangover after all that I’d had to drink the night before, but I didn’t feel woozy and my head felt fine. Maybe I wasn’t such a light-weight after all? I pushed myself up into a sitting position and squinted as a random beam of sunlight crossed my face.

  Ow, the light hurt my eyes. I slid over in the bed, putting myself into the shadows again. It was only then, when the covers slipped during my move, that I realized one more thing—I was completely naked.

  As in, clothing-optional, going-commando, nakkid.

  What had I done last night, stripped off all of my clothes and passed out? But no, there were my clothes, folded neatly on the end of the credenza. Drunk or sober, I would have never done that. So who had?

  Oh, god.

  What had happened after we’d left the bar? I mentally scanned my body, searching for any signs of soreness that might suggest I’d not spent the night alone. But that was stupid. Bette wasn’t a guy, with the requisite guy parts. If anything had happened, would I be able to tell at all?

  I scanned the room for any clue that might help jog my memory. The room was tidy, which helped not one little bit.

  I flopped down on my side and pulled the covers up to my chin. Sure, I’d been drunk before, but I’d never had a black out moment. So why couldn’t I remember a single moment from last night?

  Out of habit, I climbed out of bed to go to the bathroom; only halfway there I realized a few things. One, I didn’t have to pee, which was a first for me and my pea-sized bladder. Two, the bathroom door was closed.

  Crap. It was a quirk I’d had since childhood; closing doors gave the boogeyman a place to hide, so every night I left all the doors in my bedroom wide open, even the closets.

  My legs felt rooted to the floor, so I stood there, naked and unsure what to do. Behind me was the safety and cover of the bed. In front of me was a closed bathroom door that may or may not have somebody on the other side of it. I backed into the bed and covered myself again.

  Naked-me turned out to be a big, fat sissy.

  Ridiculous, it was. Cowering in the bed, waiting to see who, if anyone, came strolling out. It was almost as crazy as me waking up nude and without a hangover or any memory of the night before. My curiosity got the better of me, so I just sat there, waiting.

  Minutes passed—each tick of the antique bedside clock making me feel more and more like a dork. I heard housekeeping pass by my room and I could also hear a lot of other things through the silence. A bird chirped outside my window. A child giggled in the hallway. A vacuum hummed in the room next door. And the shower was running in my bathroom.

  Every muscle in my body tensed as the door finally opened and I forgot to breathe. Seriously.

  She stepped into view, wearing the plush robe like a shawl instead of belting it for modesty. I drew in a deep breath at the view, my body reacting in ways that would have irritated me if I hadn’t been so stunned. Or turned on.

  Bette had towel dried her hair and was shaking it as she walked in my direction, but not yet seeing me. Errant water droplets flew from her hair and landed across her exposed chest, like little glinting jewels on ivory silk. In that moment, Bette dazzled me.

  She looked up, saw that I was awake, and smiled at me warmly. I stared at her with my mouth wide open. I may have, possibly…uh, drooled a little too.

  “Good morning, Clara Bella,” she said as she joined me on the bed, her robe falling further open.

  God help me, I couldn’t help but to stare. She was all curves and creamy, dreamy skin, and it was all I could do not to reach out and trace a path over the course of her body with my fingertips. Did it mean that I liked girls now?

  “Bette.” I said, in barely more than a whisper, my mind running like a hamster on a wheel.

  She reclined on the bed and pulled me to her in one fluid move. I found my head resting on her exposed breast before I’d even realized that she’d moved. It made me wonder if I had blinked out for a minute.

  “How do you feel this morning?” she asked, stroking my hair.

  Everything should have felt wrong and completely against my nature, but I could see that my nature was changing on its own, so I decided not to fight it. I inhaled the scent of her and closed my eyes.

  “Good, not hung over at all,” I mumbled.

  Bette’s cool fingers trailed up and down my spine with movements slow and deliberate. A tiny, barely audible gasp broke from my lips as she skimmed a sensitive spot on my side. I shifted slightly, pressing myself closer to her.

  Beneath my cheek I could feel Bette’s nipple harden. It was all I could do not to turn my face a slight few inches. I wanted to kiss her breast. I wanted to lick it. I wanted to bite her.

  Bite her? Wow. Where the hell did that come from?

  “You are hungry, Clara?” Bette asked. “I will call down for delivery.”

  Bette pulled away to reach the bedside phone and I clung to her. She laughed and patted me on the head, while speaking Italian on the phone. I wondered briefly what she’d ordered for breakfast. That thought dispersed as she returned to my side and took me in her arms again. Satisfied, I snuggled into the curves of her.

  I wanted to stay in that bed with her forever and ever. Or at least for a few more hours. I felt cocooned, protected, loved... and increasingly hungry.

  “The food should be here any minute,” she said. “After that you can come right back to me.”

  “I have to go to the conference,” I forced myself to say, though I didn’t like it one bit.

  “I do not know if that is a good idea,” said Bette.

  “I have meetings… I can’t just blow them off. My boss will kill me.”

  Bette chuckled, “I don’t think you need to worry about that. But if you insist we will go for a few hours.”

  “I do.” I said, “It’s no big deal, I’ve been drunk before and I feel great, so you don’t have to worry about me. I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”

  “I’m sure you can,” Bette soothed, “but you aren’t leaving my side before it is a necessity.”

  I wasn’t sure how to interpret that. Thankfully, Bette gave me no chance to think it over. All reason left my brain when she slid down in
the bed beside me, tilted my face to hers and kissed me. My sense of time and space hiccupped as I clung to her. My body felt like a live wire, humming with a current that desperately needed grounding.

  I squirmed in an attempt to be closer to her, but it did no good. As close as I wanted to be was not physically possible.

  More forcefully, she held a handful of my hair in one hand and her other hand latched on to my hip, pulling my body closer. Kissing me again, we lay breast to breast, hip to hip, with legs intertwined.

  I was drowning in her and it felt like nothing I’d ever experienced before. A halo of bluish-purple light colored everything I saw. My skin was hypersensitive; the little bits of friction between my skin and hers caused me to twitch with every shift and readjustment.

  The knock on the hotel room door came abruptly and I cursed under my breath.

  “We will have to finish this later, Clara Mia,” she said kissing me on the forehead.

  I whimpered in protest. At that moment, I was not an intelligent adult capable of reason. I was feral, my focus reduced to the most basic human emotions; hunger, desire, and fear.

  She left me like that, gasping and clutching the bed sheets as she got up, slipped on her robe and answered the door.

  Bette let a man into the suite and I could feel his eyes linger over my naked, heaving body. My nerve endings felt raw, exposed and inflamed by the gentlest of breezes, such as the one created by the closing of the door. Or the draft created as Bette circled the bed, her robe fluttering out behind her like the wings of a Monarch.

  She touched down on the bed bedside me.

  “Your food Clara, you need to eat now.” Bette said, petting my hair. If she wanted me to focus, that didn’t help in the least. Being near her was distracting enough, but her touch, it was like a de-focusing drug—one that I was fast becoming hooked on.

  “Clara, you must eat.” Bette tried again.

  My limbs felt full of sand and I struggled to sit up. I looked around the room, but saw no breakfast tray waiting.