by Emma Luna
When he finally finishes the tattoo, over four hours later, I stand in front of the tattoo studio mirror and I can’t help but admire my leg. It is a thing of beauty. The large rat at the top is intricately designed with black swirls to match my chosen mandela pattern. He takes up the whole of the top, front section of my thigh and he deserves to stand big and tall because he’s beautiful. Then, spiralling all the way around my leg, like someone has wrapped a ribbon around it, are thick black silhouettes of rats in various stages of movement. They each look different, with their own personality and character. Exactly what I wanted to portray, as not every rat in the mischief is the same. They may all follow the leader, but they all have their own minds and their own ways of doing things. Looking in the mirror, I feel so incredibly proud to have my mischief tattooed on my leg. Now, they will always know where to follow me.
I thank the beautiful tattoo artists and choose to ignore the disgusted looks of the other people in the studio who don’t appreciate its beauty. Some of the other designers congratulate Ryan on his ‘awesome job’ and his ‘sick design’. Ryan must be his name and the prick actually takes credit for the design. The one I spent hours meticulously perfecting so that it portrays exactly what I want it to. Then this guy goes and takes all the credit. Now I’m pissed. We go to the counter to pay and I put my bubblegum girly girl mask on and flirt with him. As I’m telling him what a great job he’s done, I stroke his chest and his ego all at the same time.
“Have you, erm, finished for the night now?” I ask him in my sweetest voice. I know he has. I’m his last appointment of the day and it looks as though all the other tattooists are finishing up to close up shop. He jumps at the opportunity and so we go for a burger and then a drink. I play the role of a normal teenage girl who is enjoying being on a date with this egotistical bad boy who it turns out likes to talk about himself, a lot. But that’s fine because it means that I don’t have a chance to talk. I want to take him home tonight and to revel in the sensations I’m feeling from the tattoo, but that would be dangerous. So, we end the night with a not too chaste kiss and a promise to meet up again, soon. That's when I will invite him home to the mischief.
Looking in the mirror at the tattoo, I smile at how it still looks as gorgeous now as it did nine years ago when I first had it etched into my skin. I can still remember Ryan’s face when he met my mischief and the pleasure I reaped from that night was incredible. Halloween allows me to show off the tattoo and means I don’t have to hide who I am. I have a plan for tonight, I know exactly where I’m going and what will happen. The thought of it has me clamping my legs together and squirming in anticipation.
I put on the devil horn headband that changes my beautiful dress into the mandatory Halloween costume. It’s ironic that I’m wearing a disguise, dressed as something evil and demonic, yet this is the most me that I’ve looked all year. I chuckle at myself before doing a little twirl.
“What do you think, Reggie? Do I look dangerous?” I turn to the large cage that sits on my bedroom dressing table, next to the mirror I was just looking into. Reggie, my inspiration for the large tattoo, is gnawing on the cage and making his usual squeaking noise he makes when he’s hungry. I crouch down so we’re eye-to-eye. Looking into his ruby eyes always mesmerises me. Staring at them now, they appear almost a jet black colour, yet when the light catches them, they glisten a beautiful ruby red. It feels as though, when he looks at me, he really is staring into my soul. Reggie is the only one on this planet I have ever felt connected to. Normally, I would stroke his coarse black hair, or even get him out for a cuddle, but he’s hungry. He will bite and I don’t blame him.
“You can eat when I get back. See you soon, baby,” I say sweetly as I pass his cage. I say goodbye to the rest of the mischief, all ten of them in total that are currently gnawing on the metal of their cages. Each has its own individual personality and character which I love to see. But right now, every one of them is looking at me with reverence in their eyes. They know where I’m going and what I’m doing. This is a game we have played many times over throughout the year. But they have all been test runs, practice games. This is the main event and the real me will shine through with a beautiful menace as I rain my type of crazy all over Halloween.
Two
Piper
Getting out of my perfectly average and undistinguishable Honda Civic, I straighten down my dress. The car is just an accessory to the perfect image. I need something that doesn't stand out, a wall flower car, but one that shows I’m respectable. In reality, I couldn’t give a shit what type of car I drive. It means nothing to me. As long as it gets me from A to B and nobody recognises it, I’m happy.
I walk towards Compendium, the most ridiculously named bar in the area, but it’s also one of the most popular. Tonight, they are throwing their annual Halloween bash and it will be packed full. I know this because I went to the pre-party yesterday and saw how busy it was. I also found exactly what I was looking for, which is why I’m back tonight with my plan in place.
If you get here early enough, Compendium looks like quite a respectable bar. There are tables and booths all around the edges of the room, and it looks almost clean. Yet, by the time I arrive at the party at ten, chaos is in full swing. The room is packed full of people. All of the booths are crowded and stuffed with more people than should really fit. The tables are pressed against the wall and each chair has at least one, maybe two, people on it. People are all wandering around with drinks in their hands and their bodies swaying to the music. Their alcoholic drinks are swishing all over the place as they move, causing the floor to become sticky and, quite frankly, disgusting to walk on. The dance floor takes up the majority of the space, yet it feels bigger because all the people standing around look like they are extensions of the dance floor. It’s because of the music. The DJ is playing a song that has a deep rumbling beat that seems to ripple all around the room and causes everyone's bodies to electrify. It’s almost like a magic spell; it's mesmerising to see whenever he changes the beat. As soon as the beat hits, the partygoers’ nervous systems all change the way they move and sway. I can feel it try to do the same to my body, every cell feels that desperate need to twist and turn to the beat. I tell myself ‘later’, because right now, I have work to do.
Walking towards the bar, I look straight ahead as though that’s my sole focus, yet at the same time, I’m scanning the room looking for the whole reason I came here last night. There are groups of people everywhere, all dressed in different versions of Halloween costumes. Far too many women have opted for the slutty version of the costume as opposed to actual Halloween attire. I, on the other hand, went for sexy and classy, to fully pull off my demonic look. Truthfully, this is the one night of the year where I can choose what I want to wear and dress for me, so that’s what I did. It just so happens the devil horns accompany it nicely, so I look like I’ve at least made an effort to dress up.
A flash of blond hair is all it takes to grab my attention and even in this sea of people, I know I've found who I was looking for. But instead of heading straight to him, I make my way over to the bar, changing my direction so I’ll be standing at a part of the bar that’s directly visible to him. I’m not the type of girl who needs to make the first move.
When I reach the bar, there’s a young girl behind the counter who barely looks old enough to be serving the drinks. She looks extremely flustered and rushed off her feet. It’s obvious she hasn’t been working here long because I haven’t seen her before and I’ve been here a few times. This is the busiest I’ve ever seen it, her manager has really thrown her to the wolves. She’s currently serving a group of women who look to be on a hen party. They look like they are already intoxicated, yet are ordering more shots in addition to their normal drinks. The girl begins pouring out the shots into the shot glasses she has already lined up on the tray, she nods her head to acknowledge she’s seen I’m next. She needn’t have bothered because I never wait long when I’m here.
&n
bsp; Just a few seconds later, a fairly pudgy looking man comes out of the back room and he is moving so fast, it almost looks like he is waddling. It’s Rodger, the owner of Compendium, and he is a fan. I know the very large, attractive, muscular man on the door will have informed him of my arrival because it’s what has happened every time since he met me on my first trip here. I know from talking to him, that Rodger is only twenty-six years old, the same as me, yet he looks so much older. His distinctly large and crooked nose, along with his large rim glasses, take up the majority of his face and makes the rest almost pale into insignificance. All you see is a strange looking man with brown hair that is starting to recede and the top of his head is completely bald. He has a large beer belly, most likely from eating too much of the fried food they serve here in the bar during the day. Despite his less than appealing appearance, he’s quite pleasant to talk to. He’s intelligent and after only a few visits, he became obsessed with me and made sure to always be on hand to serve me whenever needed. It’s such a shame he has such great ties to this world and would be missed, he would make a great toy for me to keep.
“Piper, look at you. I should have known you would come as a demon,” Rodger says as I stand next to the bar, trying to avoid leaning on it for fear of getting my beautiful dress dirty. I’m standing at the very corner of the bar, it's the furthest away from the speakers so at least some of my voice can be heard. All of the seats along the bar are already taken, but within seconds, Rodger has made his way round to my side of the counter. He heads straight for a group of rowdy young people who are taking up a couple of the bar stools while they continue to order different coloured shots. Immediately, one of the young lads leaps from his seat and he shakes Rodger’s hand. Rodger looks over to the panicked girl behind the bar and she looks even more terrified.
“This round is on me,” he shouts over the music before picking up the stool and walking it around to me. He smiles and shows off a crooked set of teeth. The smile does nothing to help his image, if anything, it’s quite freaky looking. But he has done a nice thing for me and despite being creeped out by his appearance, society says it's polite to acknowledge the good deed. So, I pull out the biggest girly smile I can manage, straight, perfect, white teeth included, then I add in a little giggle as a show of approval. It seems to work as a blush spreads across his cheeks. As he places the stool on the floor, I stroke my hand down the front of his shirt and throw out lots of words of thanks. Then I place my arse on the seat before anyone else has a chance to get to it because they’re like gold dust it would seem and I know that this is the perfect spot to sit if I want to be seen. All I need now is for Rodger to leave.
“Thank you, that was a very kind gesture. No doubt these heels would have been hurting me very soon without a seat,” I say kindly. I see his gaze roam down my body, but I feel nothing. This is just typical male behaviour and he doesn’t interest me in the slightest. In fact, I take advantage of his distracted gaze by looking over in the direction I need to be. The blond is looking around as though he’s waiting for someone and that makes me smile. He has no idea I’m already here.
“Wow, Piper, you look even more beautiful than usual. And that devil costume is so stunning on you, but I think you probably should have come as an angel because everyone knows that you could never pass for a devil.” This time, when I laugh, it really is a genuine laugh and I try to rein it in. It's not my usual airy, fake laugh. This was my real, honest laugh. I couldn’t stop it from bursting out of me. The idea of me being an angel is literally just that funny. Now Rodger is looking at me like I shouldn’t be laughing at his comment. Shit, he was actually serious. I need to cover for my outburst, now.
“Oh, Rodger, white is definitely not my colour. But thank you for the compliment. I can’t keep any more of your time. I can see how busy you are tonight and that poor girl behind the bar looks completely snowed under. I’m sure you are just itching to come to her rescue like you just did mine.” I think I may have just vomited in my own mouth at the sickly sweet tone I just used. We both know this pompous arsehole has no intention of ever helping behind a bar. He probably sees it as menial labour and beneath him. But I play up to this chivalrous act he’s trying to portray with me and I know he’ll fall for it. That's how desperate he is to get in my pants, if only I was wearing any. He thinks that helping her will impress me. Really, I couldn’t give a shit. I do think she needs help, but whether he helps her or not is no concern of mine. What is my concern is him moving out of the way so I can catch the attention of the person I came here to see.
“Oh yes, of course. Maybe when it quietens down a bit, I’ll be able to buy you a drink, maybe have a dance?” Rodger asks me and I just smile and give a non-committal nod. He walks off with the biggest cheesy grin on his face and a tent pitched in his trousers. I roll my eyes at the thought of having to dance with Rodger. Dancing for me is foreplay and today is the closest Rodger will ever get to my body.
Rodger makes his way around the bar and I can tell he’s on his way over to try and serve me, which is why I catch the attention of the barmaid who just so happened to have become free. That was fucking lucky timing. I just got rid of him on one side of the bar, it will be harder on the other. As she walks over to serve me, I see him shake his head and turn to talk to customers at the far end of the bar who are shouting about having to wait so long. It really is laughable that a guy like him thinks he is capable of being with a woman that looks like me. I’m so far out of his league, but he obviously doesn’t realise that.
“Hi, what can I get ya?” she asks politely whilst subtly trying to blow out an exhausted breath and arching her back to stretch out as though she’s in pain.
“Jack and Coke, on the rocks, please. You ok?” I ask, surprising myself because I’m not normally one for small talk or actually caring about how other people feel. I know it probably sounds funny that a woman who spends her day listening to people talk about themselves and who trained in psychology doesn’t really care about people, but it's actually not. The brain fascinates me, behaviour fascinates me, but fragile and petulant human emotions do not. Yet with this timid, overworked girl, I suddenly need to know more.
“Yeah I’m fine, thank you. It’s just a busy shift. We are understaffed and I’m still quite new, so I’m feeling a bit out of my depth,” she explains as she pours my drink.
“So, why not tell Rodger that you need help? Why struggle all alone when he’s there and could help you?” I ask, possibly more forcefully than I should have. She stops what she’s doing and then looks down sheepishly, almost like she’s afraid to tell me the answer. I just remain silent to give her the opening to speak.
“I need this job. I have people who rely on this money. I did ask him and he basically said that if I couldn’t manage, I could leave and he would find someone who can. We aren’t short staffed because someone hasn’t come in. He only has one on duty so that it’s less wages to pay. On a normal night, it is busy, but manageable. Tonight, it’s so busy, I don’t know what I’m doing.” Her voice breaks on the last statement and her eyes start to fill with tears. She is overcome with emotion at finally saying what’s been bothering her and I must admit, it’s affected me. What I’m feeling right now is disgust that Rodger would take advantage of this girl all to save money. I’m also outraged at this girl in front of me for not having some form of backbone to stand up for herself. Yet, I remember being the same, no matter how much I try and forget it. That’s where the repulsion is coming from; she reminds me of my past. I decide in that moment, if she won't stand up to Rodger then I can sort him out. Not now, because I have plans for this town, but he just made my list and I can assure you, it is not a place you want to be.
“Stay strong and stick up for yourself where you can. The only person letting people walk all over you, is you,” I say in my best psychologist voice. Whilst it sounds like utter waffle, there actually is some truth behind this one.
“Thank you. I’m Lena and this drink is on me,” sh
e says with a bright smile. I find myself returning the smile, although with a lot less animation. Shockingly, there’s a genuine element to the action and that baffles me. There’s something about this girl that makes me connect with her and I can only think she reminds me of my past. Not something I ever like to revisit. It’s a good job this will be my last time visiting Compendium and seeing Lena. Well, penultimate because I will return for Rodger.
“Nice to meet you, Lena. I’m Piper and this drink is on him,” I say, raising my glass into Rodger’s direction. He notices me, which isn’t difficult because he stares at me with every chance he gets. I smile and nod my head as though I’m thanking him for the drink and at first, he looks confused and then it occurs to him I have allowed him to buy me a drink and he smiles. For some reason, he thinks this means my next action will be to suck his cock. How wrong he is. I smile at Lena as I watch her mentally psyche herself up, ready to throw herself into the mass of people that are waiting for their drinks. With the amount of people queued up, there needs to be a minimum of four people behind the bar to manage. Even Rodger and his less than impressive skills of pulling a pint are helping with the queue. I’m glad I’m exempt from the line because I would be waiting forever for my next drink and I have work to do. Speaking of work, I glance around the room looking to see if I’m still sitting in the right place. I am, and now he sees me.