*Author's Note: This is my first mc story, though I hope to write many more; I have a few interesting ones in the works. I would appreciate any comments or criticism. Oh, and all the normal warnings apply, and you may copy this story only if I gave you my express permission, and my name must go with it. Enjoy.*
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Frustrated
I know it's perverse, but I enjoy watching their faces glaze over. I put those snooty and snarky and steely girls under, and when they surface, nothing but slut is left. Jessica was my most recent; I met her at the mall.
The slim, flat-chested brunette talking on a cell-phone and nervously pacing in front of a department store glanced at me.
"Excuse me miss, are you alright?"
"Oh, yes," she said, "I'm just trying to get my friend on the line, she hasn't shown up yet."
"What does your friend look like?"
"Oh, she's--she'll show up."
"Maybe I could help you look."
"No thanks." She was mistrustful of strangers. That could be cured. I started to stretch one hand out towards her, and then stopped when I saw the looks several passers-by were giving me. It would have to be less public...
"Well, I'll be inside the store if you want to find me."
"Uh, thanks anyway."
She dialed another call and I headed into the store. I lingered near the door for a while, and then made my rounds of the counters. As the minutes passed and it became less and less likely that the girl would ask me for help, I started choosing my path randomly, winding my way into the depths of the store. I ended up near an outside exit.
"Oh, mister?" There was a tap on my shoulder. I turned to look at the curvaceous girl in jeans and a pink pea-coat. "Have you seen my friend? She was supposed to be here."
"I'm sorry, I don't think so."
"Ugh, bastard," she said under her breath. I forgot the other girl; this one needed some manners. She also had a better base to work off of.
"Well, you're not giving me much to go on here. What does she look like?"
"She's wearing a black coat. Brown hair. Short." She spat every word with contempt and a sort of hiss.
"I might have seen her," I said, as if remembering something difficult, "Yes! I have seen her."
"Where?"
"I don't know if I should tell you after you've been so rude to me, as you were obviously rude to her."
"I have no idea what you're talking about. Whatever, I'll find her." She turned to go. She needed to learn some manners.
"You won't. She was leaving. I saw her in the parking lot, getting into a car. She said that her friend was a bitch she never wanted to see again."
"What?"
"I assume that the bitch would be you."
"I am not a bitch. That whore!"
"I could probably take you to her; she couldn't have gotten far in all this traffic. You could sit in the passenger seat and point out her car and when you find it, I'll follow her."
The girl was almost mad enough to shoot flames out of her ears, so she agreed.
"Oh little girl," I thought, "Didn't you ever listen to your mother when she said not to go with strangers?" This was going to be easy.
I took the nearest exit and walked out to my car; the girl walked two steps ahead of me, so she had to correct her course every time I changed rows, which I did often. It served only to enrage her more fully.
I hit the beeper button on my key ring and then the special button and opened the passenger door for her. She got in and crossed her legs with nary a thank you. I crossed over the long way and got in myself, leaving her to shut her own door. The seat-belts automatically enclosed both of us when I started the car.
"Ouch! This stupid thing pinched me."
"It does that sometimes, don't mind it; the pain will go away in a second."
... "Hiya Barbie"...
"Hi Ken!"...
"Wanna go for a ride?"...
"Sure Ken!"...
She looked at me out of the corner of her eye, and I quickly snapped off the stereo.
I maneuvered my black, compact car around the lot and merged into traffic. I was not being quick enough for my passenger, who was getting more frustrated by the second.
"I don't see her car. Where is she?"
"I don't know what it looks like."
"Um, that red one, that looks like it."
"Is it hers?"
"I don't know."
"Alright then, I'll follow it." It was going in the right direction.
I followed the car down several highway exits and then onto a state road, where I "lost" it when it turned off. I went one more exit and did the same.
I stole glances at the livid girl in the passenger seat; her long, dark hair ran straight down her back, brushing her high cheek-bones almost delicately. Her stiletto-heeled boots tapped impatiently on the floor.
I pretended to be following another red car when she asked if I knew where I was going. She sounded extremely skeptical, but she was still angry. Of course I knew where I was going.
We pulled up to my apartment building a few minutes later. By now the drugs from the seatbelt poke were starting to take effect, so she didn't object when I took her arm and guided her up three flights of stairs and into my apartment, or when I bolted the door behind us.
