FSCENE8.

She walked into the bar, an enticing grin plastered on her plastic face. Several scene wannabe’s mimed being sick as she sauntered past.
Then she saw him. She adjusted her top lower, her bra now clearly showing. Glancing down, she examined her clothing. A tight, leather mini skirt, bright blue leggings, fluro orange strappy high heels, a low-cut singlet the same colour as her shoes and an intensely pink bra underneath. Her smile widened. She took the clip out of her hair and shook her head in what she hoped was a flirty way. The straightened bleach blonde mess fell over her face and she flicked it back carelessly.
She continued to walk towards him. He was what had drawn her to the small bar, filled with all kinds of stereotypes. Emo, scene, goth, punk and more, all standing off in their own little groups, uninterested.
She followed him around the bar twice – he was a drifter. He fitted several stereotypes. Black hair, white streaks, mohawked on the top of his head. His skin was deathly white and his bright green eyes showed her what she needed.
He finally saw her and flashed a toothy smile. She admired his teeth, which were stunningly white and perfectly straight. She beckoned to him to go over to her. He did. Glancing around, he seemed satisfied with the scene. She grabbed his hand and dragged him towards the door. His face was easily read.
“Getting lucky tonight.”
What he obviously hadn’t seen were her dull, seemingly lifeless eyes.
They hailed a taxi, and went to a cheap motel, neither of them having said a word. He unlocked the door and they entered the stale smelling room. As soon as the door had shut, she pulled her top over her head, exaggerating her thin figure. He retaliated, showing off his muscular arms and abs. She walked right up to him, her mouth just centimetres away from his. She slowly let her plump lips linger on his cheek, moving towards his ear.
She whispered just three words. “Got a hit?” He pulled the drugs from his pocket, the white powder a contrast on his black jeans. This time her smile was genuine but weary as she grabbed the plastic lunch bag and moved closer to kiss him.
He grinned and unzipped his pants. It was an unspoken agreement. Drugs for sex. She laughed as she stroked him. First his torso, but going down to the waistband of his jeans. His lips moved down her neck, onto her chest. She moaned slightly, head tilted right back. They shuffled over to the bed.
He whispered nonsense into her cleavage as she continued to pet him. As his back hit the mattress, she stopped and frowned.
“Be right back,” she whispered under her breath. She had kicked off her high heels and it was easy for her to run into the bathroom. It was damp and mouldy, but when she walked out twenty minutes later, she was high off her face and didn’t care. He tried to get her back into the bed, but she pushed him away and picking her singlet and high heels off the ground, sprinted out of the motel room, into the darkness of the night.
He stood and jogged to the door, staring out, watching her run away, feeling completely fucked over.
Stand here and watch you crumble.
Stand here and watch you fall.
- FSCENE8 ; The Medic Droid.