Brutally Beautiful(12)

That’s how I deal with my issues. That’s how I deal with my anger and my rage. I live in a world of lies, fictitious characters I dream up and breathe life into, just to break, for the enjoyment of horror readers throughout the world. I wondered what lies this woman had told; what her story was, not that it mattered if she had one, I’d gladly make one up for her. Everyone was just a character to me. Each person was just another empty name I would put to paper and control with my whims, develop into people I wanted them to be. Complete and unconditional control.

I glanced my eyes over the waitress again.

For a small second, she looked fragile, a tilt forward of the head, the small slump of her shoulders and I wanted to protect her. But the thought was nonsense in my head. I wiped it away as fast as I thought it. Who would protect her from me?

Guzzling down the rest of my brandy like it was a cheap shot, I left the bar without even saying goodbye to my brother. He was used to my idiosyncrasies. I drove home wondering what color her eyes were, which is the single most asinine thought ever to cross my mind, so I cancelled any more thoughts of the woman. It wasn’t like I would ever see her again.

I stormed into my empty house, slamming the heavy wooden door behind me, locking myself away from the rest of the world and bring new meaning to the word recluse. I won’t lie to myself as others do and pretend I have any control over things. It’s easier to find and gain control if you stay in a very small space and let no one else in.

Yanking off my tie and jacket, I threw them over one of the leather chairs in my den and sat myself in front of my computer. I poured myself another brandy and sat it beside my keyboard, sipping at it slowly every so often to cherish the thick warm burn.

I brought up the screen to my work in progress and the last scene I was working on.

Words had always come easily to me. Violence and hate were in my veins. I was rage personified, and horror and malice were my only friends. We had lived together peacefully since I came to terms with being me. Yet, as I sat before my desk, with a bright white empty screen in front of me, cursor blinking and mocking me, I didn’t see the red of an award winning horror writer. All I saw was silky black liquid hair and pale pink lips.

Temptation.

Damn, this wasn’t going to be good for me.





Chapter 3





An unexpected warm rush of heat spread across my chest as soon as I looked up from concentrating on the bottle of whiskey. I was trying to calm the nausea down from that drunken degenerate’s attempt at manhandling me, counting to twenty in my head and taking deep breaths.

Mother-effin’ twenty.

Son-of-a-bitch nineteen.

Eighteen, seventeen… Calmly closing my eyes, my brain was still screeching at the pot-bellied piss infected Neanderthal. My insides wanted to claw his eyes out and dickkick him for touching me.

Three.

Two, just breathe…one.

My eyes fluttered open and all thoughts about drunken men touching me vanished. Actually, all my thoughts completely faded into oblivion when I noticed a strange man watching me. I heard myself gasp when I saw him. The air just sort of sucked itself right out of my lungs. Not only was he devastatingly handsome, he was staring at me.

Me.

Not Natalie, aka Lace, who was up on the stage wearing only her sparkly little thong and humping a pole.

Not Bree, the blonde bombshell who every man drools over.

Me.

I’m just going to put it out there, right now. I’ve never seen a man watch me like that before. It was personal. Intimate. I mean…I was one of those women who got acknowledged for their brains more often than their looks. And I took pride in myself for that. I liked being intelligent and confident, but that look…