"You look like you're going to cry," he whispered from behind, and just as I was about to take it for true concern, he leaned in and said, "I gotta say, it's getting me all excited."
It was dark and damp and it smelled suspiciously like wet carpets, and when he grabbed me by the arm and lead me deeper into the crowd, he seemed to delve into the chaos, dissolving into it as if it were his natural habitat, all but the travesty that was his hair; all florescent blue and coquettish
curls. It wasn't until later that night that I realized his hair was actually white, and only appeared blue because of the black-lights.
"So, why'd you take me here?" I asked, sounding a bit too casual about the fact that a stranger forced me away from my friends and took me to some shady club that looked like it belonged in Satan's armpit.
"Take?" he leered at me, clenching and unclenching his jaws to the backdrop of industrial post-punk music, "Are you saying you're up for grabs?"
"Maybe. Are you looking to make your claim?"
He shook his head, blue curls aswirl, "Careful, now."
"Why should I be?" I smiled, rolling the tip of my tongue around my straw before slipping it into my mouth; a gesture he seemed to thoroughly enjoy.
"Didn't your mother warn you about strange men?"
"Are you saying you're strange?"
"I wouldn't say that," he trailed off, smiling silently to himself, like he was in on some secret joke, "I just have a... strange appetite."
"And what are you craving tonight?"
He smiled, licking his lips, "You."
"But you don't know me." I said, as he inched closer, ignoring (or pretending to ignore) the uncertainty in my voice.
"I know what you could be."
"And what is that?"
"Do you want me to show you?"
loomed over me with a sullen expression to his face, as if he was
contemplating something so terrible, even he couldn't believe it, and in
the black of his eyes lurked the most frightening shade of red—blood red—and every voice in my head was telling me to get the fuck out of here, but instead I leaned in and said, "Please."