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Seamas McSwiggan woke up to sunlight streaming bright through his window, burning his shirtless torso.
“Bah!” he cursed. “I hate waking up when it's still light outside!”
He reached over to the bedside table and grabbed his whiskey flask, taking a long draft of it, and then wiping off his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked next to him; the bed was empty, and had been for the last three days. The father of his little seventeen-year-old plaything, a hoary old police constable, had come and taken the girl away, threatening Seamas with the full force of the law if he tried to get her back. Seamas had complied; he knew that his own father's influence and money would keep him out of jail, but with all the hassle involved with going to court and appearing before a judge – even if he would get off without even a slap on the wrist – would be too much bother. He didn't care a jot for the girl anyway; he just liked her body, and in this city, there were plenty more young and willing bodies to be found for fun.
He rubbed his eyes and climbed out of bed, and went immediately to his pile of clothes, strewn across the room from stumbling in and undressing the night before in a state of blind drunkenness. He rifled through the pockets of his expensive, extravagant
coat and pants, breathing out a sigh of relief as he found his gold purse, which was heavy with coins even after all the partying he had been doing; the last 'job' he'd done for his good friend Lord MacNally had resulted in a very profitable score. Some silly old widow had lost her house and farmland, and all her savings in the process, but... what did he care? The old hag could go and join a nunnery, they always took in the destitute and needy, as long as they recited some words and put on a habit. He felt no guilt for what he'd done.
Today's business would involve shopping – he'd had enough of this scarlet outfit. He would much prefer a navy blue or purple one for the coming week. And there'd be drinking and dancing, as always. And finding another female body to use and abuse; yes, this need was paramount. It might even be more important than shopping.
A sudden and unexpected thought entered his mind; Susan. It often happened, actually; try as he might, he couldn't get her off of his mind. After all, she had been the only girl he could say that he had loved – or at least it had been something like love. He wasn't sure that a creature such as himself was capable of really feeling true love.
Still, she had affected him in a way other girls had not, and he had had hundreds of them. Susan had been different; she had been the only one who he had really considered spending his life with. It wasn't just her voracious hunger for vigorous love-making that had ensnared him; it had been her unconventional beauty, her intelligence and wit, and her ambition to continually better herself and succeed. She was strong-willed and independent – and while many men did not like these characteristics in a woman, to him they had been most attractive.
Still, it had turned out that their lifestyles had been incompatible. She had wanted him to settle down, to work and actually make something of himself. To stop drinking and carousing every night. To have some ambition in life beyond shopping for clothes and drinking whiskey.
And of course, to give up his dallying with all sorts of different girls.
And that was something that he had not been able to do. As beautiful as Susan was, and as passionate and intense a lover as she had been, for Seamas variety was indeed the spice of life. He was greedy and selfish, and he loved exploring new bodies. Especially young teenage bodies.
He yawned and swigged on his whiskey again, trying to put the thoughts of Susan out of his head. It would do no good to think of her; that ship had sailed long ago.
Thus it was with great surprise that, when he heard a knock on his door and went over to open it, he saw her standing there.
“Susan?!” he gasped.
“I heard you were staying here,” she said. “May I come in?”
He set his jaw and folded his arms across his chest.
“If this is about payment for that dress again, you know what I've said about that, and I'm sorry, but I'm not changing my mind about it.”
Susan looked down at the ground, seemingly unable to meet his defiant gaze.
“It's not about that. I've forgotten about that; it really doesn't matter to me anymore.”
