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The floor creaks under my foot with my next step, and I freeze.
The man turns around and looks at me over his chair.
“Oh, you’re here,” he says.
I don’t respond.
He gets up and pats down his chest, crumbs of old pizza falling to the floor. I look around at his miserable life, wondering how a person can live like this and be content.
But the smile on his face gets me the most.
“Can I get you a drink?” he asks.
“No, thanks,” I reply, staying put.
“C’mon, c’mon,” he says, beckoning me to a couch to the left. “Let’s sit over here and chat.”
I swallow and stare him down as he flops down and pats the fabric, seemingly oblivious to my revulsion.
He grins at me with bits and pieces of food still stuck to his gums. “I won’t bite.”
Doubtful.
“You … are the girl I spoke to, right?” he asks, frowning when I don’t come near.
I nod silently.
“Then there’s no need to hesitate,” he says, rubbing his thigh.
In my high heels, I step closer and lower my bag.
“How often do you do this?” I ask.
“With other girls? Never,” he replies.
“Don’t lie to me,” I say.
He sighs. “If I answer, will you sit down?”
I nod.
“Sometimes,” he says after a while.
“Same age as me?” I ask, tilting my head as I zip open my bag.
“Of course,” he replies, and he puts his hand on my leg to pull me closer. “I like my girls young … beautiful, like you.” He smirks. “You didn’t tell me you were into masks.”
“Young …” I repeat, my eyes twitching. “Too young to say no.”
And I pull my hammer out of my bag and jam it into his face.
He groans and grips his nose as blood pours out. “Fu—What the fuck are you doing?”
“Giving you what you asked for,” I answer, taking my knife from my bag and ramming it straight into his hand.
He squeals like a pig, tearing his hand away from my thigh, but I grab him and twist his arm so badly he’s forced down onto the floor.
“Please, don’t hurt me!”
