The Coffee Shop
He shouldnt be here. This is stalking. But He decided enough time had passed. And she would never expect to see him like this. So he began to track her, figuring he’d catch her scent in the market. Even a goddess needs to eat.
He’s surrounded by domesticated animals in high heels who have no idea something feral lurks among them. He’s picked more than a few of them out of his teeth before, but easy prey provides little thrill. He’s here for big game.
Hiding in plain sight is remarkably effective, but one always has a sense of feeling exposed. It’s as if people should be able to pick up on the foul smell of his intentions.
Sitting here in front of this cafe he became suddenly aware of the fairly comical situation. Here he sits, with dark sunglasses on, reading a news paper while drinking coffee. He doesn’t drink coffee nor read the paper; news is depressing and he’s always plenty fire up. He feels like he’s pulled every trope out of the incognito starter kit.
Though chewing on the toothpick, admittedly makes him feel edgy-chic, it also reminded him of when he smoked cigarettes back in his pool hustler days. Hadn’t thought of that time in ages.
But now that he is thinking about it, he sees even more irony; he should served a lot more time back then. Should have gone to prison for more than one offense from the outlaw days. He nearly winces thinking about “the gun situation”. Talk about close calls. By appearances he’s a charismatic professional upstanding person, but by past actions and current pursuit, he could fall in most any category. He’s the definition of chameleon.
She was different, better, another species, designed just for him. She was the only person he’d never lied to. He didn’t intend to tell her the truth, but somehow it was perfectly convenient. And it changed everything for both of them. She knew he had her the moment he kneeled to fasten her high heel the morning after they met. He knew he had her prior to that, when he fastened the strap on her restraints, nice and tight. Listening to her strained breathing, well that was when his evolution into a madman was complete.
But was it a mistake? He once asked her if she’d do something if she knew it was a mistake. Uncharacteristically she didn’t hesitate with a smooth “yes”. So often “mistake” is a matter of perspective and timing. Regardless, it’s immaterial, it’s going to cost her now, plenty. He’s going to take her freedom.
Just then, he saw her dead ahead, buying peaches. She never saw him coming as he initiated the ambush, strolling up behind her with his patented smirk. He hadn’t expected her to look like that though; memories do no justice to etherial beauty. He’d forgotten her attention to detail. The dress, the high heels, the hair….the grace. He’d also forgotten what her presence did to his sense of reason. He’s on the verge of frenzy when he catches that old familiar smell. He imagines, and fantasizes that she senses him, her neck hair rising like an alarm bell, warning her to drop the peaches and run. He cant see her face but he hopes it’s frozen in fear; that’d be part of the fun.
He brushes up against her as she reaches down to grab a fresh peach. He basks in her delicious confusion and panic as it washes over her face. He grabs the peach from her hand, cooly takes a bite and sweetly growls “I warned you that I’d find you. Didn’t I…pretty girl…”
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