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Badass Horror
(Click the book to buy it!) 
Badass Horror will bitch-slap you in the face, kick you in the teeth, and burn cigarette holes in your couch. These seven stories, written by some of the finest writers of modern fiction, will dull the pain that Hubert Selby Jr.'s death left in your bitter heart. |
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Temporary
Do you know that bitch that works in your office? Yeah, you do. She isn’t single, but she hates her partner. Almost ten years have passed since her first and only promotion. Her fastidious but bitchy nature made her too valuable to replace at her current level and too abrasive to be trusted with any more power. She probably supervises three bottom-rung underlings, with a savage intensity, noticing three-minute lateness and remembering it forever. She is always on a diet, and that pisses her off, because she never loses the three pounds she wants to. Every comment that leaves her mouth, when you try to have a light-hearted conversation with her, is laced with sarcasm and cynicism. She only smiles at other people’s misfortune. Everyone is holding her back and shitting on all her earnest efforts, if you believe her rants.
Every office has one.
My name is Damien. I’m a twenty-two year old, temporary office worker, and I love to play mind games. It keeps my brain ticking over as I spend my working day filing various important documents and typing urgent letters.
The first thing I do, when I get to a new office, is look for the bitch. Then I kiss her arse, make her feel special, listen to her woes and ask her out. At this point I get into her head, and the fun begins.
When my work contract runs out, I blow her off in the most spectacular fashion I can imagine, and it all begins again with the start of a new contract. The circle of strife is complete.
It’s great fun when they cry in public. All that pride flushed down the toilet in a heartbeat. It’s a deadly buzz.
The last bitch on my shit-list was Fiona Mackie. She wasn’t hard to find. As soon as I got to my desk I was introduced to my supervisor. “Fiona this is Damien, Damien this is Fiona” and I thought to myself, there you are. She fell right into my lap, literally. Just before lunchtime we broke the ice when she tripped over a file on the floor near my seat. She put her hands out to save herself and managed to grab hold of my thighs. I smiled at her as she composed herself and she seemed to let her hands stay there longer than she really needed to. Eventually she smiled back and apologised. Before we lost the moment, I sprang into action.
“Do you think you could show me to the canteen when lunchtime comes around? I’ll make it worth your while.”
“Oh yeah?” she asked, trying to look uninterested.
“Yeah, I’ll buy you a sandwich. What do you think?”
“I think you’ve got a deal. I’ll do anything for a free lunch.” She said.
I gave her my most impressive smile and she blushed just a little. I thanked God for making me such a handsome motherfucker. She was flirting with me already. I’d have her by the end of the week, if I could keep this going. I decided against the usual tactics of hit and run. I sensed that this one would respond best to a full-frontal, all out barrage. The game was on.
In the canteen, we did the usual first day stuff. I asked questions about the freaky looking people at the other tables and made some nasty comments about those just out of earshot. Being a bitch, Fiona lapped it up. She had plenty to say about everybody. I pretended to be interested. I asked her about her home life and nodded in all the right places as she complained about her lazy boyfriend and her hyper five-year-old son. The more she talked the more time I had to check out her physical attributes.
I must admit, she was quite pretty in that Ice Queen kind of way. Her features sharp and harsh but also perfectly sculpted. Her hair was poker straight and dyed jet black. It hung freely around her shoulders and I began to imagine that she had a bit of a Goth-chick background. I wondered if she would wear a corset to bed. She was quite slim, but not in that anorexic way that leaves you wondering where the arse has gone.
The little bit of jewellery she wore was silver and understated. Her clothes were obviously meant to reflect a professional nature that demanded to be taken seriously. It would have worked if she hadn’t decided to undo just one button too much on her blouse. She wore heels that would give normal people vertigo. I didn’t notice her wobble as we took the stairs to the canteen. I guess she was used to wearing them. She was probably insecure about her height. Minus the heels I guessed five foot two. She smelled liked coconuts.
I was in lust. I had to be careful not to treat this as anything more than a game.
***
A new guy started today. His name is Damien. He’s good looking, I suppose. You know the type. Clean cut, great hair, well dressed. I believe the term they use in America at the minute is metrosexual. At a guess, I’d say he has a couple of older sisters who taught him what to wear and inflated his ego from no age. Not my usual type, but he might make a nice distraction. He’s already bought me lunch. I’ll let him think he’s in charge and see where it goes.
He might even surprise me. Of course, it wouldn’t take much for him to outshine the other losers that have come before him.
***
“Do you like adventures?” I asked.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
Me and Fiona did lunch together for the rest of the week. On the Friday, I suggested that we give the canteen a miss and head out to the local bar for some pub grub and a few beverages. Since it was Friday and she was having fun flirting with me, she agreed. We went to a little dive called the John Hewitt and I ordered a bottle of red wine to go with our soup. I wanted to get her on to that nice liquid-lunch buzz that seemed to attack your inhibitions even more than a night session. We polished it off in just half an hour. I gave her the lion’s share, but even I could feel the effects of drinking too fast. It was time to make my suggestion.
“I mean, are you an adrenaline junky like me? Do you walk on the wild side? Do you get off on danger? Is there a part of you that dreams of something more exciting? Do you like adventures?”
She stared at me for a minute. I couldn’t read her expression. She took a slow deliberate breath and said, “Are you asking me to do something naughty with you?”
Result.
“Yes I am. I spent a bit of time investigating the store rooms in our offices. I think I found one with a broken lock that may or may not be in use.” I said.
“I’m listening,” she said, “do go on.”
I smiled at her and let the sexual tension build. Then I reached across the table and took her hand.
“You know what I want. I want to know if you want it too.”
She nodded imperceptibly and I went to the bar to take care of the bill. We left the John Hewitt together, and almost ran back to work. On the way she slapped my arse and said, “You better be as good as you think you are.”
I didn’t even dignify the comment with a response. When we got to our cubicle, Fiona made a big show of gathering some invoices from her desk. She told me we were going to the store room to verify some old invoices against their orders.
It wasn’t much of a story, and our colleagues must have seen through it, but I didn’t care. I was dying to undo the rest of her blouse. I planned to pop a few of the buttons off. I wanted to see how well she would cope with something like that. The mind games always kicked in after the sex. The button thing was an old classic.
As soon as the storeroom door swung shut we attacked each other. I pulled at her clothes but the damn buttons didn’t pop. I’d have to save that for the next time. She tore at my clothes with a ferocity that matched mine. She was quivering with excitement. We melted into each other and the dance began. She didn’t ask me to wear a rubber. I didn’t think she could bear to stop. It pained me to admit it, but she was the best I ever had. But then, I was probably the best she ever had too.
As I was putting my shirt back on I noticed that she’d bitten me. A perfect little love-bite. Kind of cute, but a little too much like a brand of ownership. A mark of insecurity in my experience. But I was more interested than pissed off. I watched her fixing her bra for a bit before saying anything. She had great skin. A little pale but truly flawless.
“I wouldn’t have picked you for a biter.” I teased.
“You were delicious.” Her eye contact was haughty. Sometimes her arrogance matched mine.
When we were dressed, we made our way to the door. Before we stepped out, she turned around and stuck her hand down the front of my trousers. The little beast sprang into life in her grip, and she laughed. It was an evil laugh. Man, I loved it.
“You better stay here a little longer,” she said, “Can’t have you running around the building with that on show.”
She walked out of the room, leaving me behind with a new place to hang my jacket. It was ten minutes before I was able to leave that room. The bitch got one over on me. It was time to up the ante.
When I got back to my desk, she looked at me without expression. She was good at this. I asked her about overtime and she said she was a bit behind in her returns. If I fancied coming in the next day it would be a help. I told her I had no other plans and I needed the money for a holiday. I would be there with bells on. She nodded and our next date was set. Just like that.
***
Damien is quite tasty. I’ve enjoyed this week with him. He’s a bit of a slow mover though. It took him a week to shag me. I didn’t think he had the discipline to hold back on making a move. More fool him. I would have let him have his way a lot sooner. He was okay. Better than some, but not the best by a long shot. I’ve asked him to come into work tomorrow for a spot of overtime.
I don’t mind telling you, I’m going to make it the most memorable day at the office he’s ever experienced.
***
I had some crazy dreams the night before our overtime date. The feverish mind wanderings were mostly of Fiona, the bitch, but they weren’t the good kind. I woke up wet in all the wrong places.
After my morning shower, one image from my nightmares stuck with me. Fiona with my penis in her mouth, without me attached. It made me too queasy for breakfast. I brushed my teeth a second time and left for the office instead.
She kept me waiting at the doors for fifteen minutes before she arrived with the key. That pissed me off a little, but I didn’t want to give her a reason to avoid sex. I remained cheerful. It was made easier as I watched her step out of her little VW Golf. She was wore a short skirt and “fuck me” boots. As she breezed past me I caught the now familiar scent of coconut.
As I stared at the back of her beautiful pale thighs, I realised what the smell was. It wasn’t soap. It was sun lotion. Pretty weird, considering the overcast weather. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want her to know that I noticed. It would make me seem too love-struck and pathetic.
“Good morning gorgeous,” I said.
She walked right up to me, stared me in the eye and licked my lips. I felt the hairs rise at the nape of my neck and a twitch between my legs. For the first time in my life I was speechless. I felt like I was hypnotised. We went inside and I watched her hips sway as she climbed the stairs to our floor.
We had the building to ourselves. I had planned to make some use of the photocopier. I had also set up a little webcam in our storeroom to capture our next performance. But these things were the farthest thing from my mind as I watched this vision sway before me.
When we got to our desks, Fiona removed the t-shirt she was wearing and ordered me to take off mine. I did it without hesitation. I would have went to church for her. I stared into her eyes and felt like I was floating as she spoke to me.
“I like you Damien. You’re a slimy, insincere, twisted, little asshole. I like that in a man. You’re pretty easy on the eyes too. So I want to give you something.”
She took a razor blade from the waistband of her skirt. I didn’t feel fear or concern. I trusted her with my life. She drew the blade along the flesh between her shoulder and the base of her neck. A thin line of blood trickled down over her pert breast. She pulled away the cup of her bra before the blood soaked into it and ordered me to drink. I started at her nipple and licked up towards the self-inflicted wound. As my lips encircled the thin gash, I felt icy fingers grip my heart. I closed my eyes, and lights exploded behind my lids, as the pleasure of pain ripped through my body. I felt like I was burning and freezing at the same time. Then I didn’t feel anything.
I woke up and Fiona was having her way with me. I came to just in time for us to orgasm in unison. It was fast but intense. But I still felt a hunger. We went at it two more times before we stopped to talk. I knew what had happened, but I had to hear it.
“I’m dead now, aren’t I?”
She nodded then pointed at my neck. I opened my desk drawer, pulled out my mirror, and had a look. There was a fresh bite-mark. It was perfect. It could have passed for a tattoo. She had branded me as her own.
That was just a week ago.
Being undead isn’t so bad though. In fact it’s a blast. Fiona believes in open relationships and I love women. I have more sex appeal and energy than ever before, and I love the taste of blood. And best of all, it’s permanent.
Death is sweet.
Copyright Gerard Brennan 2004