Page 2 of Swipe Right for Orcs
“Yeah. Shit. You’re a fucking asshole. Glad I wasted three years of my life on you. Next time, just break up with the girl and don’t cheat. I could have been out getting better dick myself.”
“Come on, Fair, don’t be like that. We can work it out. You should meet her. Maybe the two of you would hit it off.”
I can’t help but bark a laugh. “Are you serious right now? So you can have two girlfriends? This isn’t Sister Wives, fuckstick. We’re done. Enjoy your whore. Whoever she is.” With that, I hang up and slam my phone onto the cushion beside me.
My movie’s been playing while I was lost in this shit show, so I pause and hit restart before getting up and going to the kitchen for my box of wine. Franzia is my best friend while at college. It’s cheap, easy to find, and gets the job done when I need to tie one on.
With my box of wine and a glass in hand, I sit back down, pour a glass from the spout, and hit play. I make it to Casey’s murder and my third glass before the first tear falls.
I quickly wipe it away and sniff. “Why are you crying over that sloppy, dickheaded bastard?” My voice cuts through the silence of my apartment, louder than I expected, almost startling in the stillness.
The truth is, I don’t know why I’m crying. I thought we were in love, but lately, I’ve realized it was more about comfort, about having someone there during this last semester. I was willing to work on things, survive senior year, and see where life took us after graduation. But now... it’s not heartbreak I feel, it’s anger. And something deeper—self-doubt.
What does this other girl have that I don’t? Why was it so easy for Alix to just pull away and play me like a well-tuned instrument? Am I that easy to toss aside?
I pour another glass, then another, the wine going down smoother with each sip. By the time the credits roll, the bag is empty, and I throw the box to the floor.
“Fucker.” I struggle to click over to the next movie-Scream 2, which has the second sexiest Ghostface killer.
That same stupid ad plays and I try to fast-forward through it but end up freezing the TV as the little circle spins, telling me it’s loading.
Fuuuck!
“Swipe through the night, give Monster Match a whirl!” I sing, waiting for it to buffer.
It is a catchy little jingle. I bet a monster wouldn’t cheat on me. It’s probably hard as hell to find a partner as a monster since you’re all, you know…monsterly. They’d probably appreciate their woman, treat her like a fucking queen.
Maybe I should get a monster man since the human ones suck.
CHAPTER TWO
FAIRLIE
The app is on sale. I’ve never made responsible purchases while drinking, and it only takes my phone two minutes or so to download. As I watch the progress bar slowly creep to one hundred percent, I can’t help but feel a mix of excitement and hesitation bubbling inside me. The big, bold letters on the screen urge me to log in or create an account, and I stare at them, frozen.
Am I really about to do this?
It’s not like I’ve made the best decisions when it comes to relationships. Almost three years of my life were spent in a comfortable but utterly boring relationship with a guy who, by society’s standards, should have been perfect for me. We met in college, dated for years, and had the typical future laid out in front of us—graduating, getting jobs in our fields, and more than likely settling into a stable life together with a white picket fence and two point five kids.
What did that get me?
Halloween night spent alone, drunk, and no longer in my Thumbelina costume, yet still complete with her signature hair and makeup. Now, I’m just sitting here with my panties getting wet every time someone gets murdered.
Mr. Big-Dick-But-Don’t-Know-How-to-Use-It is probably out there railing some other girl, living his best life. Meanwhile, I’m here, drowning in cheap wine and bad decisions.
Fuck it. What do I have to lose? Maybe some sexy wolven or centaur will wanna be my eye candy while I play with myself.
With quick fingers, I fill out the information to create a profile: name, gender preference, my pronouns, what race I am, and my billing information. That was easy enough. Minus I tapped ‘prefer not to say’ for race. I want them to pick me for me, not for what I am.
The hard part comes next: picking the perfect profile picture and coming up with a few lines for theabout mesection. I scroll through my camera roll, finally settling on a picture I took at a bar a few nights ago. My light magenta hair was cascading in soft waves around my face, perfectly matching my favorite lipstick, and I’ve got a smokey eye that could kill.
Now for theAbout Mesection. Giggling like a fool, I type a few lines and know I won’t have many takers, but I’m here for a good time, not a long time.
Senior in college.
Human men suck and not in the fun way.
Looking to broaden my horizons.
