Page 5 of Toxic B!tch
Overhead, the store’s speakers blast Christmas music, and I roll my eyes. The sound of "Jingle Bell Rock" grates on my nerves, the cheery lyrics twisting in my mind.Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell... chop. I imagine slicing through bone instead of ringing bells, blood spraying instead of snowflakes falling. Each verse becomes a murderous replay in my head, a festive little horror show.
He quickly turns my way and I duck to my right, pretending to be searching for baby formula. I hear him coming this way, so I pick up two cans and read the labels. I’ve never understood this stuff. If a baby can’t be on the tit, why can’t they drink cow’s milk like the rest of us?
After I get home tonight, I’m going to have to look that up. I love learning random facts and who knows, maybe it will come in handy. I could be a mom someday. My kid would be the coolest, baddest little shit ever. I just know it.
Setting the formulas back, I trail behind him as he approaches the register. I snag a candy bar and a can of Alani to avoid looking suspicious. I watch as the cashier scans his bizarre selection—condoms, lube, and Imodium.
What a fucking combo, buddy.
“Your total is fifty-two dollars and eleven cents,” the cashier tells him, bagging his items.
“Damn,” he sighs, clearly putting on a show. “It’s getting expensive out here for a gentleman. What are you doing later, sweet thing? I’m hitting Dodge Lanes. You should come meet me. Have a drink or two.”
Is this fuckhead for real? He’s buying rain jackets for his cock and meds to help his explosive shits… and he wants to ask this girl out? I can’t with him.
“Maybe.” She blushes.
He hands her cash, and she counts it slowly, like it’s a rare treasure, before dropping his change into his palm. Ramon winks, grinning like a fool. “Hope to see you later, babe.”
My eyes roll to the back of my head as he walks away, and I step up to the register. “Keep the change. Please have some self-respect and don’t meet that jerk.”
The worker stares at me, wide-eyed, but doesn’t say a word. I grab my things and stride out, adrenaline coursing through my veins. At least I know where he’ll be tonight.
Remembering that my phone was vibrating like crazy, I pull it out of my cleavage and unlock it.
It’s an unknown number. Who the hell is this?
Unknown: Hey. You gave me your number the other night. I hope it’s okay that I text.
Unknown: Not trying to bother you. But if I read things wrong, just let me know.
I frown, irritation flaring. I don’t give my number out to just anyone. But curiosity gets the better of me, so I decide to play along.
Me: Hmm. I don’t give my number out to just anybody, so what makes you special?
The reply comes almost instantly.
Unknown: Well, I thought we had a good time together. All the laughing and talking while we danced. But I’m nothing if not a gentleman, so if it was just a lady out having a good time... Break my heart now rather than later.
Me: Well, now I have to do just that. I’ve definitely never laughed and danced with anyone unless myself counts. I think you have the wrong number.
Unknown: Figures. Not the first time, and I’m sure it’s not the last. Thanks for your time.
I pout at the response. How sad is that? Do they get wrong numbers a lot? Is this a serial situation? My anger at them for interrupting my stalking is forgotten.
A giggle escapes as I put my helmet on.A person with a serial situation texts a serial killer.
What the hell? I’m friendly enough and this person obviously needs a friend right now or at least a pick me up.
Me: Hey I’m sure you’re cool as hell. It’s their loss. These texts tell me you’re well mannered and that’s not something you see a lot nowadays. P.S. I’m Indigo.
Is it reckless to tell a stranger my name when they already have my phone number? Sure. Will I just slice them to pieces if they track me down? Also sure.
I rev my bike and head home, my mind racing with plans for Ramon. The first that flares up is cutting off his dick and sewing it to his forehead. It’s creative, but I need time to imagine the masterpiece fully.
I pull into the garage and park before heading straight to the living room, ready to unwind with some trashy reruns.Bad Girls Clubis calling my name. I flop onto the couch and grab the half-finished popcorn from last night.
My phone buzzes again, pulling me from my thoughts.
