She sits at the bar, sipping a beer and listening to that nights live entertainment. She’s content in her solitude, content to take slow sips of the bitter brew and just be. It’s her first night out in a while; between work and all her other obligations, a night out hasn’t exactly been at the top of her to-do list. It’s been way too long since she let her hair down and let loose a little – and for her, being at the bar, quietly sipping beer in solitude was certainly letting loose. The music is good, the atmosphere of the small town bar is relaxing. She has come alone; she doesn’t need someone to hold her hand. In fact, she enjoys the fact that she can be quiet, that she doesn’t have to force conversation or small talk.
He is rowdy, surrounded by a huge group of friends. He is drawn to her because of her quiet, mesmerizing quality. She doesn’t seek out attention from anybody; and that’s what makes her stand out to him. He didn’t come to the bar to pick up women; bars are hardly ever a good place to start a meaningful relationship with anybody and that’s what he wants. He’s tired of one night stands and girls looking for the thrill of the unknown.
He wants to be known.
So, he approaches her cautiously and invites her to sit with them. She looks up through thick, long lashes and blinks without responding for several beats. He’s cute, in that small town way, but she isn’t interested in starting anything with anybody. Her last relationship left a bitter taste in her mouth – far bitter than the beer she’s sipping.
“I’m sorry, I was just about to head home,” she tells him, standing up. She gives him a polite smile and begins to walk away.
“Do you live far from here? I could walk you home,” he responds, sending her a hesitant smile. “I promise, I’m not a serial killer,” he adds, his smile growing. His teeth are white but a little crooked; somehow, it’s endearing.
“What if I am?” she arches a brow, her tone deadly serious.
“I highly doubt that,” he chuckles, looking her up and down. She must weigh one hundred and ten pounds soaking wet. He’s almost double that, his job in construction providing him with a muscular build and endurance.
She purses her lips, attempting to hold back a smile that threatens the corners of her lips. She tilts her head. “Well, if you insist,” she shrugs, grabbing her purse from the bar.
They walk out of the bar, side by side. He attempts conversation, making small talk about the weather and his job and anything else that comes to mind. She murmurs occasionally, spurring the conversation on without really adding to it. She never liked small talk – what was the point in it? In agreeing to allow him to walk her home, she’d basically invited him in for a night of pleasure. Small talk wasn’t necessary. Her tiny bungalow is located a ten minute walk away from the bar. Relieved, the vast garden that occupies most of her tiny yard comes into her line of sight. She relaxes. Home. Now the fun can begin.
She wasn’t certain at first that she’d be interested…but now, she couldn’t ignore the hunger for him. She wanted to taste him; consume him.
He’s impressed by her tiny bungalow; it’s neat and well maintained. The garden out front is full of beautiful summer flowers in bloom; and a collection of garden gnomes with eyes that seem to twinkle in the moonlight, all of them watching, waiting.
He walks her up to the front step, and she stops him. “Thank you for walking me home,” she says, giving him an inviting smile. They are standing among a circle of garden gnomes. The nearest one is winking tauntingly.
“It was my pleasure,” he replies with a lopsided grin.
“Would you like to really pleasure me?” she asks, her smile growing dangerous.
He’s taken aback by her sudden brashness. She’d been so quiet on the walk, and he felt as if he was talking to himself. Her words stir a desire within him, and his jeans begin to feel uncomfortably constricted. “I’d love to,” he says, stepping towards her.
“Good,” her eyes narrow, focusing on his lips. He kisses her, his hands tangling in her thick hair. She kisses back for a moment, her hands clenching the button up plaid shirt he wears. He deepens the kiss, she moans, her fingers digging in almost painfully. Her nails are sharp.
He chuckles, mistaking her fingers pressing painfully into his skin as passion. Maybe he’s right, but it’s not the kind of passion he’s expecting. Suddenly, her teeth sink into his bottom lip. Warm blood trickles down his lips and into his mouth, pooling into hers. He snaps his head back, wiping his hand across his lip.
“I’m sorry, did that hurt you?” she asks, giving him a sinister smile.
“Yeah, it’s no big deal though,” he says, a dire sense of dread rising from the pits of his stomach. She’s standing there, still wearing that sinister smile, with his blood over her lips and teeth.
“Oh dear,” she frowns, tilting her head. It’s as if she can sense his fear. “Well, this will hurt far more.”
Her hand shoots out, and he feels a pain so intense that his sight blurs and darkens. She’s clenching something that looks an awful lot like a heart. But…that’s impossible. How could a person pull another person’s heart out? He watches as blood squirts out from a hole in his chest cavity, soaking the winking, smiling garden gnome.
Everything goes black.
He never did like garden gnomes.
This is a post I wrote in participation with the writing prompts from Sarah Selecky. Today’s writing prompt was “write a scene that involves a garden ornament.”