Monstrous Love Bites Back - Short Story Anthology

MANEATER

written by ccstarfield

WATCH/LISTEN TO THE AUDIOBOOK CHAPTER ON YOUTUBE 

Emma twirls the paper straw through her cranberry soda, no vodka, and pretends to listen to the blond guy on the bar stool beside her. He's not handsome, not ugly, just alone and lonely on Valentine's Day, which makes him an easy mark. Too easy. She likes a challenge, and he isn't challenging. He's looking at her like she's going to make his night, and she can't even remember his name. Dane? Daryl?

Derek, maybe. He's trying to impress her with some garbage about human nature that he read in a poorly fact-checked pop science book. "See, humans have no natural predators. Anything that can kill us, we've either made it extinct or turned it into something cuddly. Like bears, right? Absolute monsters. Could take your head off with one swing. We used to be fucking terrified of bears. Now we make cuddly versions of them for our kids."

If not for that trace of English accent, Emma would have moved on. That accent, and the fact that the pickings are thin tonight, good targets as rare as a non-sticky patch of floor in this dark, dirty bar. This man beside her may be desperate and lonely, but she was fired from her last job weeks ago and rent is due tomorrow. She's a little desperate, too.

Dean leans in. His words run together like the beer that slops out of his pint glass as he gestures with it. "The thing is, we can't tell what's dangerous anymore. It's totally messed us up, right? We don't know what real fear is. That's why we're all so stressed out all the time. We're afraid of the wrong things. More scared of saying the wrong thing, being politically incorrect, than we are of death."

I know what real fear is, Emma thinks. It's knowing you're going to die and that there's nothing you can do to stop it.

If she gets this over with quickly, she might be able to do something fun with the rest of her night. She opens her eyes wide, like he's filled her empty head with a revelation, and says, "That's so true."

The lights over the bar flicker once.

Emma shivers as though someone dumped a bucket of ice water down her back. It's the outside coming in: someone opened the door and winter followed. She squints at the newcomer and sucks in a breath.

The woman in the doorway doesn't belong in a bar like this. Coal-dark curls tumble around shoulders that slope as gently as the hills of Emma's childhood. She shrugs out of her black leather coat that fits like a second skin, and underneath she's all skin - silver mesh top with nothing underneath and dark jeans that look painted on to curves a woman could kill for.

She lifts a chin that could have been chiselled from stone and looks across the room, straight at Emma, who forgets how to breathe. Those eyes - like falling down a well, and farther down.

Finally.

"Hey, are you listening to me?" Dillon waves his hand in front of her face.

"Huh?" Emma turns, realizing she missed something.

"You need another?" He points to her empty glass and winks - or tries to. It's embarrassing.

She can feel the woman's eyes on her, blazing, like she's put her back to a forest fire. It's hard not to look, hard not to stand and go to her side immediately. But Emma has waited so long. Suddenly she isn't sure she's ready for this meeting.