When she sees him, it doesn't seem important. He's tiny and pale and probably not old enough to have collected the amount of bottles around him, and she really doesn't give a fuck.
However, she sees him slip the bartender another hundred dollar bill in place of ID, and she shrugs. He's clearly loaded, and she remembers that teenagers that will fuck anything (she's only 19, but she forgets that), and if he takes her home, she's sure she'll find enough trinkets for the pawn shop, to will see her through Thursday.
It's not like he'll miss any of it.
"Hey," she sits by him wearing her best slutty smile. "You're looking for a hangover, aren't you?"
He laughs at her, not following the script. "Fuck off, slut," he says, and she's just itching to stick a knife in his gut. He winks. "Here's something for the effort."
He slips her two hundred dollars, and she blinks. Well that took less work than usual.
She takes the cash, and her hand falls off the handle of her blade. "Fine by me. You have a name?"
"Not in popular opinion," he pauses, and she doesn't care what he means. "It's Cassidy."
She doesn't like the name. "Can I call you something else?"
He says it with such fierceness she doesn't think of disobeying for a moment. That surprises her, because there have only ever been two men she's never disobeyed – out of love for one, fear of another, and she really doesn't know which one was the most effective.
She shrugs. "Fine," and they both pause. "Are you going to buy me a drink?"
"I gave you enough money, buy it yourself," he says matter-of-factly.
"Aww. Come on Cass, don't you want to take care of me?"
"You know, I really shouldn't be talking to you, right now," she tells him with a gulp of her beer.
"Let me guess, you've gotta go bed someone?"
"Someone rich. Someone I can take stuff from and pawn it. That's why I was after you, actually, given the way you're throwing cash about."
"Dad's cash. Which he earned by scamming innocents, so screw him," he informs her. "So you're a thief. And a whore."
"I'm a murderer," for some reason, she doesn't remember you generally hide that. He laughs.
"Well I'm a rapist. And a murderer. So it balances out."
She can tell he's watching her as she dances with some guy. She turns around, hiding it in a dance move, and she sees his eyes on her. She smirks and grinds up against the guy (David? Don? Something?)
Yet there's no lust in Cassidy's eyes; just intrigue. He can't quite figure her out, so he follows the shimmy of her hips, as if that says a thing about her. All is says is that she's a slut, and he got that right off the bat.
"Wanna go somewhere?" DaviDon whispers to her, and she barely needs to lie.
She loves the feel of a vampire crumbling in front of her; seeing them turn to dust in her hands. Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust and all that religious crap she hasn't respected in years. She loves the feeling that there is this whole race, butter in her hands. If she believed in some sort of psychology, she'd call it a power complex; acting out from when step-daddy would force her on her knees because Mom was passed out drunk.
When she dies, there'll be no funeral, definitely no cremation. She'll make sure of that.
DaviDon whimpers and crawls away. Shit, she though, even though she's not that sad to see him go. But how will she get cash now?
She feels wide eyes burning upon her, and she turns to see little Cassidy. "Hey, kid," she patronizes. "Having some fun with the stalking?"
He looks at the air behind her. "You just made a guy turn to dust."
She just rolls her eyes. "And?"
He doesn't answer that, and she continues. "Hey, Cass – do you want a funeral?"
She sighs. "Fuck you."
"Maybe later," he tells her, and she laughs at him.
It's kind of clichéd, her getting fucked in a dark alley by a guy she barely knows, but she shrugs it off. Cassidy is pinning her against the wall as best he can, which wouldn't be enough to keep her down if she wanted out, but it's more than she expected from his tiny frame.
"I thought," she whispers as he thrusts against her. "You weren't going to fuck me?"
He slams her into the wall harder, rough texture of brick grazing her skin. "King of the Liars, whatever-your-name-is."
"You only lied by omission. And it's Faith."
She almost never fucks in a fancy hotel room like this – rich men usually take her to their actual homes, and if she's just fucking, it'll normally be somewhere shit.
Cassidy is on top of her, teeth in her neck like a vampire she's meant to slay, but she'd rather fuck. She's kind of tired of him making her submit, though.
She brings her strength to the fore and flips them over, roughly grabbing for his jeans. His eyes turn from lustful to panicked, and she's a little confused.
"Stop," he whispers, and he's frozen. "Get off me. Get out."
She can't believe she's actually listening, that she feel of his hard-on falling is mattering to her. She frowns as she pulls herself off him, and he's still not moving, not explaining, not doing a thing. Fuck him.
"The hell? What's wrong with you now?"
"I repeat," he warns in a low voice. "Get. The. Fuck. Out."
How weird he is irritates her, as does the burning between her legs. She pinches something from the desk; it looks valuable, although she doesn't acknowledge what it is.
"Something for the effort," she explains.
Neither of them care when she leaves.