Goats from Lambs

Prologue

Terrance Michaels belligerently stumbled and weaved down Eden Avenue late Thursday night. His laminate ID badge danced back and forth beneath the belt loop of his bargain bin khakis as though it were a parody of his inability to walk in a straight line. Ripping it from his waist and shoving it into his pocket, Terrance silently cursed it for mocking him.

Everyone mocked him.

Whether they said it or not, Terrance knew what they were thinking. Sure, they all saw some middle-management loser, but they didn't know the glory of the beast that lived inside of him. A monster that formed a meniscus at the surface of Terrance's very being, and screamed for release with every waking moment of his pathetic excuse of a life. Just brimming the surface, brewed a dark creature that thrived on perversions played out in such detail they often danced the line of reality.

The laughter of two female club goers cut through Terrance's anger like a Siren's song, naturally pulling Terrance's focus in their direction.

The two young women looked to be in their early to mid-twenties, judging by the supple tautness of their skin and the under-pronunciation of consonants in an attempt to sound apathetic to everything around them. Thankfully they were both so pre-occupied with their respective phones that Terrance was able to take them in from a distance without them noticing.

The first of the two had long, straight, brown hair that caught the glow of the streetlights, making her hair look like lit runways on either side of her face, leading down towards the deep plunge of her low-cut top that halted just below the cup of her ample breasts. Below that, a purple jewel danced back and forth from her belly button piercing, suggestively pulling focus down towards her low-cut, painted-on leggings that revealed a small tattoo of a cartoon cat just above her manicured pelvis.

As Terrance continued to take the first girl in, she bent over to fix one of her thigh-high leather boots, arching at an angle that acted as an invitation for Terrance's gaze to now explore the crevice between her breasts as they gently swayed back and forth, begging for release.

Terrance felt himself suddenly shift from intrigue to anger.

Fucking slut. She knew exactly what she was doing.

Terrance's focus then drifted to the second young woman. She too was dressed in a revealing manner, however this one wore a gold cross around her neck, the base of which pointed suggestively toward the taught fabric of her see-through blouse that stretched over her firm, athletic breasts.

There was something about this second woman that held Terrance's gaze. Whether it was her large eyes selling the false promise of innocence, or the more conservative clothing choices in relative comparison to her whorish friend, Terrance kept his eyes trained on her as he continued his approach.

Foolishly, Terrance's stare lingered for too long, resulting in the brunette whore catching him, prompting her to call him out, "Enjoying the view you fucking Creeper?!"

Completely caught off guard, Terrance attempted to respond only to find that the alcohol had taken his words. There he stood, stuttering and shrugging like a thirteen year-old boy caught with a dirty magazine.

The whores then whispered something to each other before pointing and laughing at Terrance as they re-entered their meat market to continue pawning off their attention for free drinks.

Even as Terrance passed the entrance of the club and continued walking, he could still hear their laughter leaking out into the street from inside the club.

Laughing. Just like everyone else. How fucking dare they.

Terrance wanted to show them why he wasn't someone to laugh at. He wanted to break them both. He wanted to teach them a lesson on respect, and fear, while the other was forced to watch. Then he would be the one who was laughing.