Assassins' Strip Club [Ereri/Riren AU] ✓

Chapter 5

Assassins' Strip Club
Chapter 5
Eren

I can't stop thinking about him. It's been a week of day in, day out classes and I can't concentrate on a thing. Teachers have even starting expressing concerns since I haven't turned in any work. I've been shutting myself in more as well, allowing my friends the minimal amount of attention they require to believe I'm okay.

But I'm not okay.

I keep replaying the scene in my head, angry that I'm more aroused by the display of violence than by the stripper in my lap.

I need to go back.

I'm sitting in my room on the floor playing with my pocket knife.

He told me not to come back.

I stab the floorboards.

Well fuck him. If he didn't kill me the first time, he probably won't kill me the second. Something is going on in this city, in that club, and I need to know what it is. My curiosity is eating away at me, mixing with the desire to see Sniper in action again and I can't fight the urge any longer. I've made my bed. Time to lay in it.

I pull the knife out and throw it in my bag along with all the usual suspects. I feel like I should have something more to protect myself with but I don't own any other weapons. Maybe I should buy a gun.

I look down at my hand, thinking of how it would feel to hold such a weapon, holding the ability to drop a man simply with the pull of a trigger.

I growl, slapping myself in the face. "Concentrate."

I throw my bag over my shoulder and pace the room. I should go alone, no sense in putting my friends in danger plus they'd only get in my way. "You only care about the latter, dumbass, don't lie to yourself."

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. Am I really about to do this? To risk my life? And why? What do I expect to happen when I get there?

I pull the knife from my bag and put it in my pocket this time for easier access. I have an hour until it's appropriate clubbing time so I force myself to sit, pulling out a sketchbook and pencil. I pull the knife back out and examine it. Can I use this if I need to?

I lick my lips, placing the knife in my left hand and picking up my pencil with my right. I close my eyes, imagining Sniper. I imagine him taking me back to a private room. I imagine him pulling a gun on me. I imagine gaining the upper hand. Then I imagine slitting his throat. All the blood... so much blood.

I begin drawing the image to get it out of my system. I need my thoughts to be clear when I go. I'm not the best artist at this school but I'm good enough. I haven't been practicing lately though so the sketch is a little rough. I don't mind though, no one else is going to see this.

Once I finish I stare at the image of Sniper with his neck cut open and I don't have to look down to know I'm hard. I throw the sketchbook against the wall. I don't want this, do I?

"Fuck!" I tug at my hair and drop my bag, leaving for the bathroom to wank one out before I leave. I've been doing this a lot more lately, usually in the shower, and I always, without fail, think of him. The first time I'd fought against it angrily but after the next few times I'd just resigned myself to my fate.

I finish into the toilet, flush it, and pull my pants back up. I grab my bag and keys and head out, mind clearer than before. The drive is eerily silent as I don't elect to turn on any music. Before I leave the car I find myself checking my outfit for some fucking reason. I'm in black skinny jeans and a white tank top covered by a black and white checkered plaid shirt. Not exactly clubbing attire but at least it looked decent on me.