CLOSER | H.S.

02.

Scarlet's pov.

"I was born sick, but I love it."

Hozier — Take Me To Church

-

There he was, his slim figure standing a few feet away from me. His expression was surprised, but he quickly recomposed it, being deadly serious once again. I didn't know his name, but I remembered him, just last night, sitting on his lap, making him feel like a man.

He didn't move one muscle, just smirked as the words came out of his lips. "Scarlet, isn't it?"

"I-I guess you could call me that."

"Excuse me?"

Oh God, he looked the same as he did last night, except cleaner. His hair was damp, but I couldn't remember if he was wearing the same clothes, it's like he always wore tuxedos. There were bags under his eyes and his face was swollen, he looked tired.

"That's... My stripper name", my voice came out trembling, but the chat was somehow calming me down. I wasn't crying any more. I was planning on talking as long as I could.

"Leave."

And with one word, those three scary men that almost broke my arm this morning ran out of the room like chickens.

"Get up."

I obeyed him. I got up, fixed my clothes and cleaned the tears on my face with the back of my hand. That's when I got to take a look in the room; it was huge, the whole "house" was that room. There were TVs in one spot, sofa in the other, games, a refrigerator, his desk, a bathroom... It was like his office was his own man cave.

"So what brings you here?" He finally moved, going to the front of his desk and leaning his body against it, crossing his arms on his chest. I have no idea why he asked that, he already knew the answer.

"I owe you money", I was too scared to move.

"A lot of money", he had a thick British accent. He was young to be in the position he is, but yet not too young. And handsome. Maybe that's why he was so successful. "Do you want to know what I do to people that owe me?" His piercing emerald eyes wandered to a knife laid beside him on the table.

"I have an idea."

"So let's get this over with", he bounced his body off the table and turned his back to me, making his way around it and placing himself next to his chair. I panicked.

"Uh hey, aren't you that stylist?" The first subject that came to my mind.

"I am", he took off his blazer, supported it behind his brown leather chair and revealed a white slim shirt.

"So..." Say something, say anything. "Uh- why do you do this?"

"It's fun, I'm good at it, gets me shitloads of money and I get to kill people", the words crawled out of his mouth with no emotion; he rolled up his sleeves. I was moving uncomfortably on my spot.

"You were my favourite yesterday."

"Flirting with me is not going to save your life." 

He had a mirror behind him where I caught a glimpse of myself; I was a mess.

"Can I at least know your name?" I figured, if I'm going to get killed then I might as well know his identity.

"Does it matter?" He opened one of his drawers and my legs shook for a bit, until I realised he was only looking for a cigarette. He put it between his dark lips, made a shell with his hand in front of the lighter and clenched his jaw as he lit it, taking a long time to release the smoke. Every move he made was interesting, like a dirty dance.