Succubus Lost
Daniel Gage
Copyright 2013 Daniel Gage
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, businesses, characters and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, actual events or locales is purely coincidental.
“Hey, Katie, did ya see the news?” one of the girls asked when I got to work.
“No, should I have?”
She turned on the TV. “They’re talking about it again, listen!”
The news was showing footage of a hospital. A bed was turned over, and they zoomed in on a pair of broken handcuffs. “Police are baffled as a man escaped custody after being in critical condition. He was apprehended the day before as he was walking along the highway, dehydrated, bloody, and carrying a spear. When questioned, police say he became violent, and was shot twice.”
They cut to a picture of a man that, despite looking worn out and beat up, was actually kind of attractive. “Police don’t know the man’s name, but say he is approximately six-foot-two, very muscular, with short black hair. If you see this man, call the police immediately. Do not approach him, he is considered very dangerous.”
I never cared much for current events. Even the bizarre and scary ones. It was, after all, Las Vegas. All you had to do was walk down the Vegas Strip at night to see a whole host of weird things.
She put the TV on mute. “God, how scary is that? He was shot twice yesterday and escaped the police today? What sort of drugs is he on?”
I shot a half smile as I headed back to the dressing rooms. “Don’t know, but he was kind of cute. So whatever he’s on, he better share.”
I may joke like that, but I won’t touch drugs. Not even alcohol. I’m afraid of what I might do if I’m not in complete control. More specifically, I’m afraid of who I would hurt.
I knew something was wrong with me when I kissed my first boyfriend and almost killed him.
I was fourteen at the time, and he was so cute. He wasn’t the quarterback on the football team or anything, but he was just the nicest, sweetest guy I had ever met. He would carry my books and call me pretty. So that night when we finally kissed, my knees were weak and my head was swimming. The rush of energy when our lips met was so intense.
At least it was enjoyable until he collapsed at my feet, unconscious.
I called 911, but didn’t stay around to see what happened to him. I panicked, afraid that I did something wrong, afraid that I would be arrested, or worse.
He was also the only boy who ever liked me for me. After that, something changed. Everyone else just fell head over heels for me whenever I smiled at them. It was strange. It was almost like overnight I went from being invisible to having the world wrapped around my finger.
It wasn’t until a few years later that I knew better, both about what the police will and won’t do, and what I did to that poor boy.
My father died when I was six. My mother left me behind just after I turned ten for some rich guy and his daughter. I couldn’t even get her on the phone after I almost killed my first boyfriend, and there was no one else I could talk to about this. The only option I had left was trial and error.
Since my mother had abandoned me, I was in and out of foster homes until I was eighteen. It wasn’t the fault of my foster parents, they always adored me. All I had to do was bat my eyelashes and they would do anything I asked. At school, all the boys and girls wanted to be my friend, when before they didn’t look at me twice. But I just kept moving on, since I never felt like I belonged.
I couldn’t touch anyone without draining the life out of them. Clothing served as a barrier, but skin to skin contact was impossible. Once I figured that out it was less of a problem, but those I touched while learning about this weren’t that lucky. The boys were sick for a month, and that poor girl… I don’t like thinking about her.
Making it to eighteen wasn’t easy. When the people that are supposed to take care of you never tell you no and give you everything you want, there isn’t much point in staying with them. Or when your so-called “friends” agree with everything you say and do, it makes for a very lonely road.
You think life would be easy if nobody told you no, but I wanted nothing more than the opposite.
I didn’t even finish school. As soon as I turned eighteen I took off to Las Vegas, where everything was so fleeting and superficial and fake that I fit right in.Vegas soon became the closest thing I could call to home since the days my mom and dad were around.
This lasted for a nice seven years.