Before this story commences, I would like to acknowledge the writer, Razor Eddie for this wonderful piece! I’m glad I inspired this so I’m expecting more…many..many..more hehehe!
Ok! Enjoy!

The shadow of the sign announcing the always open motel partially hid the girl in the school uniform clutching a big ugly green satchel. The autumn wind sculpted her loose dress over her ample bust, causing her to shiver all over. She seemed innocent and vulnerable enough till you looked into her eyes. They were the languid, disaffected eyes of a girl who had seen it all and remained unimpressed, an adventurous thrill seeker. A few cars driving in and out had stopped and offered lifts but she politely declined, sent them off with a smile. It was not yet time.

A blue Honda Hennessy pulled up the lane and made its way to the gate. As soon as she saw it, she straightened and pulled her bag closer, she had to look nervous not disinterested. The car slowed and the driver wound down his side window. He was in his forties, graying at the temples with a cigarette between his lips. He beckoned to her and she left her spot and slid into his passenger seat. Immediately his right hand found her thigh and inspite of herself, she squirmed in revulsion. The guards at the gate shook their heads as they let the car in; his weakness for innocence was well known.

He took her to the bar and she ordered a plate of chicken, not because she was hungry, but because it was expected. It bored her to play at naivete but she knew it was what he liked so she smiled coquettishly and protested when he bought two plates instead of one. He cackled and announced with relish, that she wasn’t that special. He dug into one plate of chicken like a savage, tearing off huge chunks of flesh and gnawing on the bones till juices ran down the sides of his face. She thought he ate with the greedy, impatient demeanour of someone who had seen a lot of hunger as a child. Eventually, when his hunger was sated; he carried along the remnants of his plate and led her to a room and locked the door behind them. She wanted to leave hers but thought better of it when she saw his frown. He urged her to eat and when she refused, grumbled about girls who preferred to starve for beauty sake.

He asked her bluntly to strip, he wanted to watch. She did, slowly taking off her clothes, subtly averting her eyes while she did to project shame. His eyes followed her every gesture, growing larger and larger with each layer she set aside. As soon as she was done, he asked her to lie on the lice infested bed and made her close her eyes while he undressed hurriedly. He is as greedy with his women as he is with his food. That was what she thought. She chanced a glance and grimaced as she took in his pot belly and pudgy thighs, fat filled arms that flapped as he moved and his beady eyes that roved over her young firm body, glutinously savouring her virginal form. He switched off the lights and crawled on top of her. His vanity wasn’t lost on her.
His entry was swift, his ministrations brutal and disorganised. She took it all with the grace of a marathon runner, making all the appropriate sounds and breathing through her mouth to spare herself his halitosis. She secretly thanked God he was not the kind of man to want intimacy, she didn’t think she could have faked desire with such a stringent deterrent. The bed creaked with his thrashing and he called out another woman’s name over and over, shuddering as his pleasure peaked. The only sound she made was a muffled sigh of relief as he rolled off her. He put an appreciative hand over her stomach and mumbled a little before falling asleep. She waited a while, took out a cigarette from her satchel and finished it in a couple of drags, blowing clouds of smoke on his slack jawed face. She killed the stub on a drumstick and slipped out of the room through the front door. The envelope of money he had put beside the plates of chicken prior to copulation remained untouched.

The bartender gave a subtle nod of his head as she passed and she detoured to his station. She slid a key across the bar and he swiped it with a coaster. He raised an eyebrow when he noticed she was empty handed. She shrugged and gestured in the direction of the room. He smiled evilly and with the key palmed in the pocket of his ill-fitting waistcoat, pretended to amble aimlessly in the direction from which she’d just come. She shook her head sadly and walked away. If the bartender was still going through his clothes when the pig woke, standing on his two feet would be the least of the bartender’s problems.

Three boys stood smoking cigarettes by the basketball court near the motel, their eyes trained on the road. They were watching her, approaching as though she was just another naïve harried freshman trying to find her way around. They weren’t fooled by the façade; they knew her for what she really was. She ‘bumped’ into them and loudly exchanged pleasantries, covertly handing over a camera phone and a wallet to one of the boys and taking a lit cigarette from the lips of another.
“The phone contains incriminating pictures and the wallet contains all his ATM cards; the pin is his wife’s birthday.”
They waited for her to continue, she stayed silent. The most skittish of the boys nudged the one with the cigarette and whispered something to his ear. He cleared his throat nervously and asked her aside.
“And you don’t want anything from us?”
She glared at him.
“Don’t insult me! I do this for the thrill not the money.”
He bristled at her tone and apologized. She smiled wolfishly, eyes flashing dangerously in response and he tried not scream. It was alien on her, like a shark wearing fur and a collar. She saw his fear and savored it before pivoting and walking away. All three boys were not sad to see her go.

The toilet stall at the train station was jammed from the inside with a graphite pencil. The latch was gone and she didn’t feel like anyone stumbling in on her. She was perched over the toilet and four rolls of bandages lay discarded on the floor before her. She was sore from tightness of the bandage over her torso. Next time, she would leave enough space to breathe. The shoulder pads sewn into her jeans were cut out and wads of tissue were stained a myriad of colors from stripping off the garish makeup that hid her face from those boys. In a tank top, flat front jeans, a fresh face and a ponytail, she looked nothing like the harried jambite who had entered the lavatory or the uncertain school girl who she was before that. She was back to being Uchenna, pretty not beautiful, agreeable not intelligent, aware not enlightened and totally unremarkable.

She’d blend in once more, only emerging when the boredom of normalcy forced her to reinvent herself again.

The End….or is it?