Ghosts of Halloween: A Dark Why Choose Romance

Part 1

I fake moan, bouncing on Ryan’s dick in the back of his car. I’m in his lap, riding him reverse cowgirl style so I don’t have to see his face. The windows are fogged with our labored breathing, and the car is filthy, burger wraps and empty cans littering the floor.

The music is just loud enough to hear over the rhythmic slap of our bodies, and I focus on that, waiting until he’s finished. This was a bad idea. I know I lost my spark quite some time ago, but I wanted to try one last time.

To get that high.

“Yeah, babe,” Ryan says, and I realize I’ve been quiet for too long. I give him another moan, and he squeezes my hips.

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I focus, closing my eyes, and there is something. A little bubble in my chest. The way he holds my hips seems to do the trick, and if he just did more with his hands…

“You fucking like this, bitch,” he wheezes out, bringing his hand to my left breast and squeezing.

I give him another fake moan, but internally, I’m seething. The bubble is gone. I don’t feel anything now. The slide of his dick inside me does completely nothing, and if I didn’t put lube in my pussy before approaching him, it would be very uncomfortable right now.

He’s wearing a condom, anyway. There is no point of contact, no skin on skin. It’s just numbing and not even unpleasant. Just… nothing.

I bounce harder, my jaw set. I’m done, but I need to get him to finish. Because if I leave now, he’ll be furious. Like others before him, he’ll hound me and punish me for being a tease… No, don’t think about it.

Point is, I learned my lesson. I always let them finish now.

Although…

I sink into Ryan’s lap, and for a moment, there is only the cheerful pop music streaming from his audio system and our hard breathing. His hand falls off my breast and settles on my hip again, and I close my eyes.

It’s tonight. I’m doing it. And that means, he can be furious with me all he wants. I won’t be affected.

I don’t have to suffer his sleazy touch even one minute longer.

Tomorrow, I’ll be gone.

“Bye, then,” I say.

I open the door and shoot out, not stopping to right my panties. He just pushed them to the side, anyway, so I’m good. No underwear at my ankles, tripping me up.

I slam the door shut and run away, knowing now is the most dangerous moment. If he catches me, he’ll fuck me against a car, and he’ll be rough and cruel. No spark from that, though a part of me likes to be hunted and caught.

But not by Ryan. Not by anyone I know.

I hear muffled screaming behind me, but it will take him a moment to get his dick in his pants, and by the time he comes out of the car, I’ll be gone.

They always underestimate me. The lame girl. It’s like they can’t even see there’s nothing wrong with my legs, and I can fucking run.

All they see is my right arm.

I breathe faster now, a glow of exhilaration filling my body as I shoot between the cars, Ryan’s father’s car dealership blurring past. He always wants to fuck here, in the back of the lot, sometimes in his own car, sometimes in one of those for sale.

Feels like a king looking out on his future kingdom while I work his dick.

Loser.

“You fucking whore!” he bellows far away, and I laugh under my breath, slinking out through the rusty gate.

It’s already dark, and the fog is rising above the neglected lots surrounding the dealership. It’s cold, the air humid and icy, but I burn from within. The faster I run, the hotter I burn, and soon, Ryan is long forgotten behind me.

He’ll never get me now. None of them will.

I’m free.

But soon, I am among the houses, the wild outskirts of our town giving way to streets with neat rows of buildings. People walk under the tired glow of street lamps, children laughing and shouting with excitement. Fallen leaves crinkle under my shoes and rustle above in the canopies, and I take a deep breath of the icy air. It’s tinged with the smoky aroma of burning candles.

It’s Halloween.

I slow down. I attract enough pitiful glances as it is, don’t need to be seen sprinting down the street as well. People can’t help staring, I’ve been told. It’s my job to make them notice me less.

Don’t stand out. Don’t attract attention.

It’s with a profound regret that I slow my steps and even out my breathing. Because when I’m no longer running, the fire inside me dies.

It’s always like this. I run every day, for an hour or two if I can, but that’s just two hours out of twenty-four. How am I supposed to live off two hours a day? I’m dead the rest of the time.

A sick, numb feeling crawls up from my gut, wrapping around my heart and lungs, sending tendrils to my limbs. With it comes the pain. The palm of my prosthetic arm pulses and throbs, the hammers descending, and I curl in on myself, walking faster.

I’m used to the phantom pain, though. I’ve saved my Oxy, hurting for weeks now. This is nothing new.

What’s new is the heavy dread filling me as I contemplate where I’ll go tonight. I haven’t been there since I was nineteen, and Noah took me to celebrate after getting me the new prosthetic. The one I still have.

He paid twenty grand for it, and I knew better than to ask where he got the money. Especially since I already had suspicions.

It’s such a pity it will go to waste, I think, running my fingers down the smooth black surface of my arm. But it was made to fit. I doubt anyone else can use it.

Pushing my way past the trick-or-treating crowd, I finally reach my aunt’s building. Janet lives in a tiny bedsit, and I sleep on the couch. It’s a bother, she makes sure to remind me every day. She needs her space so she can invite her “friends” over.

Well, tonight, she’ll have the apartment to herself. Once she’s back from the bar, of course.

I grab a change of clothes from the scratched dresser where I keep my stuff and go to take a shower. I dressed sexily for Ryan, opting for a skirt that was easy to hike up and a tight top showcasing my boobs.

The outfit I pick out now is just as daring, but in another way. I don’t usually wear it, because people don’t like seeing a lame girl dressed as gothic Lolita. It’s too much for them to handle.

The unwritten rule is that since I already stand out, I should do what I can to blend in. If I don’t, I get punished. Men catcall and whistle, and not in a way that gives me the spark. Mothers cross to the other side of the street when they see me. Teenagers snicker.

But it’s Halloween, I think when the lukewarm water, the warmest I can coax out of the pipes, falls down my body, washing off Ryan’s sweat. I can dress up for Halloween.

Tonight, I can do anything.