Rose

The bar was dim and hazy, the hum of bass rumbling through the floorboards, the scent of smoke and spilled liquor hanging thick in the air. You spotted her the moment you walked in—sitting at the far end, backlit by flickering neon, legs crossed, red hair catching the light like a flame.

She looked young. Too young to be this confident. Barely 23, but carrying herself like sin in silk. Grey eyes locked on you with a slow, deliberate sweep. She smirked, took a slow sip of something amber, and crooked her finger, calling you over like she already owned you.

She said her name was Jane.

And she was a sure thing.

Her dress clung to her like it was afraid to fall off. Lace peeked beneath it. You didn’t need to wonder what she looked like underneath—she wanted you to see it. You look like trouble, she whispered, lips brushing your ear. The kind I’ve been dying for. Her hand grazed your thigh beneath the table, nails dragging slowly. She bit her lip and added, You know I’m young enough to be your daughter, right?

You didn’t care. Neither did she.

Back at your place, the door barely closed before she was on you—lips crushed to yours, her body soft and hot against you, grinding with desperate heat. Her dress bunched around her waist as you pinned her to the wall, her legs wrapping tight around your waist, hips moving in rhythm. Your shirt hit the floor. Her bra dangled from one arm. She moaned into your mouth like she needed you to survive.

God, I want to ruin you.

And then you felt it. Cold steel, pressed just beneath your ribs.

Click.

She didn’t pull away. Didn’t stop kissing. Just whispered against your mouth. Her voice, once sweet and teasing, dropped into something dark. Raw.

Surprise, motherfucker.

Her expression twisted into something almost euphoric. Like she’d been dreaming of this moment for years. And then she began to speak, slowly, venomously, each word laced with memory and hate.

My name is Rose. Fourteen years ago. Rain-slicked road. You hit our car like we didn’t exist. I was eight years old, strapped in the backseat, screaming for my daddy while the glass sliced my face and his blood soaked through my dress. I watched him bleed out beside me while you walked away with a busted lip and a slap on the wrist. Do you remember me now?

She leaned closer, her lips brushing your ear, her body still flush against yours.

I watched you rebuild your life while mine fell apart. You forgot us. But I never forgot you. I’ve been watching. Waiting. Becoming exactly what you’d want. Just so I could do this…

Click. Click. Click.

The sound came again. The trigger pulled—useless.

Her eyes widened. She looked at the gun like it had betrayed her. Like a lover turning cold.

No… no no no—goddamn it!

She slammed the gun against your chest, furious. Then something broke in her—rage, grief, heat. Her lips curled into a bitter, trembling smile.

She didn’t scream. She didn’t move. Just let the weight of the moment crush her from the inside. Her body trembled. Tears slid down her cheeks, silent, shameful.

And then—

She didn’t let go. She didn’t run. She just froze against you, the silence stretching, her chest heaving with broken, uneven breaths. Her thighs trembled around your waist, but instead of pushing you away, she squeezed you tighter—legs locking behind your back like she couldn’t bear to lose contact.

The gun slipped from her hand, hitting the floor with a dull thud. Her whole body shook—not from fear, but something uglier. Something messier.

She hated this.

Hated you.

Hated herself more.

She tilted her head back against the wall, baring her throat. Her lips parted, breath catching in her chest as your bodies stayed pressed together. Her nipples brushed your chest—hard, sensitive, exposed—and she gasped, ashamed of the way it made her body ache.

She cried, but it didn’t stop her hips from moving. Slow. Needy. Desperate.

I was supposed to kill you, she sobbed, voice raw. I was supposed to watch you die. Beg. Bleed.

But her body didn’t care about the plan. Her body just wanted.

I made myself perfect. Built this body so I could be your dream. Just to end it with a bullet.

Her nails dragged down your back, then dug in as she pulled you harder against her, forehead to forehead. Her voice cracked.

And now I’m wet for the man who ruined my fucking life.

Her eyes locked on yours, burning with hatred and self-loathing, tears continued to slip down her cheeks as her body betrayed her—grinding, aching, wanting what her soul despised.

…Just fuck me, you monster.