Samantha Brittain

November 6, 2006

Fiction 1

Brenner

Monster Story

The Lily Maid, Lady Cocaine, is thin and whispish, but she towers over her victims, casting her shadow over them. She can't be less than seven feet tall. She is washed out, colorless, her skin as pale as the lilies from which she takes her name. Her hair is of the palest blonde, and hangs limp past her shoulders. Her eyes are the only real color she has; shocking, stoned sapphire blues that seem to look right through you. And look through you she can. Her long, icy fingers end in sharp points like lances, ready to grab you and hold you fast, digging into your fragile flesh. She loves the feel of your delicate skin tearing. Mere humans are no match for her.

White Lady has a white silk dress with a wide, flowing skirt. Sewn to her skirt are vials and vials of the purest cocaine. They clink together when she walks that gliding, hip-wiggling walk. She holds a hand mirror, ready for lines to be cut. When she isn't holding it, it is looped through her belt. When she smiles at you, and she often does, mocking you, her teeth come to points. She may smile oh-so-sweetly, may look to you like someone you knew once, but don't fall in love. White Lady is no one's friend.

But Jazz has always seen the Lily Maid as a friend. She has not yet graduated high school, but already she is a heavy user. Cocaine is her escape from bipolar disorder, her escape from everyone's high expectations, and her escape from being so young and wishing she was already gone. Perhaps Jazz doesn't know why she uses. Perhaps she does. It doesn't really matter.

It is after midnight at a drunken college party. Jazz sits on a worn couch in the darkened apartment, what lamp light there is making her dyed black hair shine. The room is crowded with people, endlessly chattering and drinking. The music is loud enough that it feels as though her heart beat is changing to match the pounding bass. She stares at nothing, already drunk, swigging from a bottle of Jack Daniels. She passes it to her friend Reid, who grins and accepts, his teeth white and even in the lamplight. He drinks, then hands the bottle back.

Jazz stretches a scarred arm to take it. Reid grabs the arm and stares at the newest mark, which stands out the most. It was made two weeks ago with a heated letter seal, meant to match the tattoos on the backs of her now ex-boyfriend's arms.

"I wish you wouldn't do that shit, Jazz," he says softly.

"My body, Reid. My canvas."

"Yeah, your canvas. Not your block of wood for etching." He snaps. She shrugs it off, too drunk to care. Reid cares more than he should, she can take care of herself.

And then the hostess, Meredith, offers to do lines with her. White Lady, who was been winding through the crush of bodies, biting here and there, smiling viciously as they breathe her in, makes her way over to Jazz. She sits on the arm of the couch, pressed against Jazz, one slender hand on the girl's forehead, the other resting on her neck. Already the Lily Maid is whispering into Jazz's ear, sweet words, false promises. But Jazz believes, believes because she has to. Lady Cocaine's lips tickle her earlobe erotically.

"You know you want me." The drug says softly. "You want to breathe me in. I'll take you away from all this. No one here loves you, but I do."

And so Jazz takes the mirror, breathing in the white powder with the ease of practice, and the Lily Maid laughs, an evil, throaty sound. It takes awhile for Jazz to be completely gone, but she gets there. She is lost in White Lady, who is kissing her softly, singing incessantly into her ear. The songs are nonsense, but they make sense to Jazz.

Meredith smiles, having inhaled herself, offers the mirror to Reid. "Come on, Reid, you never do any drugs."

White Lady steps away from Jazz, but the girl can still hear her voice in her head. Reid would be an excellent victim. He's never touched her before, so matter what she does. She resolves to have him.

Reid starts to shake his head and stops, because the Lily Maid has settled into his lap and is kissing his neck. White Lady is nothing if not seductive. She thinks she can win anyone; over her long years of existence, many people have used her, giving her that rush of pleasure that she so dearly loves.

"Reid, my dear, you want me. Admit it." She says softly. "Look at Jazz. You could be as happy as she is." She caresses his cheek, smiling winningly.

Meredith hands the mirror to Reid. "Come on, you coward, it's just a little cocaine. It's not gonna kill you." She says, her voice taking on a harder edge. Meredith is never pleasant when she's been using. Reid takes it, staring down at the drug, unsure.

Lady Cocaine laughs happily. "I have you now, boy." She says. "You can't resist me." She kisses him softly. Reid flinches, shoving the mirror back at Meredith.

"No fucking way, Mer." He says angrily. "I'm not a crack head like you."

White Lady shrieks in anger and crack the boy across the face. He shrugs it off. White Lady is not going to use him. He has no interest in making himself sick as Jazz does. He has no interest in spending all his money on fixes. He has no interest in driving home so out of it he can barely see.

He remembers losing his best friend a year ago to a fatal heart attack caused by cocaine. And he thinks of all the times Jazz has called him when stoned, and he has begged her to let him come get her. She never lets him, but drives herself home. And just because she hasn't had an accident yet doesn't mean she won't. He dreads the day when he cell phone rings and someone on the other end says in a comforting voice, "Reid, there's something I have to tell you. It's about Jazz."

He grabs Jazz's hand and pulls her to her feet. "We're going home." He says. "I'm driving." White Lady swears angrily at them and throws things at their retreating backs as they leave the room.

"You may have gotten free, boy, but she will always be mine." The Lily Maid laughs. "I will have her until I kill her, like I did your friend."

"Oh no, you won't," Reid surprises himself by saying under his breath. He wonders why he said it. Then he draws Jazz to him, who smiles, and opens the door to the hallway. They are going home.