Monster: The Grimmjow Chronicles

Chapter One

It was very late, but I am apathetic to the concept of time. If I'm hungry I eat, if I'm tired I rest, and if I want to go clubbing, then damnit, that's what I'm going to do! The actual time is irrelevant to my activities, which explains why I am unable to keep a job for more than an hour. I'm feeling generous, so I'll give you an example.

I had managed to snag a secretary position at a small business on East Side Los Angeles. I had arrived late by forty five minutes, and I was let off with a warning. About ten minutes into the job, I was asked to write an email to some business associate about some meeting later in the day. About fifteen minutes later, I was asked if I had sent it yet. You can call it honesty or bluntness, but I told the inquirer I had not written it yet. When asked why, I said I didn't feel like it. They quickly had me escorted into a small room where my employer asked me why I had even applied for a job I clearly had no interest in doing. Slightly irritated at this, I yelled that as long as the damn thing got written, who cares how soon it happens?

I'm sure you get the point. Hence my current predicament: I am jobless and therefore without income. Luckily I'm a terrific guesser and often win small lotteries, which are barely keeping me out of L.A.'s already crowded streets. There is nothing I like about this city. It's an oversized, overcrowded ashtray full of crime and filth. Unfortunately, I am underfinanced to relocate. I have several pictures of clean Caribbean around my bedroom. They used to serve as motivation to save money, but now they only are reminders of what will never be. I'm lucky, but there's a difference between luck and miracles.

A miracle is that the creaky floor my dingy apartment rests on doesn't collapse under the weight of my belongings. Even the neat piles of my clothes and my sleeping bag seem to cause a depression in the floor. I was holding different articles for my nighttime passion: clubbing.

I chose one of my personal favorites, albeit a cliché, I looked truly fabulous in my short black dress. Made of what I did not know, but it felt light and tight on my skin, which I adored. It defined my curves, and made illusions of my breasts and butt. I transformed from a modest C cup to an impressive D cup. My round, firm butt was sexy as it was, but the dress ended just a short two inches below it, making it appear even more voluptuous than it already was. Instead of boring straps, the dress had two small 'sleeves' to cover my shoulders but leave my neck exposed. The material did not start again until about midway down my back. I considered myself nothing short of a vixen garbed in this dress. It was the pride and joy of my existence. I had splurged a heinous amount of money when I eyed it from a window. I paired it with strappy black sandals with two inch heels, which boosted me to an imposing 5'10.

Despite my fiscal situation, I own a monstrous amount of make-up and cosmetic items. It's all organized in front of my second favorite possession; a full length mirror that sits on the floor at a slight angle. I use little or no cover up due to fortunate genes. I spend at least twenty minutes making myself stunning. Mascara, eye shadow, eye liner, a tad bit of blush, pencils, curlers, and miscellaneous tools. By the time I'm done, I've painted myself fierce and sexy with different shades of blue. I put in some dangling light blue earrings along with a few hoops and studs in my cartilage. I stand up and inspect my work. I look fabulous. Happy with my work, grab my comb and give my mid back length chestnut hair a final brush. A small side bang hangs on the left side of my face. I bend over in front of the mirror and inspect my bright emeralds. I always loved my minority eyes and the way they complimented everything I painted near them. I glanced at the moon that glimmered outside my tiny balcony. It was time to go.

The streets of L.A. aren't safe for someone of my brilliance; muggers and rapists crowd into alleyways and corners. I scurry into my favorite nightclub, ignoring the semi-long line to get in. I have an unwritten agreement with the bouncer that I'm such a patron to the industry I deserve to skip the line. The delicious scent of club drinks fills my nostrils as I inhale deeply. I order the cheapest thing they have to offer and the bartender smiles at me.

"I almost thought you wouldn't show up, Alicia." Eric worked the bar almost every night, so he and I had grown to friends over the months of mingling. I could tell he thought I was the greatest thing on Earth, and he didn't mind me knowing. I loved the game of flirting and toying, and he was especially fun to wind up.

"Me? Miss a night with good drinks, guys, and music? You must not know me as well as I hoped you did," I coyly replied, fluttering my eyelashes and tilting my head, swishing my hair to show him my slender neck. I could see lights dancing in his eyes, and I was pleased with the obvious desire he held for me. He made me a drink and was about to lean forward, reply already in his mouth when a bunch of rowdy men crowded the bar demanding scotch all around. He winked at me and did his duty. I took my leave and scoped the club from a wall, martini in hand. I could already feel pairs of eyes gazing at my figure which boosted my confidence considerably. Eric was pouring scotches and making small talk with the men and others, but he kept a constant flicker to me.

The club was slowly filling up with people, when finally one or two younger, attractive males entered. I strolled towards my prey, and tapped the taller one on the shoulder. He turned and his pupils widened. He put his hand in his pocket and leaned against the wall with another toned arm. The pose made for flintiness and confidence. He raised an eyebrow and began to open his mouth, but before he could speak I pressed a finger against his lips and spoke before him.

"I'm going to skip the formalities if it's alright with you. Would you care to buy me a drink?" And with those words, I could tell he was hooked. We strolled over with him in tow. Before long, I had consumed three of my favorite margaritas and the buzz was catching up to me. He had been very patient, and I smiled with my teeth and grabbed his hand. We quickly went to the dance floor, and I was greatly amused as he tried to keep up with me. I twirled and side-stepped, finally allowing him to grind into me. I turned around, my back to him, and slithered my way down, pressing hard against him as he ground furiously against me. Once close to floor, I swiveled my self around and stood myself up slowly, flicking my tongue as I came above his pants. I could feel his heat and it fueled me only more. He put his hands on my butt and squeezed, and I gave him a small gasp to assure him I enjoyed it. He smiled crookedly at me and leaned in close to my neck, breathing in my sweetness and exhaling softly on my jugular. I shivered involuntarily. We continued this for a minute or two, and while grinding enthusiastically, considering giving his member a small touch, my brain almost stopped working.

A man had just stepped into the club, scowling deeply, irritation bright in his eyes. I apologized to my dance partner, saying I had to leave at once. He looked absolutely crestfallen. I no longer cared and sauntered over to the shadows where I could stare at the newcomer without being seen. I was absolutely star struck, and felt my heart tremble in my chest.

He was quite a few inches taller than me, probably standing at about six feet tall. Lean muscles rippled throughout his body. His hair is what truly made him stand out of the slew of entrants; short and teal that seemed to defy gravity, save a few strands that fell across his face at the part. His eyes were akin to the color of his hair, with mysterious streaks of what at first appeared to be make-up. I assumed they were some sort of marking. The most curious thing was the giant bone structure of a half jaw, complete with jagged teeth, on the right side of his face. He wore a black jacket open slightly to reveal the beginning of a beautiful chest. His pants were black business slacks; his shoes black loafers that were slightly scuffed.

He had me around his finger and we had not even spoken. I almost forgot myself as I felt my feet take an instinctive step towards my desire. I hid back into the shadows and pondered at what best approaching method should be used. I could try to talk to somebody else and hopefully catch his eye, but this was risky as he might not be the pursuing type. (I didn't know this at the time, but this was a dreadfully wrong conclusion.) I instantly denied the idea of walking up to him as I had the simple college boy. This new contestant had such a fierce look direct contact could be fatal. I decided to see if I could get any information, and I quickly gave Eric a pleading look. He walked to the far side of the bar and I went up to him.

"Eric, my most dear bartender, could I ask you for some information?" I beseeched, not wanting my prey to slip away while I was preoccupied.

"I suppose, for my most dear patron. What is it you need?" He was delighted with the fact I needed him with something else besides getting drunk. I would have been amused but my mind was a beehive.

"Do you know anything about the man with the blue hair and the black suit?" My eyes shifted. My target had taken a stool from another man at the end of the bar and was glaring around, probably searching for a bartender that was currently unavailable.

Eric shook his head in dismay. I scowled and quickly thought of a different plan of action. I shooed Eric away, and saw an open stool next to my man of mystery. I took it casually, but first I stood by it and waited for him to notice me. He did not look my way even when I coughed loudly. I furrowed my eyebrows in impatience and took the seat slowly. He still did not seem to take notice of me and drank his vodka shots without emotion. I turned towards him, legs crossed with my torso leaning forward slightly to give him a better view of my breasts.

"Excuse me, sir, but is this seat taken?" I asked as seemingly innocently as I could, sending all of my sexiness to my eyes. He turned his head slightly, as if surprised I would speak to him without prompting.

"It is now. What a stupid question to ask."

I couldn't believe it. I had never been met with such strong and total disinterest. I felt my jaw hang loosely, and I quickly snapped it up. I downed my third martini and ordered a strong shot of liquor. We sat in silence for a few more minutes, when I decided to try again.

"So, are you here for business or pleasure?" I tried leaning on my hand seductively, and moving my hair to give him an excellent view of my neck. He maybe looked me over for exactly one second, before glaring at me intensely.

"None of your damn business." He snapped, once again turning away from me. Now turning irate due to the unwavering denial and the booze, I pouted and gave him a glare.

"Why are you so cross at me?" I retorted, subconsciously hoping my feistiness would catch his fancy. Unfortunately, this just wasn't my night.

"If you want to live you'll leave me the fuck alone. Go bother some other fucker."

I sat up and left. That's how distressed I was. I decided to call it a night and go home. Right there. I could not have been more annoyed. I walked down the sidewalk quickly, my vision a little disorientated from the numerous drinks.

I felt my face being sprinkled by blood as I crossed an alleyway. I saw a large hole in a brick wall of a building, and what looked like the remainder of a person. And I saw a man standing in a white sort of suit, his hand extended over the corpse. My muscles tightened as I saw him turn his head and see me. He took a step towards me and I took a step backwards. I could already see my fate the same as his first victim, and I turned myself to run, but due to my indulgence in alcohol, I only fell to the ground in a drunken stupor. I started to crawl away half heartedly as the mystery killer stood over me, face void of all emotion. His face blurred into focus. It was perfectly white like the moon, with two cheetah like black lines running from his eyes. He had eyes as green as mine, but unlike my lively emeralds, they were as dead as the man in the alley. My fear blossomed into curiosity at this outlandish person.

"I-I won't tell anyone! I probably won't even remember this in the morning! Bastard…bastard probably deserved it anyway!" I smiled in hope that he would find me just a stupid drunk and forget about me. I feared the worst and for a second, I almost wished for my father to save me…

He reached out to reach my forehead, and before I could sink into my dysfunctional memories, everything faded to black.