Yay! My second Cowboy Bebop fic----not like anyone cares...jeez...oh well, at least I try, right?
Jerk
By Female Sesshoumaru/Jupiter Jazz
Gentle rhythms
coaxed my body into a sensual sway, my hips rocking back and forth as
I danced with this unknown man in front of me.
I would do anything
to forget him. Anything to erase that jerk of a cowboy from my
mind--even if it meant continually sleeping with other men. I didn't
care who they were, so long as they could satisfy me long enough to
forget him, even if only for a moment.
It was pathetic; I knew
it was, and yet, I didn't care.
What had I become? Surely I
was better than this--surely I was above seducing drunks in some
sleazy bar who were from God-knows-where and had Hell-knows-what
diseases that I could contract.
I was better...wasn't
I?
Apparently not. I'd grab any item of clothing that would
label me as some sex-crazed slut, even if it meant wearing clothes
with less cloth than my yellow vinyl shorts and vest. And even if I
wasn't dressed like a prostitute, it wasn't like I'd have to beg a
man to sleep with me; I knew I was attractive.
But tonight seemed
different for some reason. I kept hearing his voice in my head,
teasing me and calling me derogatory names--as well as idiotic
comments about the kid and that stupid dog. I saw his seriousness
when he left to fight that silver-haired bastard.
Though the
music hadn't stopped yet, I stumbled from the dance floor like a
puppet cut from its strings, suddenly freezing and desperate to hide
myself. I wanted to crawl under a rock and hide from everything.
Hot
tears returned to stain my cheeks as I slid into a sitting position
against the gray wall, paint chipping off into my hair and onto the
yellow dress shirt I wore.
I was freezing. The clothes I wore,
though far from sluttish, didn't seem to keep my body heat, which was
flowing away with my tears.
Why had he had to leave? Why had
he gone to defend the honor of that stupid blonde wench? Why couldn't
he have seen that I---
I wanted comfort. I wanted him back.
Maybe if I sought forgiveness in God, like I had done as a child, I
would have a chance...no. Even if God forgave me, I knew I could
never forgive myself. I could never be pure again, not with the
weight of so much sin and blood on my shoulders.
I had no hope.
With him, I could live. But without him, I would most certainly
die.
The yellow dress shirt slipped off my shoulder, and I
yanked the collar up to my nose, searching for the scent of sage and
sandalwood that belonged solely to him.
It was gone. I only
smelled the damning scent of lilacs and and vanilla, the one he had
complained about one night after the Teddy Bomber incident. A hand
caressed my cheek, the calloused pad of the thumb pushing a tear away
and smearing my eyeliner. A deep, familiar voice insulted me, calling
me yet another derogatory name.
Out of habit, my hand reached up
to slap the offending man, only to be halted as I caressed the
stubbled cheek. My hand drew over his lips, and---
I woke
up. I looked over my shoulder at him, the arm carelessly slung over
my waist wrinkling my oversized t-shirt. He was still asleep, snoring
as he usually did. I clamped his nose shut with my thumb and
forefinger, pressing my lips to his to cut off his air supply and
stop him from snoring.
He coughed as I released him, straddling
his hips. One eye opened lazily, asking me what in space he had
done.
I crossed my arms and smirked, and he dropped a dorky white
cowboy hat on my head before letting out a wolf whistle I knew our
companions could hear.
One word left my mouth.
"Jerk."