Disclaimer/Warnings: Ginger Snaps and all its characters belong solely to their respective owners and creators. I hold no stake in the rights of Ginger Snaps, the only thing that I have a claim to is the creative manipulation below.
This story is rated M for scenes of violence/gore, explicit depictions of sex, female domination, harsh language, drug references, and mortal terror.
Notes: An erotic oneshot I wrote simply out of love for these two characters. This fic takes place not long after Ginger starts developing the aggressive symptoms of the lycanthrope infection but everything after that progresses very differently from the film. This piece was heavily inspired by the songs "Pretty on the Inside" and "Clouds" by Hole. Enjoy!
Screaming…
There was lots of screaming…
A high pitched collision of a boiling tea kettle with nails on a blackboard. Cries so long and deafening it was hard to tell where one ended and where another began. Underneath this audible assault was something of a strange tangibility; the feeling of wet and warm stickiness, like raw fish. It was an ever constant thrashing among this acknowledgement of deluged meat. The world was a squirming eel out of water, dying in desperation. Brightly colored veins and exposed flesh stretched endlessly in a living landscape. The humid, earthy scents of a natural domain battling for dominance and survival took hold in the atmosphere of this bizarre place.
There was no starvation of violence, everything acted in a brutal manner accordingly. It was the simple equation of one entity devouring another entity. The madness grew worse, as if there was no limit to it.
Yet, as the blossoms of blood-lust flourished, something underneath it all was weakening it; a blackness was sweeping over it. Soon there was nothing. A complete void, the maddening space of absence swallowed it whole.
The chaos defeated itself. A lonely howl escaped from the nothingness, desires for the return of these disgusting sensations. The longer the emptiness existed, the louder it grew; building up until the hurtful longing spiraled into hot rage. Then red.
Only red.
Red.
Red.
Red.
It would never stop until the void behind the seething body of crimson was filled. It had to be. It had to –
"Bee?!"
Ginger Fitzgerald sat up from the sweat-drenched sheets, realizing the feverish dream was simply nothing more than that. She turned her head to look at her sister's sleeping form in the bed next to hers; her body curled up in a slight fetal position underneath the purple comforter. A feeling of shame came over her as she listened to her own voice calling out for Brigitte. The past few days had put a rift between them and her anger towards her sister hadn't dissipated even now; making her childish act of desperation seem even more pathetic and awkward.
She couldn't take this animosity that was slowly driving them apart, although Ginger would never verbally admit to it. The feeling was completely alien to her. It was almost unnatural to know that she and Brigitte were no longer in sync with each other. That bond between them had been something that most people couldn't even conceive of nor understand. Yet the cords of said link was beginning to fray, what with Ginger recently being afflicted with the bodily curse every woman had to face, the antics of the mindless adolescent subhumans at their high school, the suffocating confinement in this disgustingly fake picturesque town, and everything else in between was seeing to that.
Then there was the incident with that thing… That big dog or whatever the hell it was…
All of it was taking its toll on them; however, Ginger was amazed that despite all they'd been through together since childhood these petty nuisances were the things that had put them at odds with each other.
The young red-head stared intently at her unconscious counterpart as she repositioned herself in the folds of her blankets. Her younger sibling had to have been jealous of her. It was the only thing that made sense. Brigitte seemed to find every way possible to be a pebble in her shoe, even going as low as to ratting on her to Pamela about her current situation of "becoming a woman". Yes their uppity super-liberal "mother" was another variable that would send her blood pressure to rise. Though she couldn't completely understand why Brigitte was so envious of her crowning achievement in attaining out of control hormones and vaginal martyrdom the idea in its entirety seemed to fit otherwise.
Ginger mused to herself, "How ironic… I'm supposed to be the one going through this bullshit dramatic cycle and here my little mouse of a sister is the one who's causing all the goddamn problems. Oh poor Bee, she's getting left behind. Oh it's not her fault she can't grow up just yet. I guess she'll just have to sit in the background where she can sulk about it before she takes it out on me some more."
The young girl bit her lip as she fumed over it all. Despite this intense and sudden hostility she knew she still cared for her sister, she just wanted to slap this jealous streak out of Brigitte and get things back to the way they were. Ginger assumed they'd work it out eventually; she just needed to be pissed at Brigitte for a while until then.
That and put this rage to good use; her teenage angst was severe and the fact that she was now fully awake and bored wasn't helping either. She sighed as she fell back onto her pillow to gaze up at the ceiling above her. It was then that her mind returned to the strange mystery of that dream she'd been having recently. Ginger hadn't a clue as to what any of it meant, only that it must have been brought on by the attack with the beast she and Brigitte encountered weeks ago in the woods. The odd thing was that as brutal as the visions were she wasn't altogether repulsed or unnerved by it, even though a part of her knew she should be. There was a strange familiarity about the peculiar "nightmare". As she stared at the walls her psyche conjured brief flashes of the dream like snippets from some obscure noir film. The longer her thoughts dwelled on it, the more her muscles began to tense up; as if she were getting ready to unleash her pent up energy. It was then that the beautiful youth began to sweat profusely as her body temperature spiked. Ginger breathed heavily; gasping for fresh, cool air.
An immense craving had overtaken her, but she knew not what for. Her supple limbs tightened and squirmed underneath the blankets, causing the entire bed to rattle and shake.
Then it all left as quickly as it came about; just like the very dream that seemed to inspire these maddening attacks.
Ginger's body slowly settled back down onto the bed as she recovered her breath; glancing over at Brigitte to see if the racket had disturbed her. It seemed that her sister was in a deep sleep. The incident didn't even cause her to so much as twitch from the position Brigitte settled into earlier. Ginger remained still as she continued to simply watch and breathe. Her muscles ached and her skin was covered in sweat, as if she'd just ran a fifty yard dash. It was amazing to her that she could be this tired and was still not able to plummet into sleep. How could she be this enervated without drifting off?
The sheets were beginning to irritate the already irate youth. She had to get out of bed, even if it killed her.
Ginger rolled onto her side and languidly threw her feet out from under the bedclothes; not even bothering to twinge when the sensation of the cold floor hit. Her course from there wasn't well planned and her movements were not unlike that of a drunkard roaming the lonely streets after a night well-spent at the bar.
She eyed the half-open bathroom door – it seemed like the best destination at the moment for no other reason than complete solitude and perhaps some water to cool herself off. After tripping over a few random objects strew about the bedroom floor and hoarsely screaming "Fuck!" a dozen times Ginger was able to pass through the doorway to the bathroom.
Her pale hand blindly groped along the left-hand side of the inner wall. It brushed across the lime green tile before it rested on the light switch on the wall. However she quickly thought twice about actually turning it on; growling at the very thought of sudden harsh light hitting her eyes and adding blindness onto her already impaired state.
She reached for the cold water handle in the sink, instantly reaching under the facet to let icy water fill in the palms of her hands before splashing it onto her face. This simple act in itself was a great relief to her, rubbing the cool sensation into her skin; a few drops of water trickled down her neck.
Ginger brushed the few remaining droplets away, feeling a little more revitalized now that she'd been able to cool down somewhat.
Now her gray eyes slowly looked up to stare into the frameless mirror that hung above the sink; those beautiful irises examining the silhouette which remained as still as its real-life counterpart.
The girl grabbed a lighter out of a small ashtray on the counter; effortlessly igniting the little flame. She held it to the wick of a plain and ordinary red candle that sat on a soap-dish affixed to the wall. The light of the tiny candle was soft and subtle, yet it lit the entire bathroom.
Ginger could see herself more easily now, at first glance there appeared to be nothing different about her. Her form was essentially the same as it had been for a long time.
Then it struck her, Ginger had never really looked at herself. Yes for the most part both she and her sister were above the social norm of teenage girls transforming themselves into brain-dead mannequins, constantly obsessing over how important their fleeting beauty was so that they could achieve the shining destiny of giving head to some steroid-addicted jock in a shitty pickup truck. However, that didn't mean Ginger didn't enjoy the occasional daring-and-quick glance from some sex-crazed guy. Of course they were all idiots, but that wasn't the point. Their meager affections were almost entertaining and she couldn't deny the sense of power it gave her; her physical assets more intriguing than those of the other girls. It was like beating a world-class chess player at his own beloved game without using any logic at all. Then there was the fact that she had a will and a mind above all the rest as well.
Her eyes traveled down from her face to the rest of her body, she removed the navy blue t-shirt she had slept in; her matching panties would soon follow it down on the floor. The young girl was now completely nude from head to toe.
As she continued to examine every fine curve, study every inch of smooth skin, flashes of the dream and the fever came to her once more. Ginger felt something stirring within her, she recalled forests and rivers that she'd never seen, remembered scents that she'd never smelled before, and revived strange reveries of sensations she'd never touched. Her stomach ached like she'd just been stabbed, causing her to lurch over the sink; on the verge of throwing up.
Then the attack took a different turn – instead of vanishing as before, the fever began to wind down. Ginger was adjusting to the sudden change in herself. It was almost breath-taking. It was...natural. She was craving for something, but for what she wasn't entirely sure. A feeling of heat gathered between her legs. Briefly, she let her fingers caress herself; the contact felt like a spark. Ginger had experienced sexual desire many times before this, but it'd never been this strong. She needed to be rid of it. The very idea of unfulfillment was something to be enjoyed and despised; the way a philosopher might love and hate the challenge of understanding the universe.
Ginger realized that she was much more than a girl, she was much more than a human – she was a force of nature.
Like her cream-colored skin needing to be free from the fabric of her clothes, Ginger's very soul needed to be freed from all the chains that had been placed upon her in this life; something inside her had to be released. For far too long she'd been just another teen outcast, and now Ginger was on the verge of something real, something beyond all the contrived notions of humanity. As with Narcissus and his reflection in the lake, Ginger had discovered herself. She had a power all her own, and she could use it to get the satisfaction she wanted. All she had to do was get out of here, and take it.
The young woman turned and walked out of the bathroom to an open walk-in closet on the other side of the bedroom; not even caring if Brigitte would wake up to her strolling about their room with nothing on (not that they weren't acquainted with each other in that aspect being sisters that spent so much time together).
She began leafing through the various garments that hung on the hangers with great haste, eyeing each piece without even a second glance.
After a moment she arrived at a bright red, button-up shirt with short sleeves that she rarely wore due to its low cut design. Until now she figured the shirt wasn't worth wearing since it was something that only those sluts at her school would wear (its vivid color saved it from her tossing it in the trash), but she was different, she was the one girl who could turn the tables; and tonight was different, tonight was the night that she broke out. Following a few more swipes at the long line of clothes and she would find a black leather skirt that came down just above the knee. An eager grin drew across Ginger's face as she threw the shirt on the end of her bed, then slipped into the skirt; not bothering to put on underwear. Grabbing the top once again she put it on, not concerned with a bra either. She wasn't altogether sure what she was getting herself into but her subconscious didn't seem to be concerned with the need for these.
Ginger looked about the room, "Where the fuck are my boots...?"
Within seconds she spotted her infamous footwear in front of the nightstand that lay between the two beds; the spot where she took them off earlier.
Quickly she walked over and bent down to pluck them up off the floor, as did so her eyes caught the sight of Brigitte's notebook lying on top of the cheap and small piece of furniture. Ginger had been noticing her sister's head constantly buried in the pages of the aforementioned notebook for the last week or so. She figured her mousey sibling was probably writing a bunch of angry journal entries about how much injustice she was experiencing from their current situation or something along those lines.
With a sly whisper, the mischievous red-head said to herself, "How about some light reading before I head out..."
She sat on her bed and opened the large spiral-bound volume to the first page – only to find some random notes for their science class.
"Glad to see our spats aren't affecting her schoolwork," she mused.
Ginger spent another minute thumbing through pages of notes and other trivial or humorous tidbits, sighing with disappointment at her lack of finding the expected results of her sister's work. However, after turning another page she found something expected, yet unexpected – a list of Ginger's activities and her findings about Ginger over the course of the last few days. The list in its entirety was things Brigitte had deemed "out of the ordinary" for Ginger; pointing out instances like "10:31 AM: Ginger pushed Naomi Cartwright in hallway; no real motive for action" to things like "Ginger's canines are noticeably sharper today" or even "Discovered empty can of shaving cream in trashcan today; Pam bought it the day before. Also found discarded razor full of course hairs."
There was more but Ginger was somewhat taken aback from the finding; she knew her sister wanted to be like her but this was in the psychotic stalker zone, although some of the notes were just plain odd. Perhaps Brigitte had developed some kind of serious disorder; either way she found it to be aggravating. She turned another page, there was a small book lying atop the open notebook.
Its title read, "Lycanthropy: Understanding the Nature of the Beast".
Ginger spotted a few edges of paper sticking out from the book, one was a calendar and the other a scrap of paper; both had been tucked inside.
Upon further examination Ginger discovered the calendar to be a monthly period tracker; Brigitte had been keeping tabs on her own sister's cycle. Her lower jaw hung slightly agape from shock and humiliation. Before she could react further she saw the date Oct. 30th was circled, the notation "Full Moon" with a complete circle symbol inside its box.
It was definite that Bridgette hadn't given up on the absurd notion that her sister was turning into a werewolf.
Her sister had indeed drudged up that wild story to her shortly after the attack but she hadn't even remembered it until now. She'd assumed that Bridgette was just trying another way to piss her off but she didn't believe that she'd take it this far.
"She always wanted to believe in fairy tales…", Ginger thought.
In that moment Ginger didn't know what to think, all she knew was that she was angry that her sister could be that out there to form these ridiculous accusations on her. As much as it infuriated her, there was a tiny part of her that was asking if the idea was truly that far out there...
She shook her head, "This is fucking bullshit. I know things are bad but she really can't be this fucked that she's got to make up shit like this."
She turned her attention to the tiny scrap paper that had been bundled with the calendar, after unfolding it, she found a phone number was written inside.
Ginger scoffed, "Oh did she save the number for the dog pound so they can take me away once I've made my miraculous change into the next Beast of Bailey Downs?"
Now she had to know what the number was for, seeing all that she had, perhaps the notion wasn't as far-fetched as she might imagine; even if it was two in the morning and most likely no one would pick up. Grabbing the white cordless phone (which Pam had so graciously bestowed upon them) she dialed the number, her thumb slamming hard on the keys.
It rang a few times, there was no answer, and no answering machine. Stubborn and irritated, Ginger wasn't about to give up so easily. She dialed the number again. This time ringing five times, a youthful and groggy male voice answered in the middle of the sixth ring, "Hello?"
It took only seconds for her pin a face to the voice – its owner was Sam, the adonis landscaper and local drug-dealer of their little suburb.
Now Ginger was beyond irritated and pissed off. It was almost too strange to imagine, not only was Brigitte dreaming up insane ideas about her sister, she was also dicking around with a complete sleazebag wash-out who hung around the high school trying to make extra cash by selling drugs to idiotic teenagers. It took every ounce of her being to keep herself from hurling the heavy notebook at her slumbering sibling and beating the hell out of her.
Trying to tack an uppity pleasant tone to her voice she replied, "Hello, Sam. It's Ginger."
He spoke with slight hesitation and confusion, "Hey...what's goin' on?"
Ginger threw the notebook on the floor and leaned back on the bed, "Oh nothing..."
She paused, caught in the moment pondering where to take this conversation next. There was a brief silence before she smiled with vicious delight, continuing on with, "I was just having some girly problems... You know, causing me so much pain and all that shit. Well Jason McCartey told me that some weed would do me good, but of course you know that, you caught us in your van that day. Anyway that really didn't cut it for me so I figure maybe something a little stronger might help... You know like... Speed or heroin or some shit. And I figure you're just the guy to hook me up."
She heard him sigh before he said, "Jesus, Ginger... Would you even know how to handle anything like that?"
Ignoring the comment, "Oh come on..."
Sam groaned, "Look I don't even have those kinda goods. I'm strictly a green-leaf guy."
"Please. You don't think I've heard all the stories about what the football team buys off of you, Sam? Sorority girls keep secrets better. If you're the businessman I've heard you are then you can't afford to pass up a customer like me," Ginger teased.
Once again he sighed wearily before saying, "I don't have any heavy shit like smack but I have a little bit of some ecstasy. I can give you a few tabs if you got the money. Meet me in the school parking lot tomorrow–"
Ginger interjected with, "Actually I was thinking about having it tonight."
"What?" he said with a surprised timbre, "Ginger it's two in the morning. Fuck off."
A streak of vexation slipped into the young woman's voice, "Oh well you see I don't give a shit, Sam. I'll be there in a bit. See you then!"
She could hear him trying to shoot off a response to her statement but she hung up without even pausing to hear the beginning of the statement, tossing the phone back into its cradle. Grinning once again as she thought, "I found my fun for the night..."
The fiery red-head snatched up her black boots and grabbed a dark gray trenchcoat from a rack as she toward the doorway out of the bedroom, turning just for a brief moment to whisper, "Bye-bye, Bee."
She exited, making her way through the basement area and up the stairs, through the living room and finally walking out the front door. She slipped her boots on as she stood on the patio; taking a deep breath of the chilly air before taking off into the streets of the suburban neighborhood. She was a solitary entity, not a one of these silly Middle-class bastards would dare be out this late; it was only her, the howling wind, and the occasional bark of a dog off in the distance. She felt no fear as other girls of her age would have, they would be dreading the very thought of some greaseball in his late 40's chasing after them with a deranged need to rape and kill them; rightfully so of course, but not Ginger. She was now the predator of the night; no longer did that title belong to just a man or even a beast. Where this sense of power and brazen attitude came from she couldn't say, she just simply felt it. There was no reason to fear anything as she pressed on; her pathway through the interconnected straightaways and avenues was illuminated by the light of a half-moon and various porch lights stretched out along each house. Ginger's destination – a greenhouse which Sam worked and lived in, was not far from their own home. The county greenhouse was probably a good twenty or thirty minute walk. She regretted her father not teaching her how to drive and lack of a vehicle other than her legs but Ginger didn't mind too much; the night was still relatively young after all.
Upon enduring the annoyance of crossing a thicket and about another twenty minutes of walking along more streets, the young woman was near her objective; the elongated structure was in sight. Fortunately, or perhaps even unfortunately, her journey was a dull one; she didn't run into anyone or anything for that matter. She hadn't even spotted a car on the roads that were usually busy even at night.
"That's alright. I'll just have to raise a lot of hell when I get to Prince Charming's castle…" she mused.
Although she never had actually been to the greenhouse before, she just heard things about it from the kids at school. Ginger was going to get well acquainted with the place soon enough as she approached the front door.
She tried the door and found it to be locked, which was somewhat predictable, but still annoying none the less.
She began jiggling the handle for a few moments, each passing second becoming more and more intent on getting in.
It didn't take her long to start banging on it; furiously screaming, "Oh goddammit! Come on!"
Rage shot up her spine like a roman candle, wishing for nothing more than to simply obliterate the obstruction into oblivion. Her hand gripped the door's handle once again, feeling a great rush of tension coursing through her arm as she did so. Her body then pulled backward, and suddenly she heard a loud scrapping sound. It was then that she felt the weight of the handle in her hand; there was nothing but a hole where it once had been – she had ripped it off.
The adrenaline had begun to die down, leaving her with a rather giddy feeling. Laughing, she jokingly exclaimed, "Oops!"
Tossing the broken mechanism aside, the young woman forcefully pushed the door open; happy that she had finally made it in.
Although it was extremely dark inside the greenhouse, she could see just fine. Plants of all sorts were housed here, from potted saplings to rows and rows of brightly colored flowers set in wooden boxes; here and there a bag of fertilizer would be placed. Moving deeper into this caged forest she spotted a yellow light that seemed to be shining out of a window on a door at the end of the long hallway.
"There he is."
Her legs made a long and slow stride toward the light, muttering to herself, "Oh Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo…"
Upon reaching the door, her fist rapped on the glass, holding back only enough so as not to break it. She heard Sam grumble and then the sound of his feet shuffling across the floor, his silhouette formed in the curtains covering the window. The door opened, tired blue eyes widened in surprise as they looked upon Ginger. With grogginess still in his voice, the handsome boy asked, "Ginger...what the fuck...?"
The red-haired vixen spoke casually, "I told you I was coming..."
Sam gave her an odd look, "How did you get here?"
"I walked," Ginger replied.
Sam took a brief glance towards the direction she came from, trying to look at the front door, "How did you get in here?"
Ginger shrugged, answering playfully, "Oh I just found out I'm pretty good at picking a lock." then changed to a more direct tone, "Are you going to continue playing 20 Questions with me or are you going to let me in?"
His response was a hesitant one, "Uh...I don't think you should be here, Ginger. It's late and we both could get into a lot of trouble. Give me a minute to get dressed and I'll take you home."
She ignored his statement, pushing against the door and his body; forcing her way in. The room was lit by a small lamp that sat on a small dresser next to the twin-sized bed. The white walls were bare save for a picture here and there. Random artifacts and drug-related items covered the nearby desk and window sill.
"Cozy little setup you got here." Ginger said as she looked about the tiny bedroom.
The dark-haired boy turned to face the intruder, "Ginger, get out of my room..."
The red-head began running her hands over the various objects placed upon the desk, halfheartedly examining each item her fingers touched, "I told you I was coming over. You act like I just barged in here without warning."
"You did just barge in here! Now get the fuck out!" Sam demanded.
His hostility didn't sit well with Ginger, with a tense air about her; she looked back at him, "No... I came here for something and I'm going to get it..."
Briefly ignoring her stubbornness, Sam walked over to a small wooden box sitting on his dresser; he pulled out a tiny clear plastic bag that contained a few white pills. To Ginger they looked almost like Altoids but she knew better.
He held them out to her, "Here. Take them and get out. You can pay me tomorrow."
Ginger feigned a smile laced with sarcasm, "Oh everything's that simple is it?"
She stood in front of him, staring at him directly. It gave her the opportunity to take in her gracious host completely; he had been sleeping half-naked only wearing a pair of ratty old jeans. His upper torso was everything a young landscaper should be; every muscle was nicely toned, but not to the point where it was a disgusting mess. Again that hunger pulled at her as she looked at him, but she ignored it for the moment.
Not breaking the suspenseful exchange, he said, "Yeah it is. Now wait outside for me and I'll take you back home. You shouldn't be leaving your sister alone right now anyway."
Continuing her mockery, she tilted her head in fake curiosity, "Why should I be worried about my sister? Do you know something I don't about Brigitte?"
Sam lowered his gaze a little to the floor, "Not really. It's just you two are always together...and...it's just not the right thing to do to her... You never know when she may need you."
His obvious lying made Ginger grow hot with anger; her eyes narrowed, "Hm, yeah, you know what you're right. She may need me after she's been brutally raped by a druggie cherry hound."
Shaking his head, Sam denounced the insinuation, "Ginger it's not like that."
"Really? Well what is it like? Tell me, Sam... After all I'm sure you'd know considering you and my sister have apparently become really good pals over the past couple weeks. She's even given you our phone number. I never thought I'd see the day when Brigitte would be handing that out...especially to the first loser that came along," the young woman growled.
Sam protested, "No it's not what you think. Brigitte's just going through some shit right now and she needed some advice."
Ginger giggled, "Oh really? That's convenient. And what problems are these exactly? I'd love to know what amazing expertise a drug-dealer who trolls around a high school while whacking at bushes for a living can provide for a vulnerable 15-year old girl. I mean that's where all mothers want their daughters to turn to for advice right?"
He said nothing for a moment, then only replying with, "It's hard to explain, Ginger..."
She brought her face close to his, "I think that's where you're wrong, Sam. I think I can explain it real easy. The problem is nobody ever shows boys like you what it feels like. Sure you may get a slap on the wrist every once in a while, but in the end you don't stop. You got bored with Trina...not that I blame you there...and now you're trying to get a new piece of action..."
"Dammit Ginger! I already told you I don't think of Brigitte that way!" Sam yelled.
As if she hadn't heard a word he'd said, she continued on, "It's okay though. I can show you all the things no one else will. You're gonna find out I'm not like other girls, Sam..."
Wrought with frustration, Sam gave out a sigh, "What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Ginger can't you just take your shit and go home?!"
"Ha! You honestly think I give a fuck about the pills? I just made up that little bullshit story in the spur of the moment. Besides...I already know what I really want..." she jested.
Rubbing his eyes, he retorted, "And what is that?"
Her response – Ginger pressed herself against him, her lips met his. A light and almost romantic kiss quickly turned into something more lustful; her tongue playfully slithered into his mouth to touch his. Sam seemed to be so struck by the action that he went along with it for a moment before whispering, "Ginger, I..."
Not letting him finish, she continued kissing him; taking the seduction a step further by letting her hands slide up his smooth chest before making them wrap around his neck. His skin felt enticingly warm, driving Ginger wild for more.
As unnatural as it may have been for her in the past, instinct had driven her to this. It was easy for a man to do something like this, so why not? She had needs just like a man, and she would satisfy them just like her instincts told her to; regardless of the consequences.
Sam broke the kiss abruptly, then gently eased her back so that contact between their two bodies was broken as well.
"Ginger stop. We can't do this," He said firmly.
Her response was just as, if not more commanding, "Take off your pants."
A look of complete disbelieve overcame his face, "What?"
Again she said, "Take off your pants."
Sam shook his head, "Are you kidding me? No. Ginger, you really need to get out of here now..."
He went on to say something else but the young woman was already off in another world. By now her body was once again tense and yearning for satisfaction. It was odd, but at this moment she could almost feel the fear and unease that was radiating from Sam; the feeling was intoxicating to her. Even her mouth was beginning to water, causing her to briefly lick her lips in anticipation. She would wait no longer.
"...so I don't care what your problem is but you–"
"Sam will you shut the fuck up! I could cause a lot of trouble for you, and believe me given your situation you could be really fucked with right now! So I would listen if I were you…" She spat.
Sam was perfectly still now, completely taken aback by her ferocity. He did as he was told, unbuttoning his jeans so that they slid down to his ankles; a pair of red boxer shorts was the only thing that kept him from being fully nude.
Ginger pushed him onto the bed; he made no attempt to resist.
Every part of the young woman was tingling. It was exciting to see him lying there on his back, pants around his ankles like a whore, like the girls he fucked; waiting for her to make the next move. Ginger's fingers playfully pulled at the waistband of the trembling boy's boxers.
"It's alright, Sam. You're still getting something out of this after all. I mean all the guys like this don't they? Isn't this what they want? I see them stare at me constantly, even 50 year old pigs with a wife and kids will look me up and down. Sometimes I can almost hear with they're thinking, 'Oh yeah I'd like to pound that.' or 'God, what would it take for just a few minutes with that piece of action?' Either way they're all the same – pointless, dumb, and scared. And when you get right down to it, you're not much different are you, Sam? Oh sure you might be that hot, carefree next Christian Slater burnout who knows all these amazing things that no one else knows and you might be the dreamy boy who every little girl in this pathetic town hopes to take to her prom one day...but in the end...you're gonna rot just like all those other fuckers..."
She leaned onto the bed, straddling him, "...and you wanna know something else?"
Bringing her face close to his, she whispered, "You're just another pretty face that someone can use and abuse as well..."
Now Ginger's pale fingers began unbuttoning the crimson top, tossing it on the floor beside the bed; the open air chilled her naked chest. After tearing off her skirt and boots, Ginger felt even better; her skin free of the constrictive material.
Ginger's body was everything most lovers of women would dream about; her breasts were perfectly round but not obstructive or unnaturally large, her shape was like that of an hourglass, her limbs lithe and full, all completed by the beautiful lips of her nether region that was encased by a neatly trimmed patch of red hair.
Even Sam seemed to be stunned by the sight of such intense exquisiteness.
The red-head guided the young man's hands to her chest by the wrists, his fingers cupped her tits; palms gently rubbing against them. Almost instantly Ginger's nipples became firm from the sudden attention.
Ginger gripped Sam's flaccid cock through his boxers; he was still nervous and apparently unable to get into the moment.
She leaned in and spoke softly in his ear, "What's the matter, Sam? Is 15 your cut off age?"
"N-n-no… It's just… I… This…this is really…fucked…" He stammered.
Her lips brushed against his neck, "Come on, Sam. I know you like this..."
"Oh fuck..." he gasped as she continued kissing the area around his jugular vein, even biting down on the skin there a little.
His body became quick to notice this, and his organ grew stiff without any trouble. Ginger pulled his boxers down, taking his pants off around his ankles as well. She felt his sex brush up against her inner thigh, eager for her. Truth be told, her own anatomy was anxious too; her cunt becoming warm and moist.
Ginger's eyes briefly examined Sam's hardened member, it was certainly big enough that the girls at school would talk about it, but she really didn't care. As long as he wasn't obviously diseased or deformed she could care less about what it looked like, her only real concern was experiencing that pleasure she was so hungry for.
Gripping it by its mid-section, she slowly edged herself over him, intending to bring herself down on his dick.
Before the thick head could even touch her however, Sam interrupted with, "W-wait shouldn't we use something?"
Ginger glared at him for a split second before giving another one of her now famous sardonic grins, "Don't worry, Sam. I'm a big girl. I'm in control of the situation. As long as you don't fuck this up and get me off you'll get through this just fine."
He tried reasoning with her, "Listen, I've got some rubbers in that drawer over there and–"
Her hand struck him hard, a large red bruise covering the right side of his face.
"I told you to shut up! I thought guys didn't like condoms… Doesn't it ruin the 'feel' for you, baby?" she said venomously.
He yelled, "I told you I'm not like that!"
Yet again she slapped him in response, "Jesus… When are you going to stop blabbing on and on? And I thought girls were supposed to be the ones who talked too much…"
Cutting in again, Sam said, "And I thought girls could never be this–"
Ginger grabbed him by the jaw, "Sam...really...shut up... Just...go with it..."
She kissed him, her lips tracing his. They remained in this fashion for a few minutes, nothing except hot, sensual kisses. Sam didn't attempt to disrupt the moment this time either, rather it was his turn to kiss her. His mind was now entranced by the very movement of her lips as they circled around his.
The 23 year old's hands rested on either side of her waist. Ginger started where she left off before, and this time she would succeed – the smooth head slipped into her. Even though it was essentially just the tip, the sudden feelings the connection created were enough to make both parties gasp.
Ginger was taken by surprise, almost immediately there was a sharp pain, and yet...it felt good to her. She wanted more.
Her hips drove downward, forcing the rest of Sam's cock deeper in, his thickness tearing and expanding her.
Ginger watched Sam's face as the lower half of her body began to work with precise movements; he was in such pleasure that he closed his eyes as he groaned. Seeing him like this brought great satisfaction to Ginger, knowing that it was she who granted him such an experience. She couldn't deny the fact that she was enjoying this rather licentious union either. The savagery of it seemed to sate something that lay deep within her body; the way he squirmed beneath her legs as she rode him, the constant moaning and panting that issued from his mouth, even the slight sting caused by him as her sex engulfed his.
A surge of some immensity began to form as she felt Sam hit that special place; that special place she'd touched the few times she'd actually masturbated. It was released almost instantly, her hands squeezing his shoulder blades as her climax soared.
"Mmm…fuck…" she said as she was coming down from the highs of her orgasm, although she was already working for another.
By now her body had adjusted to his size so there was almost no pain at all, and what little there was brought a nice edge to it all.
Sam sat up from his position so that he could kiss her again; his murmurs still audible even as their mouths and tongues entwined again as they had before.
He began thrusting his own hips upward into her, trying to become an actual force in the sexual encounter with this young woman.
Ginger responded by pushing him down; making him return to lying on his back, "I can handle this, babe. I'm in control, remember?"
He said nothing; probably not really caring at this point as he was too engrossed in rapture to argue this time. The feisty red-head went back to taking "control" of the situation. Within moments another wave of bliss washed over Ginger, biting her lips as it went through her.
"Oh god..." Sam groaned as he could feel her body reacting.
His rough hands traveled up her body again; his fingers moving along the swells of her breasts.
Ginger couldn't seem to get enough, wanting more and more each moment. Her mind toyed with all the possibilities of where she could take this – She could turn him into her whore and use him when she felt like it; everyday just doing something new to him or let him do things to her…
Yet, what more was there really? She'd experienced what she thought she was desperate for, why crave more?
For whatever reason, she began to toy with the thought of him screaming, though he certainly was nearing the border of doing so.
Her fingernails grazed the skin on his stomach, digging into the smooth flesh only enough to leave subtle marks. It was enough to cause Sam to inhale deeply and grit his teeth. Their eyes locked for a brief moment.
"Whatever it is..." she thought as she straddled Sam, "…I'll figure it out. I'm the only girl who has the power to get what she wants."
Ginger leaned forward to tease him with another kiss, tasting his warm spit once more. She could feel his heart racing underneath her palm as her hand laid on his chest. He was going to be finished soon. She was curious to see what his face looked like when he came; reminding herself with pride that it was she who gave him the chance to attain that satisfaction.
The rocking of their bodies was quickening now, both lost in the heat of the moment. A light sheen of perspiration covered the two.
With each second that passed, Ginger could hear Sam's heart beating louder and louder; his scent getting more and more potent. Suddenly the pang in her stomach returned, feeling as if her sides were going to split open; her body was so desperately hungry for whatever it wanted. She tried to ignore it, simply wanting to finish what she started.
Her hips descended one last time; it was then that she felt Sam's own pelvis thrust upward as he blissfully whispered, "Fuck..."
She could feel his cock spewing his hot seed, had she not been in such pain at the time, she might have experienced another sexual outburst herself. Yet her body was only focused on the immense hurting and the sound of Sam's thundering heartbeat.
Ginger could feel her jaw beginning to quiver, all she could see was that wall of red; thoughts of death and warm meat.
Something stirred inside Ginger, that something already knew what to do; it had only been waiting for the right time to break out.
Then it happened.
Just as Sam was winding down from his climax, Ginger barred down on him; her little mouth opened wide and the tips of her teeth sunk into the soft and warm skin that covered that youthful masculine neck.
"Ah! What the fuck?!", Sam exclaimed.
He reflexively shoved her off of him in one push; her body hit the ground. Ginger was lying face down on the floor; she couldn't make herself get up. She started twitching intensively. She could feel something building up in her throat; a rather awkward and strange moan came out, and soon gave rise to a harsh scream, and that turned into a strange guttural growl. Her arms and legs thrashed around, all her muscle tissue tightening and then unwinding; the seizure sent her world spinning.
Her very being ached to the worst degree, even right down to her bones. It was as if every limb, every hair, every nail, every tooth; every part of her was being stretched and molded. Her form was morphing into something unreal. As it went on, Ginger began losing all coherent thought; all the memories and feelings she had gathered over the course of her life was being siphoned away – the only thing that was left was the dream and the hunger.
A monster had taken the place of the young woman; it was unleashed from all that had suppressed it; like the beasts that preceded it.
Primal eyes looked about the room as their beholder finished coming out of its shell. Clawed fingers rapped on the carpeted floor. Wiry red hairs shifted as the skin that held them in jostled about. Hot saliva dripped from a canine maw of terrifying proportions.
Instantly its attention turned to the motionless shape that lay upon the bed. Though the prey was still as a scared rabbit, it could not hide the loud and constant pounding of its beating heart that announced its presence as a living thing.
The beast lunged at its target, pouncing on it in a single bound. That was when the kicking and the cries of fear began; things the monster liked most. It was the way of the hunt. Strong forearms held the frail and wiggling body in place. Those huge jaws began snapping violently; sometimes catching only cotton of the sheets, sometimes hitting their desired destination into the tender meat of the prey. The taste of blood was splashed upon the slippery rough tongue of the beast wild, leaving it to want for more. As intent on devouring this little morsel as the predator was, the prey seemed to be just as equally intent on keeping its life. Yelling loudly in the face of the unholy terror, the lower entity sent its legs hard into the belly of the assailant. The creature backed off, standing on its hind feet as it gulped for air. In a span of mere seconds, the monster felt something strike the right side of its lower jaw; causing it to roar in anguish. It lurched forward in hopes of grabbing the desperate prey. Instead, it was met with another blow, this time directly on top of its head. The monster yelped. Its sharp talons swiped at the direction from where the attack came, but got nothing. Again the blunt object struck its skull. Then again. Then again. Soon it wasn't letting up, just bashing away repeatedly. The beast was too hungry for such a difficult hunt. Raising its large head, it howled in frustration; the sound nearly vibrating the little objects that sat upon the various surfaces in the room. The monster turned and threw itself at a wall, shattering and tearing the material with ease so that a big gaping hole was left. It ran off into the cool night air, seeking out the thing it craved for the most; fully knowing what it needed most.
Sam stared at the opening that was left in the shapeshifter's wake; amazed by the damage that had been done to his bedroom. His fingers slowly relaxed, unclutching the pineapple-sized mineral rock that he kept by his bedside; the blood of the werewolf smeared onto the jagged surface.
The survival rush wore off, his body now realizing all that it had suffered in the last few minutes; dropping like the rock he just let go of.
He began coughing heavily as he laid on the floor, his vision blurred. It hurt so much to lay in the position that he had, his ribs on his right side were probably crushed. It took every bit of strength he had to roll onto his other side. Sam was still in shock from what had just happened, mentally recapping the surreal event.
It wasn't long before a puddle of scarlet began to form underneath him; blood gushing from his wounds.
"Oh shit…I need a doctor," he thought. Although he knew deep down that no doctor could help him now.
Even as the pool of crimson grew larger, he could still feel the heat it gave off; as if his blood were fighting to survive despite being outside its intended vessel. With each little stream he bled he was getting closer to his demise.
It was hard coming to grips with the idea. Sam was actually dying. Of course he knew he was going to die one day, but then again most people in their 20's almost never expect their end to be so soon. On top of that his situation was probably the most twisted outcome – he'd just been mauled to death by an overgrown dog that was once a girl with whom he had a rather awkward sexual charade only minutes before.
Life, it seemed, was a lover of cruel and metaphoric ironies; and this was just another shining example of that.
In essence he'd just fucked "The Beast of Bailey Downs" – a thought he wasn't too keen on but it was almost true none the less.
Sam knew he should have known better, all this time Bridgette had told him that she was the one who was on her way to becoming a werewolf as she sought his help for a cure; a lie for the sake of her sister. He couldn't have hated her for that though, in truth it was a noble act and he probably would have done the same thing if he were in her position; even if it did cost him his life.
That was one of the reasons he liked Bridgette. She was a modern-day Joan of Arc; completely different from any other girl he knew. That was why he never even dared to think of taking advantage of her. Sure, Sam was well known for living life but he still had a sense of dignity. It didn't completely keep those feelings of want for her away though, even if he knew they were wrong. If he had the chance he could probably never admit to anyone that he thought of that raven-haired girl as her sister held him down. Maybe that was why this happened to him.
He groaned as he thought, "If there's a hell I'm going straight to it."
Dropping the subject of an afterlife from his mind, he recalled the age old saying, "Life is shit and then you die."
Nobody ever said why it was or why it had to be. Perhaps that was the "shittiest" part of it all; there was no rhyme or reason for life turning out the way it did. The world was that cold and sick.
Would his life still have turned out this way had he done things differently? Probably.
Sam did plan to get out of this little town at some point, and actually do something with his life. It was true that he'd been taking the easy way out, just drifting along and enjoying what Bailey Downs did have to offer; girls, drugs, a beer, and a place to relax at the end of the day. He was just waiting for that right time, that right way to show up. Although he waited too long apparently; and now none of those bigger and better things mattered anymore. Now all that was waiting in the wings was an impending doom that was all too close.
He hated the thought of dying alone in this room; laying in the position he was in now. It'd probably be weeks before anyone came around to look for him, and what was almost laughable about that was it wouldn't be over his landscaping business; it'd be one of his buyers looking to score a couple joints off of him.
Then the police with a forensics team would tear down the place looking for all the answers as to what happened to him, and at some point after they poked and prodded and gawked at his cold naked body a million times over they'd dub him as The Beast of Bailey Downs' first human victim.
After that he'd just become something for the local history books. There was nothing else for him otherwise.
"No. Fuck...that..." he grunted.
Suddenly, Sam reached up and pulled himself up against the edge of the bed; staggering to get on his feet.
Like an injured lamb he began shuffling out of his bedroom; his hand clutching at his damaged side, as he made his way through the greenhouse he began knocking plants over as he stumbled into them without care. All Sam wanted now was to get out of here, he knew he was going to die, but not here. He was going to die in a place full of people, a place where his death would be in the faces of all of the inhabitants of this town; almost like an insult. Sam had just the place in mind too, it was only a little ways down the road.
When he finally got to the exit door, his hand felt around for the knob, which was apparently missing.
"Yeah...she's good at picking a lock alright," he thought dryly.
Pushing the door open, he was now one step closer to the last goal and the last destination of the life that he knew. His next move would be to make his trek down the stretch of road that led to a crossing; he'd take a right and keep walking until that brought him in front of a little diner that the citizens of Bailey Downs frequented during all hours.
After making his way through the grass that surrounded his greenhouse, he found himself wishing that he'd taken the time to at least put on shoes as the tiny pebbles of fragmented black top cut into his feet. Sam simply kept trudging onward, at some point his feet would go numb; just like everything else was. In fact, the mortal wounds he'd just received from Ginger weren't starting to hurt as much. He focused on the cool air of the twilight against his weary flesh; the dark blue hue of the sky was moonless as gray clouds engulfed it. The scenery was a good enough distraction, but every once in a while a complaint from his wounds or another tiny pebble delving into his feet would disrupt his trance.
None of it would stop him, not the solitude, not the pain, not anything; not even the immense blood loss he was beginning to suffer from. As it was now, he'd left a tiny river of red on the ground behind him; trailing him ever since he'd left the place he called home.
It was another minuscule testament to his fate and what became of him. It would be there until life washed it away.
Sam wasn't sure how long he'd been traveling now, but he was starting to see the familiar road signs that signaled he was coming close to the intersection. When he finally reached the four-way he slumped against a sign, taking a deep breath to recover from the journey.
He began to wonder how it'd all turn out once he got where he wanted to be.
What faces would be there to watch him die?
Would they be in awe of his current state?
Would any of them laugh?
Would they help him?
Would any of them remember him after he was buried?
Would they talk badly about him if they ever found out some of the things he had done?
Should he shout all his wrong doings at them like a curse before he died?
He grimaced at the last thought. No, he would not tell them. He wouldn't tell them anything. He figured he'd let them sort out all the dirty laundry on him after he was gone, it'd probably make them feel special. He'd let all of them decide for themselves if he was such a person to deserve something like this.
He was amazed that he'd still not run into another person or even had a car pass by him yet. It was probably for the best until he arrived at the diner. He pushed himself forward, determined to get to his destination; walking on down the road. Within minutes he saw the lit-up billboard for the diner standing high like a beacon; the parking lot and the diner itself getting closer and closer as he continued on.
Just as he was within a couple feet of the half full parking lot, he heard the hum of an engine approaching behind him. Soon a black Jeep Wrangler pulled up beside him, a young man leaned his head outside the passenger window – it was a "friend" of Sam's; some guy whose name he couldn't recall but he remembered that he was a student of the college just outside of Bailey Downs.
He shouted, "Hey, Sam! You goin' streakin', man?"
Sam could overhear the driver of the vehicle say, "That dude must be so baked!"
Sam's acquaintance turned his head slightly and laughed, "Definitely! Sam, can you get us some of what you're... Holy shit! What happened to you!? You got blood all over you!"
Sam tried thinking of a response but he felt as if he were going to pass out any minute. The thought of giving up and dying right on that very spot angered him severely, especially if it was all due to wasting time with these two washouts. Without a word he began making his way toward the diner.
He heard the college-goer yelling after him, "Hey! Where you going?!"
Sam couldn't hold back this time, screaming, "Fuck off!", gasping from the exertion afterward.
"What the fuck's your problem, man?!" the acquaintance shouted defensively.
However, Sam wouldn't bother with a response to that either. He couldn't understand why he stuck around with people like that in the first place, he didn't know if it was his soon-to-be death or something else but he simply lost all patience for them. If he'd had the time and the energy he would have pulled that guy out of that Jeep and beat the hell out of him.
Somehow, he summoned the strength to break into an awkward power jog across the parking lot. The lights that streamed out of the glass door almost seemed to call to him as the world became more and more blurry. It swung open with ease from his momentum.
All the answers to the questions he dwelled on at the crossing materialized right before him.
The activity in the restaurant began to cease as faces, both familiar and unfamiliar, began to stare. Two waitresses gawked with wide-eyes, truckers with full beards remained still as they were unsure of what to do, and any other random individual that hung about the place fell into the same behavior. It was the cook in the back who was the first to step into some kind of action; Sam could hear him shouting as he spoke to an operator on the phone, "911! This an emergency! We got a kid down here that's bleeding pretty badly! I'm at-"
Without warning, Sam felt his center of gravity lurching forward as his stomach being aching horribly, sending him into a heavy dry heaving spell. A throat-full of blood dripped from his mouth; he did his best to spit it out.
As bad off as he was, he didn't feel "dead" enough. Sam felt stupid at this point, he made it all the way here and he had no idea what to do now. He figured his body would have been through enough hell that it'd just shut down on the spot, or perhaps he would have just hurled his body onto one of the tables like a suckling pig as one of the diner's patrons feasted upon their cheap meal; either way he wanted to leave his mark on all of them. Now that plan was being complicated by the fact that he wasn't dying as fast as he wanted to. He'd feel like a total idiot if he went through this whole awkward and morbid situation only to survive it due to receiving help from them.
"Oh fuck me... Even this isn't going right... I'll just go lock myself in the bathroom, it beats dying in the greenhouse I guess." he thought.
Sam didn't know why but he felt so angry toward them; he just had an odd urge to murder them all. Either way he wanted to be away from them, at least now he'd given them some kind of a message and he wouldn't be rotting away in his room for weeks on end.
"What else matters?" he said to himself out loud as he stumbled toward the men's bathroom door on the left side of the diner; praying that no asshole was in there using it.
He pressed his frail body against it; the metal door gave a little, putting his fears of the bathroom being occupied to rest. The door itself, however, was surprisingly hard to keep open. He had to thrust himself against it a few more times before he could actually get inside.
He collapsed onto the off-white linoleum almost as soon as he cleared the doorway.
Sam briefly looked around the small area that what was to be his final resting place (at least until the cops took him to the coroner); it was your standard single-toilet, single-sink bathroom complete with plain white walls and nothing else except a trashcan.
He figured he could have done worse; after all, somewhere out in the world someone was probably dying in a piss drenched alleyway with just a dumpster as their scenery. Yet he still wasn't satisfied, in fact he regretted the whole thing. At this point, he couldn't even remember what this was all for. He was angry with the outcome, so much in fact, he began punching and kicking the wall in front of him. It was all just sickening to him. By now he was praying for death, for if it didn't come soon it felt as though his skin might come crawling off. All he wanted was for it to stop. He didn't know why it all wouldn't just didn't stop.
A rapping on the door and the voice of his college acquaintance yelling, "Hey, Sam! You in there, buddy?", reached him through his furious tantrum.
He stopped his thrashing immediately, only inhaling and exhaling deeply as the door opened.
The concerned youth cautiously stepped inside, raising his hands like a white flag calling for peace, "Whatever happened to you, bro, they'll take care of you. They've got an ambulance coming for you and everything. Just chill."
He inched closer to better examine his injured friend on the floor, "Wait...you're not bleeding dude..."
The observation was correct; Sam's once life-threatening wounds were now almost scar-like crusted with dried blood. Sam could no longer feel any pain stemming from any of the afflictions either; although his stomach still hurt like he hadn't eaten in years. His mind conjured up an image of a nice T-Bone steak cooked medium-well on a plate...he was hungry enough that he'd eat it rare...perhaps even before it touched a grill...no...he'd tear it right off the cow as it squirmed underneath his bare hands.
The young man continued on, "Is that like fake blood or something? 'Cause it looks real! Oh hey you even got those crazy animal contacts in your eyes! That's awesome, dude! Is this supposed to be like some pre-Halloween prank? Man you're really gonna piss people off with this! You couldn't just wait another couple weeks? ...Or have you got somethin' planned for that too?"
It was at this moment that Sam realized how much he hated his acquaintance...
Outside the restroom, the customers of the little diner ate their food and conversed over the recent incident as they waited for help to arrive.
A horrible scream interrupted everything.