"So, what's your name?"
V. W. stayed quiet for a moment, studying every single trait of the human in front of her. She wanted to understand her. She wanted to learn her.
"What is yours?
-We already stated clearly that it was impolite to answer a question with another one."
Low laughless chuckle that sounded more like a growl.

"Oh bunny if we are going to do this you need to learn how things work out. I say; you obey. Is that statement clear enough for you?"

Choking on air, she nodded eagerly.

"Now bunny, what's your name?
She blinked a few times without answering, vague eyes as she seemed to be looking for a fitting answer to her question but V. W. knew better.
"Do not lie to me, pet. Lying is against the rules."
She closed her eyes.
"Why must there always be rules?
-Rules are for discipline. Discipline is for order. Order is for survival."
She nodded.
"Seems logic enough to me.
-Good. Now tell me the truth before I lose patience: what is your name, Bunny?"
Dry swallow.
"My name's Violet.
-Violet what?
-Mesmer. Violet Mesmer is my name."

The woman frowned as she laid back on the bumped mattress. Mesmer. When had she already heard that name?
She shrugged, before motioning for the girl to crawl above her -which she need, unreadable as always, her thighs hugging the woman's waist as she tugged onto her thin, thin wrists.
Watching the way they vanished, swallowed by the lenghts of her ringed fingers, V. W. wanted to scratch them-and so she did.
"Ah!" whined the creature and drew back her hands, landing breathless on her waist.

"Are you thirsty, pet?
-Please stop calling me that, I'm no domesticated animal.
-That I have understood quite well. I was used  to toothless kittens but you, you sure are something else. I can see it, you are feral.
-Then show a lil' respect and call me by my name!"
V.W. let out her darkest laugh as she quickly pushed the girl away from her, only for her to fell onto the ground. She hissed in pain as her body hit the floor, which caused the familiar heat of hunger to churn her stomach once again.
"I would like to say that I am sorry but I shall not lie. I do not do names, and I do not enjoy showing respect for people who have not earned mine, so why do you not crawl your way to me and maybe we can discuss such matters before your departure?"

Unexpectidly, the creature obeyed, lean body spread on the dusty floor as she looked up to the woman above her.
"Better?
-Way better, pet."
She grabbed her chin in between her two fingers hard enough to leave a bruise. Then, she opened wide the mouth, sliding her bloodstained thumb around her tongue to inspect for any dirt or dental caries -she found none. The point of a sharp tooth ghosted for a second on the fingernail, and she wondered whether it was going to bite, but soon the light pressure disappeared and the woman took back her thumb, licking the remnants of blood and saliva on it.

"I'm thirsty.
-I would very much like to get drunk with you doll, but I am afraid we still have a few things we discuss before that.
-Rules, you mean?
-Exactly. Glad we both are on the same page.
-We're not. I don't do rules. Plus I don't have time right now either way, I've got work to attend.
-Then what do expect from me?
-There's a bar on Arpenter's Street, we could meet there at 7 pm. I'll tell you what I want and what I have to offer, and then..."

She stood up so elastically she didn't seem to have a bone, and whispered in the ear of the woman.

"I'm all yours to take or throw."

V. W. stood there frozen as the creature's left her vicinity, leaving a sense of coldness where the heat of her breath had caressed her skin.

"Maybe then we can get drunk" -she threw on her half-ripped clothes and shoes -"and then if you're lucky enough we could fuck."

The woman blinked, and just like that, she was gone.

"Well", she muttered as the front door slammed shut. "You were way easier yesterday  evening."

V. W. was a private. She had worked for the town's police department as a lieutenant, until they had found her too insensible with the families, too aggressive with the suspects and all-in-all too cold-hearted for the job. Maybe her partner catching her red-handed as she set a wharehouse on fire also helped the decision of firing her.

Switching jobs obviously had been an ordeal, especially because she hadn't had disrespected her tight scheldule since summer 1991, and she was sixteen at that time. But then, all of a sudden, she had to rewrite her whole vision of the world, and the fault of it was all in that stupid coworker of hers who decided a useless, unhabited wharehouse was worth more than a lifetime of efforts, self-control and repressed feelings. Oh the things she had dreamed to do to him! She once almost reached the orgasm by the sole fantasy of twisting a burning knife inside of his chest,  grabbing his still beating heart in her hand and squeezing it to death with the mere force of her fingers. But shamefully, this was against the rules. She killed a dog, the night she lost her job.

And that's how she ended up there, spreading her legs on the ripped sofa with photograms of cheating wives surrounding her, and wondering whether the neglected husband would pay her, or try to strangle her for revealing the ugly truth he himself had asked for. There rarely were inbetweens when it came down to treason. V. W. didn't understand why, for betrayal to her was printed at the core of human nature, and the deception people felt when facing the true colours of their beloved ones seemed like nothing but a punishment for their own naive, delusional behavior. If people were going to let you down, why let them in in the first place? V. W. only trusted one person in her life and it was Mother, because Mother set the rules and she needed to trust the rules in order to function. Rules were for discipline. Discipline was for order. Order was for survival.

The client ended up paying. If, like she had gathered from repeated witnessing, love was measurable by the amount of violence and reckless actions one put in a relationship, then  this man was far from as in love with his wife as he pretended to be. But V. W. was glad it was so, because that meant V. W. was getting on time for her appointment at seven -since V.W. didn't do dates- and V. W. was never late. That was one of the perks of such a tight scheldule: for once in her life, the woman wished she could take the time to not care, to let out the breath she had been holding for so long, and experiment the simple pleasure of being late. But that was against the rules. And maybe the rules prevented V. W. from pleasure, but for those who,  like her, only found pleasure in domination and destruction, it was the only way.

Until then.