Subject: Lucky #13 (Part 1)
Content: Lucky Number Thirteen Her name is Cheyenne Winter. She has shoulder length, strawberry blonde, curly hair. She teaches children at the Fred Astaire Dance Studio, and she attends Lincoln High School . She recently turned eighteen, but she has the body of a twelve year old boy. I assume it’s because of the dancing. Thank God for the dancing. She loves Chinese food and doesn’t have any boyfriends to speak of. High school boys don’t know a good thing when they see it. Rosy cheeks, nimble limbs, agile and swift; Cheyenne is number thirteen. Thirteen is my favorite number, and Cheyenne is by far my favorite subject to date. She is exquisite. I will have her. _____________ I have a million things to do today. I’ve got three exams, rehearsal for the fall recital, a dentist appointment at four, a class of eight year olds at six, and my English paper is due first thing tomorrow morning. Too bad I haven’t started it yet. Mom’s car is in the shop, and mine has had a flat since last Tuesday. One of the guys working on my mom’s car offered me a ride home, but I told him I’d rather die alone in a rat-infested cellar – in so many words. It’s a shame that I live so far away from everywhere. My mom never showed up; I suspect her boyfriend wasn’t so hot for the idea of lending her his car so she could loan it to me. My mom’s boyfriend is an incredible tool. He treats me like a child, and I basically hate his guts out. It’s not like my mom and I are best friends or anything, but I know she could do better than him. Oh well, I guess it’s time to start heading home. I hate walking home in the dark. Maybe Cole will drive by and offer me a ride. Yeah, right. _____________ I stuck a nail in her left front tire last week. I did it at three in the morning; the chill almost killed me. That’s how it gets around here in October. You know, cold. The weather makes covert operations pretty near impossible. Back inside my warm truck, which I had wisely parked only a few blocks away, I was able to thaw. The motor was humming quietly, mesmerizing me, taking me away from the cold, the night, the mediocrity. It was taking me to satisfying places. Cheyenne . She has a real name, unlike the rest. She is special. She stands out. Sure, number thirteen is physically like the others – small, fair, vulnerable – but she’s so much older. With Cheyenne , there is something unattainable. I’ve been watching her since I dropped out of Maynard Falls Business College last semester. I know everything about her. Cheyenne ’s mother made her start looking for jobs last week; I overheard someone saying that she got an offer at Mitzi’s Second Hand Books and Music. I don’t know if she has accepted that offer, but I’ll find out soon enough. That’s another thing about Cheyenne ; she has made me unbearably patient. My lust for her is still urgently burning, but there’s an unmistakable steadiness to it that hasn’t been present in the past. Perhaps this tolerance comes with years of experience, or maybe it’s just something about my lucky number thirteen. I can hardly contain my excitement for her potential employment. If she takes the job at Mitzi’s, one of my favorite haunts when I’m not tracking a number, I can watch her for hours undetected. I mean, I spend all day watching her anyhow, but this way she will see me watching her, and she’ll be unable to escape. I’ll be in complete control. It will be a new thrill, one of the few I’ve not experienced first hand. Mitzi wouldn’t expect a thing – I’ve been a patron at that shop since I was old enough to walk. Even if Cheyenne doesn’t take that offer, the acceptance of any job would satisfy me. It would be something to keep her away from home for a few straight hours. The sooner she gets hired, the better off I’ll be. I’ve got to get inside that house; I’m on the verge of losing control. _____________ I saw him again today. He works in the mailroom at my mom’s office; I think his name is Seth or something close to it. She says he’s a weirdo. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t know that I’ve noticed his glances. I wouldn’t be completely opposed to the suggestion of dinner and maybe a movie, but he’s never spoken a single word in my direction since I met him about four months ago. Some small part of me screams that he’s a little off, that I could do better, but the rest of me sort of figures that all of us have our quirks and that anything would be better than the nothing I come home to now. Besides, I’ve had a crush on Cole Maynard since we were five, and he still has yet to acknowledge that I am, in fact, female. So his grandparents founded the town. So what? So his financial superiority, his family legacy, causes me to disappear? Maynard Falls is a stupid name for this place anyway. It’s Nebraska : the nearest falls are a million miles away. Literally. Maybe I’m just tired of playing second fiddle to Maya Ortega. Maybe high school boys just don’t know a good thing when they see it. Who cares if Maya’s family is from Mexico City where they were one of the wealthiest families in the country? So what if Maya has sexy, feminine curves and a generous bust line? So what if Maya’s flawless, tan complexion perfectly contrasts with her beckoning green eyes? So what if Maya’s long, dark, sleek hair is unparalleled by any other tresses in the entire Plains area? So what? Yeah, right. I’m not willing to kid myself; I know Maya is everything I’ll never be. I mean, I wouldn’t even say no if she offered to grace me with her company for a night, and I like men. Not that I’ve ever been with any men, but I know what I want. I would die to look like her. I just turned eighteen, but I’ve got the body of a twelve year old boy. I know it’s from the dancing, but I just can’t bring myself to sacrifice my one true passion just to give some Latina hussy a run for her money. I made it home safely the other day, by the way. I was almost home when I saw that man, Seth or whoever. He was climbing into a rusted, powder blue Chevy. I almost asked for a lift, but then I figured he might think I was being too forward. Instead, I smiled my most seductive smile at him and walked slowly on. He slammed the door too loudly and cowered a little, probably because the pharmacy clerk shot him a dirty look. I guess I made him nervous, but then I don’t suppose I can blame him; my sexiest smile looks like it’s straight out of a kiddie porn magazine. It probably just made him want to puke. _____________ She looked me directly in the eyes yesterday evening. No kidding, and it wasn’t just eye contact: she flashed me this playful, knowing smirk right as she crossed my path. It made me feel panicky, paranoid. I slammed the door to my truck and winced upon realizing that three of my fingers were caught in it. I left them there until I got to the house, mostly to save face. Once inside, I frantically relived the last four months and eleven days. I must’ve been too obvious in my observation. I’ve always tried to come off as the strong, silent type that women allegedly go crazy for, but no woman has ever given me a look like that. And with the face of a child. A chill rushed through me, and I knew that number thirteen had become a threat. She would have to be dealt with sternly, and without too much delay. She did accept Mitzi’s offer, as it turns out. It kills me to sit at my favorite mahogany table in the corner and ignore Cheyenne completely. It’s all I can do to look away and inhale only lightly each time she walks past. I love the scent of her. Thank God she has decided to play hard to get; not another smirking incident has taken place. I’ve had to practice a great deal of restraint, being in such close range all the time. It would be so easy to grab a handful of her golden curls and pull her into my chest, stifling any cries that might escape her moist, trembling lips. I could quiet her in an instant, sealing one large palm over the better half of her face and covering her nose so that her body would melt in my grip in a matter of seconds. I can feel it; I can see her big blue eyes swelling with fear and swiftly losing focus, closing as the lack of oxygen causes her body to go limp. The ecstasy these thoughts elicit in me is unspeakable. They are my bedtime story and my morning prayers. Someone had better lock me up quick, or glowing little Cheyenne Winter will become a missing person. ...To be continued, if you want. Do let me know what you think.
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