One Last Kiss, Page 2

and learning how to spot the major players in it. The overly anxious guys who spent their rent money for a private dance were just the appetizers in the clubs. The big catches were the ones who winked and smiled at her with a mountain of cash stacked before them, but only tipping her small portions of it, essentially telling her she needed to come earn the rest. She would approach them when she finished her sets, as they required her undivided attention.

  Those were the ones she began dating. They were able to shower her with money, clothes, and jewelry, and give her the life of luxury she always knew she was destined to live. As much as she hated to admit it to herself, her parents taking her son essentially unburdened her, giving her the freedom to do what she wanted with these men whenever she wanted. Taking a last-minute trip out of town for a few days with one of them was not the issue it would have been had her son been living with her.

  She was able to move to a better apartment, buy a fancy car, and fill her closet with designer clothes thanks to those men. In return, she was their arm candy, and the one who kept their beds warm at night when need be. Many of them had girlfriends, fiancés, or wives, but she never cared about any of that. She actually preferred dealing with taken men, the very notion of being in a relationship tainted by the bitter breakup with her son’s father years ago. She never asked questions about their spouses, mainly because she did not care enough to ask. She was content playing her role so long as they took care of her. It was a two-way street in her mind however, as she used them just as much as they used her. Besides, if their women were taking care of business, she would be out of business.

  Instead of the unflattering titles the other girls at the clubs would call her when they heard stories about her dealing with patrons they were interested in too, she saw herself as a businesswoman, taking full advantage of every beneficial opportunity that came her way. She would deal with a gentleman until a more appealing option presented himself, disposing of the former if he proved himself expendable. She viewed herself as a general manager of her own franchise, essentially drafting and terminating players until she had a roster that met her satisfaction. It’s all about perspective.

  And then it happened.

  She is still not sure when exactly it happened, or whom it happened with, but there is no denying that it happened. The constant headaches, the nausea, the vomiting…it gave her severe déjà vu. She had no desire to bring another child into the world for it to be ripped from her arms again. The home pregnancy tests always came back negative, but that couldn’t be; it had to be a mistake. Beyond convinced of her situation, she visited her doctor and explained her symptoms. She wanted to know how far along she was, and how much the termination would cost. After undergoing some routine tests, she was called back to the office a few days later. She found it odd that her doctor was sitting beside her instead of behind her desk. Her doctor held her hand and broke the news as gently as possible - she had tested positive for HIV.

  The tears flowed constantly those first few weeks. With no family to depend on and no real friends, she truly felt alone. Over and over she thought to herself, this can’t be happening to me, not to ME! She thought it was a dream, a horrible nightmare that she could not wake up from, try as she might.

  As the grief and self-pity subsided, it was replaced by anger, an anger that burned inside of her like a furnace. The more she thought about the men she had been with - the unfaithful, dirty dogs who put her in this situation - the hotter the flame burned, each of their faces like a log being added to the fire. She had no clue who cursed her with this death sentence nor did she care - they were all equally guilty. Over time, her inner rage warped her now fragile mind, and she came to embrace her situation. Misery loves company, and she would make each one of them just as miserable as she was. She was in search of one thing and she knew exactly what it was - revenge. It would be hers, and she would serve it to them ice-cold.

  So she called them, e-mailed them, and sent them text messages; she reached out to each and every last one of them, determined to meet them…and then slay them with her newfound weapon, giving all of them a silent kiss of death without ever informing them of the virus that was slowly destroying her. It took her quite some time to go down her “hit list” - some had moved, some were bitter towards her after she dropped them without so much as a goodbye, and some had turned over a new leaf and were actually being faithful to their spouses. But she was hell-bent on accomplishing her mission and would not be denied. Eventually she met with all of them, convincing, seducing, and blackmailing them when necessary for one last trip down memory lane. She drank a glass of champagne after every encounter once her victim left the hotel room, a celebratory toast to herself, symbolic of the immeasurable satisfaction she gained each time she crossed a name off her list.

  As for the spouses of those men - they were collateral damage. In war, there will always be innocent casualties, and those women just so happened to be in the blast range of her grenades. She saw herself as a vigilante, dispensing justice and doing them a favor by punishing their men for straying. If anything, she felt they should be thanking her, as she would force them to see the true colors of their men. Sure, hearts would be broken and families might be torn asunder, but such is life. Those men struck first and she was merely returning the favor. She was the heroine, the one who would be laughing last and laughing best; those pathetic excuses for men were the true villains. It’s all about perspective.

  Yet that was just the beginning. It was her goal, her vision, to punish all stray dogs disguised as men. She was a walking weapon, a lethal vessel of death taking the term femme fatale to horrific heights. But she would not chase them; like a Venus flytrap, she would find a place and lie in wait, allowing her prey to come to her.

  A familiar knock at her door brought her back to reality. She did not even have to ask who it was because she already knew. No matter the weather, he always showed up on the same day every month at the same time. Her client had finally arrived.

  It’s open she yelled, using her most seductive and sultriest voice. The young man scampered in like an eager puppy, an anxious grin plastered across his face. She put her cigarette out in the ashtray on the windowsill, making her way over to him to embrace him, still clutching her wine glass. He gave her a tight bear hug, cracking the back of her petite frame while inhaling her fragrance. She could tell he missed her.

  He finally let her go, handing her a bouquet of roses as was his custom. She feigned surprise as she did every other time, essentially acting out her role in a scripted play. She placed the roses on the table and asked him how things have been. He rolled his eyes, grumbling about work and lamenting ever getting married as he sat on her bed. He bent over and began taking off his shoes only to look up and found her standing before him, finishing her wine as she undid her robe.

  Instead of it being aborted, her mission for the night was instead going to commence right on time.

  ###

  About Kyle Taylor

 

  Kyle Taylor has always had a passion for writing. As a child, he wrote imaginary stories on an old typewriter, using his favorite cartoon characters as the stars. A Baltimore native, Kyle graduated from Loyola Blakefield High School in Towson, MD in 2001, and received his B.A. in English/Journalism from Morgan State University in 2005. Kyle has a professional background in journalism and communications, and has had numerous articles published in newspapers including The Baltimore Sun, The Baltimore Business Journal, The Afro-American Newspapers, The Daily Record, The Catholic Review, and The Baltimore Times. He currently works at the Social Security Administration, and spent a year on the speechwriting staff of Carolyn W. Colvin, former Acting Commissioner of the Agency. Kyle self-published his first novel, Fate’s Destiny, in 2015.

  Aside from writing, Kyle enjoys going out to eat, working out, travelling at every opportunity, and watching football.

  If you enjoyed this story, you would also enjoy In Search of…, a collection of similar short stori
es written by Kyle. Be sure to also check out Kyle’s novel Fate’s Destiny. Click here to learn more about both!

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