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Body Packaging #12: Bloodshot Eyes

Oct 22, 2013

Simi Valley, California

Dede Storm looked up at Melange as she held her blade inches from Nienadro’s throat. She screamed at the top of her lungs. “Is this what you want, you crazy fucked up broad?!?”

Melange paused for what felt like an eternity as sweat began dripping down Nieandro’s forehead. “No. It is not. You are free to go Dede Storm.”

“That’s it? No big speech about what I’m supposed to accomplish? Kind of a let down over here, Mel.” Dede forced her lips to form a smile despite the excruciating pain it caused her.

“Just don’t forget who brought you back from the dead.” Melange handed Dede a satchel with her belongings and a wallet stuffed with hundred dollar bills.

“Believe me.  I won’t.” Dede knew exactly what she had to do as she opened  the door to her future. She knew that she could never look back.


West Hollywood, California

“No. No. No. He can’t wear a Monsieur Jean Yves peacock feather bow tie. Especially not one from 2011.”  Veronica Walters plucked a magnificent yellow-hued peacock feather bow tie off of her assistant’s mock-up outfit for the VMA appearance of one of her top clients. Veronica combed through the proposed outfit with her characteristic attention to the most minute details.

“What if he just wore the bow tie and no shirt?” Kenneth, Veronica’s latest prodigy, pulled the shirt out from underneath the hit singer’s snakeskin jacket. “He has the build to carry it off.”

“Why don’t we just have him go buck naked? That way he won’t need any clothes.  Or anyone to pick them out.” She slammed Kenneth on the side of his head playfully with her iPad Air.

“He does have a point.” The voice erupted from a far off corner of the wardrobe selection room.

Veronica dropped her tablet as she thought she heard a familiar voice. “Who’s there?”

“Take a guess.” Philippe wrapped his arms around her and lifted her into the air like she was lighter than one of the bow tie’s feathers.

“It can’t be you! I thought you were dead.” Veronica stared into the bloodshot eyes of the man she had assumed she would never see alive again.

“It’s me, babe.” He cupped her ass and planted a kiss full on her lips without any regard for the four onlookers in the room. Philippe whispered into her ear. “I want to do it with you right now.”

Veronica felt like a part of herself was being returned to her from the grave. “Let’s go to our special place in the back.”

Philippe shrugged. “Let’s go back to your place and get into a nice warm bed.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Veronica raced out of her studio with Philippe’s hands holding hers. She was going to go to bed with the one man she loved more than anyone else in the world.  There was just one problem.

This man wasn’t Philippe.


©  Jennifer Rush 2013. All Rights Reserved.