Bodies Are Disgusting by S. Gates

Simon laughs and sets a plate with a large puff pastry
in front of you. "Why do you read that garbage? It's going to rot
your brain."
    You roll your eyes and pick up the pastry.
It's cream-filled and has been warmed in the toaster in the back.
"I just needed some mindless entertainment, dude. You on
break?"
    Simon snorts and perches in the chair across
from you. "No, Dougie, I am shirking my duties so I can chat up my
roomie in the middle of my shift." You snicker and take a bite of
the pastry, making sure to lick up any filling that escapes out the
other end. It's delicious, and the filling is not too sweet or too
runny.
    "Yeah, of course," you say. "When's this
mysterious handsome fellow supposed to show up? Is he already here
and I just have wildly different tastes in men from
yours?"
    This elicits another snort from Simon, who
then cocks his head toward the landing of the stairs. "He's been
hanging out in that corner," he says, voice barely loud enough to
carry across your table. "He's a little early tonight, usually he
shows up right after I take lunch." Your eyes track toward the
corner he'd indicated, glossing over each individual in turn: there
is a pair of teenaged girls, obviously not Simon's potential beau;
an older gentleman with wrinkled brown skin and a bald head; and
then, there is Lucien.
    Your stomach clenches as you meet his eyes,
but they are merely a dull gray-green. He gives no indication of
recognizing you, though his face lights up when his gaze lands on
Simon. The change is almost profound in a strange way, because it's
like all of the carefully cultivated disinterest melts and Lucien's
expression grows... fond. He stands and picks his way through the
crowd to claim the remaining chair at your table. He raises a hand
in greeting. "Yo."
    It's painfully obvious to anyone with eyes
that Simon is fighting back a stupid grin and losing ground fast.
"Luke, hey! This is my friend, Doug. Doug, this is
Luke!"
    Lucien's expression doesn't change as he
glances in your direction. "Oh, we've met," he says at length. "I
plan to braid her entrails into a most delightful adornment once I
have fulfilled my duties to my master."
    You stare at Lucien, dumbfounded.
"What?"
    He cocks his head to one side, "I said that
we'd bumped into each other earlier. Don't you remember?" His voice
sounds almost innocent around the question. At your blank stare, he
continues, "I almost ran you over."
    "Oh, right, yeah," you say, suddenly unsure.
"I wasn't paying attention, either, I guess."
    He smirks. "Yes, well. Let me make it up to
you, Alice. Simon, would you mind bringing her a drink on
me?"
    The use of your legal name makes your heart
lurch and the blood drain from your face. You share that particular
piece of information with very few people. How the hell had
Lucien known it? You reach into your back pocket to check your
wallet. The chances of him having stolen it during your little
confrontation were slim, but it was the only reasoning your brain
could produce that made any sort of sense.
    Lucien raises a hand. "No, no, put your wallet
away. I'm being serious about the drink being on me." His smirk
grew until it was an impossibly wide grin. "It is the least I can
do, considering I plan to nail your hands to a wall above your head
and then use a delightfully sharp knife to slowly fillet the flesh
away from your bones. Starting with your face."
    Before you can process his words and come up
with any sort of reaction, he lashes out with one hand and digs his
fingers into your throat. His fingernails worm their way into your
skin as if they have a life of their own. You try to yelp, cry out,
do something , but the only thing that comes out is a
strangled sort of gurgle. Your hands fly to his wrist, clawing
desperately at it, but his grin only grows. It's a separate entity
unto itself. It's an amused cancerous growth on his face, lined
with a billion needle teeth.
    Your vision swims, and the next thing you
know, you're lying on the