Manic, blissful laughter escapes me as I contemplate playing with myself to see what reaction I’d get. This is so naughty; I love it! I glare back at Dracoth but with a sly, seductive smile, the one that never fails to impress men. His mouth moves—his and the other alien's, their words lost amongst the blood and laughter roaring in my ears.
As my hand trails down my stomach, slowly lowering, the healing pod emits a deafening ping. The door creaks open and the lovely green gas drifts away—taking my whimsy with it.
No, come back!
I burst out of the pod, trying to follow the beautiful gas before it fades away. My bliss and mania fade with it, leaving me nothing but a beaming red face of embarrassment and regret.
What the fuck was I thinking? The plan, Lexie, remember the plan!
They did this to me, these creepy alien abductors. “You horny aliens give me lust gas!” I accuse, shaking with outrage, my nudity forgotten in a swirl of frantic finger-jabbing. “Is this what you creeps do? Go from planet to planet and drug females for your sick pleasures? Well, I’m stronger than others. I won’tsubmit to your green rape fumes!” I do kind of miss it though. But how fucking dare they do this to me!
An awkward silence lingers as the two giant aliens stare at me with unblinking eyes. Their lack of reaction somehow heightens my annoyance. Dracoth turns without a word, stalking towards a nearby bench while Demon Egg-Head titters.
“What the hell’s so funny?” I snap, my anger flaring.
“Well, young Dracoth, you might actually be right for once,” the creepy alien laughs, his whole body shaking.
Great, now he’s laughing at me! I’ve never been so embarrassed in my whole life—well, except maybe that time Roger’s girlfriend caught us making out in their bathroom.
“Stop laughing at me, Demon Egg-Head!” I scream, shaking with rage and humiliation.
“Demonegg-head!” he echoes, laughing even harder, making me want to slap the stupid sound out of his creepy yellow-toothed smile. “Oh, that’s a good one.” He wipes tears from his glowing green eyes. “You know whatisfunny, little human?” His face shifts from mirth to a frightening narrowed-eyed glare, compelling me to step back.
“That gas is not... how did you so elegantly put it? Ah yes. ‘Rape fumes.’” He pauses, smirking. “It’s a healing mist which restores the body to its base level as best it can by placing the patient into a state of complete bliss. It heightens pleasure and removes inhabitations, you understand. Meaning what you displayed was your true unburdened self.”
No fucking way, my unburdened self is that desperate!
His words hit like a gut punch as I search my hands uselessly, as if they may hold any answers. “We’ve never seen a reaction like that before. Have we, Dracoth?” he chortles, turning to the red giant.
“Never,” Dracoth replies, sounding almost bored.
“Don’t look so glum,” Demon Egg-Head mocks with a twisted grin. “I, for one, found your... display most pleasing.” He cackles anew, causing my skin to crawl, and I find myself further covering my body from his predatory gaze.
“Enough, you oldgas-cloud,” Dracoth grumbles like falling rocks, walking towards me with a bundle of clothes in his massive arms—my clothes!
Excitement bursts inside me, my anger and embarrassment washing away in a wave of joy. I rush over to the towering Dracoth with a beaming smile.
“Thank you,” I repeat with eager anticipation. No more nakedness, only style and my restored social status awaiting me.
Wait...
“Why the fuck is my BIEGE Chanel now PINK?” I hold out my ruined clothes like a fluttering flag of misery. This cruelty is too much—purest joy, burned to the most bitter ashes. “Look at the state of it!” I demand, glaring between the two perplexed giant aliens, who look dumbfounded, heightening my outrage. “This is supposed to be a light beige, not fucking Barbie pink!” I can’t believe this. This isn’t happening. Why does everything conspire against me?
I strain to wave the garish suit in the stupid alien’s towering face, wanting him to experience an ounce of the anger he’s caused me.
“Well? What are you going to do to fix this travesty?” I demand, my teeth clenched with seething fury.
Long razor-shape claws extend from Dracoth’s fingers, reflecting the dim purple light like gleaming swords. I recoil in horror, but he snatches my Chanel from my grasp with volcanic force.
“I’ll fix it,” he rumbles, his crimson eyes flashing with disdain.
“Wait don’t!” I plead, rushing to clutch his immense leg. But it’s too late—my life is over. Killed with each cut he’s making.“Please!” I beg, thumping him as hard as I can, but it’s like hitting a wall of burning coals. Pieces of my ruined Chanel suit float like fluttering pink petals in a garden of sadness, mimicking my frantic tears.
“You fucking asshole,” I whisper, collapsing in defeat.
“Fixed,” Dracoth the slasher declares, tossing me the remnants of my soul. His smoldering eyes remain neutral, somehow heightening his sinister crime.
I clutch the torn suit, cradling it like a dying child, hating the red alien with every fiber of my being. “And my Birkin handbag?” I inquire with a voice as icy as my parents’ hearts, expecting nothing—just more pain.
