Lunar's POV
Flashing lights, pounding sounds, flushing skin. My body heated. My lungs weighed. My mouth choking and gasping for air. It was like their touch was killing my soul. My eyes leaking fluids. My thighs struggling for closure.
Everything was sore. Everything was high. Everything was encased in everlasting sensations. I couldn't deny the joyous things that were happening. My legs trembled by the talons that tickled down them, my breath hitched as my hips bucked.
It was maddening the things they were doing, sickening how they made me yearn. Utter torture, their touch was a killer. The look within their eyes was inescapable, haunting. If this was how death feels I'll be in bliss while Hell consumes me.
"Sweet little whore..," They purred into my skin, claws ripping my flesh from my thighs as a pleasured moan left my throat.
Gasping, I shot out of bed. My throat was tight as my lungs grasped for air. My hands felt all around my sweaty torso, my eyes landing on my thighs. It was a dream..part of me grimaced, "F-Fuck."
Why were these dreams becoming so frequent? This was the third one in a week. I get them rarely, why were they so persistent?
I brushed it from my thoughts, getting showered and dried. I didn't have the time today to ponder on nonsense. Though, I wished to do that instead of my plans. I wanted to go back to dreamland…
"Time for an impression," I breathed, looking at myself in the mirror as I combed my hair back. My nose scrunched as I gave it a stylish messy-yet formal look, brushing my teeth as I slipped on underwear and black skinny jeans, "You can do this, Lunar. You've got this. Nothing to worry about. It's totally not like your parents are weighing down on your shoulders. You're going to get this job! Believe in yourself, ya know?"
Lady Elysium, you're a loser. Agreed, Subconscious, now shut the fuck up. Abaddon's Goddess can't help me with that, so praying to her is useless.
I fumbled with my red and black plaid shirt, my confidence deteriorating with each button. What if it's someplace formal and expensive, where they expect fancy clothes and money? We aren't rich, we're poor…. I don't want to shame my family or disappoint my mother.
With a sigh, I got my socks and shoes on. I can't overthink this. Even if I do, it's not like I can chicken out. My parents are expecting me to go to this interview, and I refuse to upset them because I'm being a coward.
I grabbed my bag, beanie, and sunglasses. Sliding down the stairs, I spun around my mother when she tried to kiss me good morning, "Ewe, Ma. I'm not a child anymore, I'm twenty-one!"
I was never one for physical affection, it made my skin crawl and my nerves felt like ants eating me alive. I know she hated my rejections, but I'd rather not feel like hurling by saliva touching my cheeks or skin grazing mine. I love my mother, she's been amazing. She's put up with so much, but I hate physical contact with a burning passion.
"One of these days you're going to miss my kisses, Sweetheart."
"Well, today is not that day," I teased, as I slipped my beanie over my head, and started to head out the door.
"What about breakfast?" She called after me, holding up a plate of waffles and a glass of orange juice. An eyebrow raised as she frowned, "Don't leave on an empty stomach, Dear."
"I brushed my teeth and I've got to head to the interview! I'll see ya later! Love ya!" I hollered, hearing her familiar laugh as I shut the door behind me, pulling my sunglasses over my face and slipping my earbuds into my ears as I turned Pandora on.
"Let's go girl, let's hit the beach…," Geronimo by BrokenCYDE rang as I pushed my board with my foot and passed my best friend's house. A smile tugged at the corners of my lips as I hummed along, happy to be free from the topic of food and out in the nice weather.
Mathis came running out with her skateboard, hopping on it and catching up with me as she teased, "Hey, Lunar Moon! You're actually on time, wow!"
My being late is rare, but even once, it's held against me. I can be on time one thousand times and it only takes one late time to ruin the rest. At least it's humorous. I'm happy to make others laugh and smile, that's what's important.
"Bitch," I retorted, pulling one earbud out to hear her better, shaking my head with a roll of my eyes, "I've got an interview."
"Whoa, Lazy Casey going to get a job? I'll throw a party for ya," She taunted, which only encouraged the eye roll. We taunted each other about jobs and keeping them… It was the only way we could laugh through the hurt.
We lived in an area where we were considered lesser than dirt. Even though we had relatively nice houses, our neighborhood and the people within were considered a wasteland. Many of us don't have jobs, the ones we do have are considered Scraps. Those jobs pay the lowest amount possible. Living here doesn't sound great, but it's home. I love where I live even if it's not ideal.
I smiled while we headed to the interview we messed around on our boards. We did this every time to pass the clock and entertain ourselves when we didn't know what to talk about. It was the easiest way to end conversations, but still have fun.
"I got an insane posse…," Whipping out her Bluetooth speaker I connected my phone to it and listened as Pandora began to play through the device as we began singing along to Asshole by Ronnie Radke and Andy Biersack, "What's the fucking problem with a one-night stand?"
Matt and I hopped in the air, landing on each other's boards, grinning as we kept singing along. We danced and did a little messing around, only having moments of almost tripping before we reached our location. Our bodies came to a halt, tittering and hugging our torsos as we hunched over, "Lord Apollyon, can you believe we do this every time, and we never get bored of it?"
She wheezed, making us both giggle harder, "You made a skateboard pun."
"I did, without even meaning to," I chuckled callously. We continued chortling, wiping tears from our faces as we picked up the boards and started heading into the building. My interview was at a company office. We gaped as we stepped into the building, our laughter coming to an abrupt stop, "I-I'm starting to feel incredibly underdressed."
Our eyes were cemented to the gorgeous marble flooring and the white tiled walls. Picasso paints hung, not a string or screw visible. They even had a rug of the Starry Night Van Gogh painting. Chairs made of white leather and satin pillows delicately sat around the rub with rubber covers to protect the marble from scratches.
Everyone was wearing suits and fancy dressing, not a wrinkle in sight. Every article of fabric was neatly folded and made the whole room feel like some old classy movie. Every nerve in my body began to shrivel as my throat dried like the Apollyon Desert.
"May we help you?" The Secretary at the desk spoke, her voice plastered with annoyance as she looked at us with a frown. Her eyes were daggers at our clothes, she barely looked over the counter at our shoes. A look of absolute hatred at the vision of our shoes. It was like the contact we had on this rug made it entirely worthless. It was worth thousands, I'm sure.
"Y-Yeah," I managed to choke up, daring to step forward, "I-I have a-an interview w-with a Mr. Hayes."
Each step made her eyes fill with pure disgust. She kept a straight face, but her eyes told us how she felt. She didn't dare to stress herself with wrinkles. Her skin was beautiful, if it weren't for her tight bun of grey hair I wouldn't have guessed she was an elderly woman. She had a sharp nose that went well with her boned knuckles and tight jaw. All of it was tied together with a nice Victorian blouse. I was sure if she stood she'd have a Victorian skirt and heels to match. Even with her daggered eyes, she was breathtaking.
"You came to an interview in that?" Her voice drew me to her looking me over, a laugh almost leaving her lips, "I highly doubt you'll be hired in Poor Clothes."
My throat immediately dried up. Poor Clothes was incredibly insulting here. Being identified as that gives you a bad reputation. It was bad enough to get looks and be called Wastelanders. Poor Clothes is a term not used lightly by the higher class. It defines somebody who's so poor even their clothes have no worth.
"Having bad manners also gives you a low chance of being hired," Praying Mantis spat, stepping next to me as she glared the woman down. She was sticking up for me, but she was also fueling a flame.
"I'm the one with the job," The woman huffed with a smirk, fixing her glasses as she began to type something on her computer, a humored glint in her irises, "and I don't live like rats."
We both visibly flinched, my jaw hardening. "Rat" was worse than Poor Clothes. At least Poor Clothes meant you had a proper house and a possible way of living. The animal was cute, but the insult was deadly. "Rats" get killed. They get pesticides and are caught like vermin. We were on an island surrounded by lava, the ground under us melting. All she had to do was press a button and we could be dragged to some place and never seen again.
Why did my parents have to get the interview here? My mother probably didn't read into this place, she has a history of not reading the full picture. She sees something she likes and then immediately goes for it without getting more information. I love her, but sometimes I wish she'd think for a moment.
"L-Let's go," I murmured, my grip tight on my board as I began to turn around. My knuckles ached at how tight I was gripping, but getting out of there as fast as possible would ease my pain.
My body stiffened as my face hit fabric, my eyes staring at dark red velvet as they slowly rose. Now in front of me stood a male figure. He wore a very dark red suit, so dark it almost looked black. You could only tell it was red because of the lighting. With it, he wore a black button-up with a matching dark red bowtie. He had long black hair with dark brown highlights, all messily tied back with a braid down the middle and sides to give it a beautiful Nordic look.
"Is something wrong here?" He asked his voice husky it could melt caramel. It took everything in my power to not drool as I watched his lips twitch with a smirk at my staring. He had a small scruffy beard, it fit drastically well with his attire. I was dying from the scent of baked green apples and strawberries, it gave his masculine look a delicate feminine touch and it was stabbing my soul.
You are so gay. Shut the fuck up! For the love of all things, stop fucking talking. I don't need your shit right now.
"No, Sir. These cockroaches were leaving," The secretary responded to him as she continued typing, "Shall I tell Mr. Hayes you've arrived, Mr. Lincoln?"
Her tone was delicate yet cruel as her index hovered over the Security Button as I looked back at her. My stomach was ready to flip. This was it. This was how we were going to die.
"Yes, Ms. Sandra," Mr. Lincoln had a dry smile with his sand-textured tone. He glanced at me with a sweet look in his eye before he glared at her, "As for your earlier comments, I will have to inform Mr. Hayes. It's very impolite of you to denounce them as such, or do we need to bring up your earlier speech about having a job?"
The way he threatened her was like hot fudge drizzled on vanilla ice cream, oozing a sweet yet burning sensation. His irises flickered back at me, a grin twitching the corner of his mouth.
Mathis began to pull me away from where we stood, she'd been sending daggers to Ms. Sandra the entire time, "Forget it. Mr. Hayes doesn't deserve an interview with Lunar, especially with asshole staff."
My throat and mouth were still dry as she tugged me toward the exit. I was emotionally and mentally a wreck, trying to process everything. I knew for damn sure I wanted to shrivel up under a rock and die.
"I can assure you not all the staff are ill-minded," Mr. Lincoln gave a warm chuckle, turning with our bodies like it was nothing. Matty didn't falter with her actions, storming toward the exit, "If you'd give a chance, you'd be able to see that."
"No, thanks," She growled, slowly silencing in speech and action when my feet dragged and scraped the ground, my arm pulling from her
This whole ordeal had made me forget why I was here. I swallowed hard, taking off my sunglasses, remembering I had them on, "M-My parents."
I couldn't go home and tell them about this. I couldn't tell them I cowered and ran with my tail between my legs because some Hag spoke down to me. Not because of disappointing them, but because my mother would drag me back here and rip this woman to shreds. I'm humiliated enough, I don't need to be seen as the adult who had his mommy rescue him... Most certainly not in front of the hunk of a man behind me, either. If I'm going to die, at least let me have some dignity.
Matt stared at me for a few minutes, her stern eyes turning soft as she let out a small sigh, "Alright, but if anybody else is a big douchebag you leave on the spot, understood?"
She giggled at me as I chuckled with a nod, "And then we'll kick some ass later, right?"
Fist-bumping me, she ushered me away, "Damn right. Good luck! I'll be here with ol' snot mouth."
She had a worried look on her face, but she was trying to be supportive. Growing up together she learned I was incredibly anxious and afraid of upsetting anyone… especially my parents. I never want to disappoint them. After everything my family has done, I owe it to them to do my best.
I left my board and bag with her as I slowly followed Mr. Lincoln to an elevator. My throat very gradually dried up again the further I stepped away from Mathis. Glancing back she shot two thumbs-up, grinning and mouthing, "You've got this!"
You so don't got this. That I agree with. I'm dead. I'm so dead I can't even be scrapped for the Grim Reaper. Please, kill me.
Mr. Lincoln pushed the top floor button, watching as the doors closed shut. My pupils stuck to the glowing numbers as they counted up.
Of course, we're going to the top floor!
I swallowed hard, sweat beginning to form throughout my body. My hands were trembling, my teeth nibbling on my tongue so much I tasted metal. My mind was racing, I was ready to break down when I was brought out of my head by Mr. Lincoln humming, "You may want to remove your beanie, Mr. Lunar."
Ma probably forgot to include my last name on the résumé, again…
"F-Fuck," I quickly took my hat off, combing my fingers through my hair and shoving my beanie into my front pocket, "Th-Thanks."
That only made him chuckle once more as the elevator doors parted, and I followed him to an office door that was silver-colored with little patterns, the name "Mr. Hayes" printed on it. He knocked before stepping inside and having me step in with him.
My throat felt like it was going to turn into dust at any given moment as I stepped into the office. The floor was dark oak while the walls were dark grey and black stone masonry. Shelves were built into the stone in a way that it looked like the stones shifted. Plants dangled from the ceiling and tinted red light shined through them. It felt more like an indoor-outdoor nightclub than an office space.
A black leather seat spun as Mr. Lincoln approached, revealing another man. He raised a hand to cover his lips as they whispered amongst themselves. A small grin formed on the man's face as I realized they both looked almost identical.
The main difference was this man had slightly shorter hair and more monotone eyes. Though he smiled, he seemed more "lifeless" in his expression. From the lighting, it appeared his hair was also lighter, but I could be wrong.
"Please, sit. I'm Mr. Hayes. I hear you're having a job interview with me," The man motioned to two leather seats that matched his own. I was frozen stiff where I stood. I couldn't find the ability to move or speak as I stared at them both. All I could do was nod, causing them both to flash a look at each other. He repeated, this time with more force in his tone as I remained stiff, "Please, sit."
"It's best to listen, Young Man," Mr. Lincoln approached me, grabbing my shoulder firmly, his voice gentle yet strong. I finally found the mobility and sat down in one of the seats, trying to contain my right leg from bouncing with anxiety and fear. The sound of Mr. Hayes opening a folder of papers nearly had me jumping out of my seat, but I bit my tongue and dug my nails into the seat as Mr. Lincoln hummed, "Good, let's start our interview."