Bitch n Bites

"Here?"

What greeted us was a pink neon sign and tall yet narrow glass windows. Appealing live models sat posed behind the glass on throne-like chairs, striking poses to show off tech implants that practically glittered and making come-hither gestures; Taking the old phrase `sex sells` to a new level. Even seeing the models fully dressed, one might easily get the wrong idea about the purpose of such an establishment.

I stand near the entrance, mesmerized, a hand pressed to the glass. My borrowed white shirt and leather jacket, kiddie-looking bear mask, lace white gloves, and contacts with rainbows sparkles make me look like a doe-eyed teen. I certainly feel like one. "Where have you been all my life?" I whisper to one of the sexy models.

The model smiles wickedly and crosses their legs in front of me while deliberately slouching to press the sole of one black defiant boot against the glass. The atmosphere screams "Don`t touch!"

"Computers and clothes. Let's be honest. These days, there's little difference," he says behind me. The car door shuts with a satisfying thump. I turn and- "What the heck….is that?"

His once danger-black car is pink with emo-looking unicorns. My Little Bronies. He smiles, wickedly amused. "For you, Janie."

He stood there posed. One hand possessively on the car, a feather peacock mask framed his eyes, black half-palm gloves accentuated his fingers, and purple eyes seem to gaze down at me – despite our distance. “Or…can you deny watching precisely 208 episodes, including specials.” He points in accusation.

I gape like a fish. The warmth of embarrassment at the back of my neck. No. No. This guy was a creep. A spy, I remind myself. I did nothing wrong! I cross my arms. "Unbelievable."

We stare at each other from across the lot. He too, childishly crosses his arms. Finally, I sigh and make a show of walking to the entrance. I look back at him as I push open an antique-looking door plastered in truly vintage magazine covers. “I`m going to find the most cringeworthy shirt and make you wear it.“

I disappear into the shop, his amusement lingering in my thoughts.

Booths at the end of rows were occupied by customers using holograms to see how products looked. I hear an automated recording of how the booths work. Purchasing the product in the booth triggered the clothes hanger to lock around the display rack, effectively placing it on hold. Robots would collect them for checkout.

Other customers, some in furry suits and other in full-character cosplay, browsed the long aisles of the fantasy dress-up section. Gothic, pop-star, business, grunge, sparkle. Large signs adorned each row.

I pick an aisle and flipped through the clothes. A red cap with devil horns, cutoff turquoise jeans, black-and-white stripe t-shirt. Someone leans across the clothes rack, supporting their weight on the bar. It`s Mr. Killer. "Why not display your support of a popular character?" he asked. He holds up a shirt with a pony.

"Uh, my obsessions change by the month. What's the point?" I say offhand.

"Then what about me?" he leans closer.

"What about…heh. You. Of course. You're attractive. We`ve wined and dined. But…" I hold up my clothing selections. "I am not going to jail for you so please hide me properly this time. Waking up in your car is not sexy, even if it has leather seats."

We move back through the aisles, passing customers who lounge in cozy chairs while experts provide a tune-up to their mechanical implants. "Your implants. What did you have before?" I ask.

"Something to alter my voice and eye color, but it was too easy to track. And it recorded what I said."

I look at the underside of my wrist where lines -almost like a second set of veins- are still visible under the faded scorpion tattoo. "Too bad you regretted it. The scars never quite heal."

"Some people would say the scars are…attractive," he says. "Are you regretting?"

"Advanced implants, no. My dad suffered from reality dissociation, spending more and more time in fantasies and video games. It must be why mom never took me for implants. I just had that old bracelet. Other things, I try not to think about."

He stopped by a stand with masks, contacts, and various face tattoos and earrings. "Pick out something else. I need to get something."

I`m still looking at my arm. No more wrist phone. Just a tattoo that is similar to the one Mr Killer has. It made me feel less alone. Of course, I cannot forget about Donnie, but it had been some time since I dared to speak about difficult topics. Thinking of difficult topics, this guy Mr Killer, wasn't he going to die?

I broke out of my thoughts and turned to the display of jewelry and trinkets. I pick up a cheap bracelet that might serve as a cheap consolation prize and replacement for the lost wrist phone.

"Do you need help, meow," a shop assistant leaned into my space, nerve-implanted ears and tail twitching.

"We all do, don't we?" I say, my mind somewhere else.

"What, meow?"

"No. Thank you.

Mr Killer returned as I was contemplating a bug-eyed mask. He offered what looked like a circular pendant on a necklace.

"Your new phone. Thumbprint activated with holographic screen. I loaded your old contacts since nobody seems to memorize the important numbers."

"You- you are such a stalker." Humph, stealing other peoples phone numbers. Still I felt appreciation as I swipe the pendant from his grasp.