Fraud

So here's another piece I've done. This isn't post-apocalyptic, but I hope you enjoy it just the same :)

Fraud

  Oh crap, I’m in for it now, I think to myself incessantly while I grasp for my car keys that are no longer in my pocket. My eyes file up to a sad-looking girl with a twisted smile, clutching something behind her back. I think I’m drunk, but I know I haven’t touched a glass all night. Never, in fact. But she has a pull on me that I can’t ignore, like a gypsy she charms me as I am unaware of her arcane power that my mind and body are succumbing to. My heart is pounding in my trembling chest and my prosecuting conscience states the obvious fact: she’s not Alison.

  But of course he knows that, you damned fool, a sly voice enters my crowded mind. He knows it’s not Alison, now quit bugging him. I say, she’s really easy on the eyes pal. And she knows you want her and she wants you. Hell, she’s practically telling you to take her to your apartment.

  She never said anything, my conscience counters, though subdued slightly.

  She doesn’t have to, the voice replied. Just looking at her face and you know what she wants.

  I need those keys if I want to get out of here, so I reached clumsily behind her back. She smiles and giggles as I fail to obtain the only means of escape. Then, I notice my hand is in hers and the other is sliding down her back.

  Stop, you bastard! My conscience screams as my body begins to betray my heart. She’s not Alison, you need to leave. Apologize to this tramp and tell her you have a girlfriend, soon to be fiancé if you can control yourself.

  “I, umm, have someone else,” I try to pull away, but her icy hand stays mine. Her scent, her hair, her face is so much like Alison’s.

  But it’s not her, damn it! Knock it off before this goes too far.

  “Well, where is she?” She looks around the bar, using exaggerated head turns, revealing a very nice view down her shirt. “I don’t see anybody here who claims you except me.”

  Oh. My. God. She has basically given you the go-ahead for sex. Do it before someone else does, the voice’s volume rose significantly.

  No, you need to leave, the quieter but persistent call echoed through my thick skull. Tell her this has to stop, you need your keys, you got a text from your brother, anything to get you out of this.

  “My brother just sent me a text,” I recite sheepishly. “He needs my help.”

  “Now I know you’re lying,” the vixen smiles again, taking my cell phone out of her bra.

  How did it get there?

  The real question you should be asking is how do you get there, the voice cackled with delight.

  Peter, please, don’t do this.

  She’ll never know man. Go ahead.

  Stop. You’ll hurt Alison if you do.

  What has Alison ever done with you? Nothing. You owe her nothing.

  You were saving yourselves for marriage. Her father gave his blessing this morning when you asked him for it. Don’t waste it on this girl. You’ve been strong for so long, to slip up now would be pathetic.

  Screw you, screw Alison’s father, screw everybody. Just nail this bitch and call it a night.

  You can’t, you won’t.

  You will. You’ll love it.

  You fraud. She married you. She loves you.

  And I love pleasure. Now go to hell.

  I’ll see you there, jackass.

  What monster am I becoming? I think every morning.

  The kind that can get girls and still hold his family together. You’re Superman. The voice congratulates me thoroughly.

  You’re still a fraud, my conscience calls for the last time.