Except from "Stupid Little Story"
By ECO. October 9th, 2025
Embedded Files
CHAPTER II: Smoke & Mirrors
The bar was nearly empty by midnight. The last few drunkards had stumbled out, slurringapologies to the air and leaving behind lipstick-stained glasses and the faint stench of gin anddesperation. Jade sat cross-legged on one of the high stools, her emerald suit jacket draped overthe seat beside her. The music had slowed, turning into a low hum — something sensual andbluesy that wrapped itself around the dim light like smoke.
Amira was wiping down the counter with lazy precision. She didn’t look at Jade, notdirectly, but Jade could feel her awareness like heat — sharp, deliberate, and heavy.
“You’re still here,” Amira said without looking up. Her voice was low, smooth, but edgedlike glass.“Maybe I like the view.”Amira smirked. “The bar’s closed, Miss Mystery.”“Then maybe I’m not here for the bar.”Amira finally looked at her — that same piercing navy stare that felt like it could undressyou without touching. “Then what are you here for?”
Jade leaned forward on the counter, the dim light catching the faint sheen of sweat on hercollarbone. “I’m here for the woman who hasn’t told me a single thing about herself.”
Amira set the rag down, finally breaking the barrier between them. She leaned forwardtoo, close enough that Jade could smell the lemon and vodka still clinging to her. “What’s thereto tell?” she asked. “I pour drinks, listen to people lie about their lives, and sometimes lie aboutmine.”Jade tilted her head. “Sounds like fun.”“It’s a living.”Their eyes locked. The silence between them wasn’t empty — it buzzed. Jade felt it pulsein her throat, in the tips of her fingers.Amira broke it first. “You’re Sullivan Cronwell’s sister, right? The rich one.”Jade laughed — sharp, amused, and bitter all at once. “You say that like it’s a disease.”“Maybe it is.”“Then I’m terminal.”Amira chuckled softly, looking down, and Jade caught a glimpse of something — aflicker of sadness, or fear, or both. She wanted to know what caused it, wanted to peel it openwith her tongue.“So,” Jade said softly, “do you kiss all your customers, or just the ones who won’t tellyou their last name?”Amira raised an eyebrow. “Depends who’s asking.”“I’m asking,” Jade said.A pause.Then Amira leaned across the bar and kissed her.It wasn’t gentle. It was hot, desperate — the kind of kiss that feels like falling andburning at the same time. The kind that tells you this person has been lonely for far too long.
When they finally pulled apart, Jade’s lipstick smeared across Amira’s mouth, and herpulse was a wild, unsteady rhythm.“Careful,” Amira whispered, eyes dark. “You don’t know what you’re getting into.”Jade smiled, slow and dangerous. “Neither do you.”Outside, thunder cracked. The lights flickered once — then again.
Amira’s gaze darted upward, her hand tightening on the counter. “That happenssometimes,” she said too quickly.Jade frowned. “The lights?”Amira’s eyes shifted toward the far end of the bar, where a single door stood half-open,leading into darkness. “No,” she said quietly. “The things that come after.”The words hung between them, heavy and strange.Jade looked toward the door, then back at her. “You really shouldn’t say things like that toa woman with an overactive imagination.”Amira didn’t smile this time. “I’m not joking.”
For a moment, Jade swore she heard something — a faint breath, or maybe a whisper —drifting out from the dark beyond the door. The sound of something alive. Or once alive.
She turned back to Amira. “You’re full of secrets, aren’t you?”
Amira finally smiled again, but her eyes were still haunted. “You have no idea.”
Jade stood, grabbing her jacket and smoothing her hair back with steady hands. “Then Iguess I’ll see you tomorrow night,” she said.
Amira hesitated. “You really shouldn’t come back.”
“Oh, I will,” Jade said, walking toward the door, heels clicking against the floor. “Thething about me, Amira—” she looked back over her shoulder, her eyes glinting under theflickering light— “I never listen to warnings.”
She left without another word.
Amira exhaled, staring after her until the door swung shut. Then she turned toward thedark hallway again, her expression unreadable.
From somewhere deep in the shadows, something shifted — slow and wet, likesomething remembering how to move.
Amira whispered to the dark, voice trembling just slightly:“She’s going to be trouble.
The bar was nearly empty by midnight. The last few drunkards had stumbled out, slurringapologies to the air and leaving behind lipstick-stained glasses and the faint stench of gin anddesperation. Jade sat cross-legged on one of the high stools, her emerald suit jacket draped overthe seat beside her. The music had slowed, turning into a low hum — something sensual andbluesy that wrapped itself around the dim light like smoke.
Amira was wiping down the counter with lazy precision. She didn’t look at Jade, notdirectly, but Jade could feel her awareness like heat — sharp, deliberate, and heavy.
“You’re still here,” Amira said without looking up. Her voice was low, smooth, but edgedlike glass.“Maybe I like the view.”Amira smirked. “The bar’s closed, Miss Mystery.”“Then maybe I’m not here for the bar.”Amira finally looked at her — that same piercing navy stare that felt like it could undressyou without touching. “Then what are you here for?”
Jade leaned forward on the counter, the dim light catching the faint sheen of sweat on hercollarbone. “I’m here for the woman who hasn’t told me a single thing about herself.”
Amira set the rag down, finally breaking the barrier between them. She leaned forwardtoo, close enough that Jade could smell the lemon and vodka still clinging to her. “What’s thereto tell?” she asked. “I pour drinks, listen to people lie about their lives, and sometimes lie aboutmine.”Jade tilted her head. “Sounds like fun.”“It’s a living.”Their eyes locked. The silence between them wasn’t empty — it buzzed. Jade felt it pulsein her throat, in the tips of her fingers.Amira broke it first. “You’re Sullivan Cronwell’s sister, right? The rich one.”Jade laughed — sharp, amused, and bitter all at once. “You say that like it’s a disease.”“Maybe it is.”“Then I’m terminal.”Amira chuckled softly, looking down, and Jade caught a glimpse of something — aflicker of sadness, or fear, or both. She wanted to know what caused it, wanted to peel it openwith her tongue.“So,” Jade said softly, “do you kiss all your customers, or just the ones who won’t tellyou their last name?”Amira raised an eyebrow. “Depends who’s asking.”“I’m asking,” Jade said.A pause.Then Amira leaned across the bar and kissed her.It wasn’t gentle. It was hot, desperate — the kind of kiss that feels like falling andburning at the same time. The kind that tells you this person has been lonely for far too long.
When they finally pulled apart, Jade’s lipstick smeared across Amira’s mouth, and herpulse was a wild, unsteady rhythm.“Careful,” Amira whispered, eyes dark. “You don’t know what you’re getting into.”Jade smiled, slow and dangerous. “Neither do you.”Outside, thunder cracked. The lights flickered once — then again.
Amira’s gaze darted upward, her hand tightening on the counter. “That happenssometimes,” she said too quickly.Jade frowned. “The lights?”Amira’s eyes shifted toward the far end of the bar, where a single door stood half-open,leading into darkness. “No,” she said quietly. “The things that come after.”The words hung between them, heavy and strange.Jade looked toward the door, then back at her. “You really shouldn’t say things like that toa woman with an overactive imagination.”Amira didn’t smile this time. “I’m not joking.”
For a moment, Jade swore she heard something — a faint breath, or maybe a whisper —drifting out from the dark beyond the door. The sound of something alive. Or once alive.
She turned back to Amira. “You’re full of secrets, aren’t you?”
Amira finally smiled again, but her eyes were still haunted. “You have no idea.”
Jade stood, grabbing her jacket and smoothing her hair back with steady hands. “Then Iguess I’ll see you tomorrow night,” she said.
Amira hesitated. “You really shouldn’t come back.”
“Oh, I will,” Jade said, walking toward the door, heels clicking against the floor. “Thething about me, Amira—” she looked back over her shoulder, her eyes glinting under theflickering light— “I never listen to warnings.”
She left without another word.
Amira exhaled, staring after her until the door swung shut. Then she turned toward thedark hallway again, her expression unreadable.
From somewhere deep in the shadows, something shifted — slow and wet, likesomething remembering how to move.
Amira whispered to the dark, voice trembling just slightly:“She’s going to be trouble.
Page updated
Google Sites
Report abuse