The Consequence Was...

Game of Consequences…

Continuation on from, ‘An agonising wait while her phone rings…’

‘Be Careful What You Wish For’


All I’d wanted was to kiss her cherry red lips. I was only aged fifteen. How could I possibly have known that the legend of the Succubus was, well, real?

Dad had always warned me that the very pretty girls would steal my heart. I thought he was joking. He’d not mentioned that one might capture me with the promise of a kiss and then throw me into a jar, threatening to enslave me for all eternity.

It had all started when I’d stupidly called her on the phone and walked to her house, after having spent an hour getting changed out of my school uniform and trying to decide which of my band logo tee-shirts was the most appealing. But, clearly she had no appreciation for Motorhead, or anything being louder than anything else. Nor did she have any interest in my gelled hair which I’d fashionably sculpted into a shark fin.

Whilst I sit bored and lonely ruminating in this human-sized pickling jar, I feel as though I have been misguided. Part of me hopes that I can still play around with the shape of my quiff and that she’ll admit her mistake, let me out of this jar and finish the kiss.

I shouldn’t kiss her, I know that, but the spell is too strong. Or is it what my Mum called ‘teenage urges?’ I doubt it’s her issue, it must be mine. Mum must be right. Magic doesn’t really exist. Does it?

Why doesn’t she like me? Why doesn’t she like my music? Maybe I should have shaved the back of my neck? How had I caused her offence? Why does she punish me?

I am tapping my fingers on the glass and making a clinking sound, but there is no one else around to hear my protest. The jar I reside in lays on its side, covered.

I stop tapping. I’ve been here for days, I know that it’s futile. She won’t give me any attention.

***

Several more days have now passed. I vaguely remember my uncle Bill telling me once that if I ignored the girls then they would be more likely to pay me attention. Now take it from me, it’s incredibly hard to ignore someone whose attention you desperately seek. As I try to nap, I constantly have one lid raised a crack. I hope that she’ll think I’m dead and let me out. I’m not sure if there is a limit to my oxygen levels in this jar. Maybe I really will die? Will she let me out then?

I’ve stopped thinking about the kiss. I keep trying to think of how ugly her face became when she performed her ‘magic’ on me. Part of my brain fights me. My memory keeps trying to push out the image of her warts, voluptuous nasal hair and mismatched eyes. The other part of my mind tries to convince me that her haggish image was a trick of the light. Not everyone is perfect. I must have just missed her imperfections with my immature lust.

Dad had always said to work with what you have. I could work with a few warts I tell myself, but I’m not so sure about her attitude.

I feel like I am going nowhere as I press my cheek against the side of the glass.

Without warning I feel that my prison is being pulled backwards. Before I know it I have been tipped upright. I have to open my eyes whilst I stumble with the readjustment.

There she is, her cherry red lips pouting through the glass at me. But wait, what has happened? It seems that I am no taller than her face. The only way to kiss her now would be to nibble on a section of her.

I take a good long look but I can’t see the warts and her facial hair seems to be under control. As long as I study her, she studies me - turning my jar in the air. I try to hold my stomach in and mentally will her to release me.

She smiles and drags her tongue across her teeth in a way that is a little unsettling. God she’s not going to eat me, is she?

Her fingers reach to the jar’s clasp. I hear a clink as the airlock is broken.

“Well, well, well,” she states, peering in at me.

“Destiny! What are you doing?” My voice sounds small and squeaky. I kick myself, thinking I’d got past that stage. How embarrassing.

She reaches in and places a hand around my body and lifts me out. This is the first time a member of the opposite sex has ever touched me. My heart flutters and I am too scared to wriggle about beneath her grip.

“You are mine now, Theo. You don’t seem particularly loud. But, I’m sure you understand that I had to take some precautions,” she said, shaking the empty glass.

I feel a little confused. Hers? Was this her way of saying she wanted a relationship with me? Whilst her actions seem a little obscure, my ego flutters with the knowledge that she’s registered enough interest in me to read my tee-shirt.

“I need your help Theo,” she says.

“How can I help you?” The offer of help has left my mouth before I can stop myself. Why should I help her? I’m a teeny bit mad if I’m honest with myself.

“My trousers need fixing,” she says, pointing at a pair of black skinny jeans laying on the floor.

Before I’ve time to negotiate, I’m being placed into a large cage along with the jeans and set onto Destiny’s night stand.

“If you don’t give me any trouble, then we’ll have a talk about your ‘situation’,” she says, twirling her finger at me.

She leaves almost instantly, and once again, I am left alone.

I suppose she did mention something about fixing some clothes the night I came round to visit. It had been shrieked with other words like ‘slave’, so I just assumed it was all part of her letting off steam. I mean, people say things that they don’t mean when they’re mad, don’t they?

I thought I didn’t know how to sew clothes, but my fingers immediately set to the task with ease.

I've probably got a while to consider the consequences of lust, but still, I feel relieved that we are talking again.

I’m sure she didn’t mean that about me being a slave.

Maybe we can work this out?