Rouge

I ended the night as I always did: in front of my mirror, wiping off whatever makeup was still on my face. I liked to look at my reflection, but not in a vain way. I liked studying the collage of curves and shapes that worked together to make it up. It was quieter backstage than usual; it was a Friday, and most of the other girls had rushed to meet whatever friends or lovers awaited them. I had neither of these, so I enjoyed the extra peace and elbow room that came of it. 
“You look so much like she did,” The voice of one of the impersonation actors brought me out of my meditation. William, I think his name is. 
“Like who did?” 
 “Pass me that teasing comb? My wig has fallen flat.” I nod and hand it over. William continued dryly as he teased. “Girl before you- Marie. Petite French thing. Coppola took a liking to her, she said no and threatened to leave. He made sure she could never dance again.” 
“That’s so sad. My condolences.” 
“C’est la vie.” He mused. Turning back to my reflection, I remove the numerous pins and needles holding my hair pieces in. I wondered if Marie studied her face in the mirror like I did. A pin yanks at my hair in my absentmindedness. I completed my transformation from fantastical to woman and bid William and the other few performers that lingered goodnight. 
As I ascended the steps that led to the club, I pulled out my cigarette case from my clutch. I stopped under the red neon sign that pointed down the steps, put the cigarette to my lips, and lit it. Upon my exhale, I heard the sound of heels clicking on the pavement. 
“Got a light?” I hear her voice before I see her. In a blink, she’s next to me. Her dark hair is long with pleats woven in. I had not seen a fashion like that since my grandmother. And she wore layers of black garments that provided difficulty in making out her figure. 
“Here,” I sparked the lighter and held it for her. She leaned down ever so gracefully, maintaining eye contact with me the entire time. This, I must admit, made me blush. I pushed aside all the improper thoughts rushing into the forefront of my mind to ask her name. 
“Margret.”  She replied. “Yours?” 
I forgot it for a moment. “Helen.”
She smiled toothlessly. “And like your namesake was, you are beautiful.” 
The blush on my cheeks deepened, “That’s very kind of you to say, Margeret.” 
“The truth is not a kindness, Helen.” I took a drag of my cigarette and looked at my shoes momentarily. I had disappointed her, and I was embarrassed. In exhale, I snuck another glance. It was odd she wore so many layers in the dead of summer. 
“So, Helen,” she broke the silence and gestured to the sign above us. “Are you a patron or a performer?”
“I dance here.” 
This drew back her interest in me. “You have a solo number?”
“Oh gracious, no. I’m new to the profession and even newer to the establishment. That won’t happen for me for a while.” 
She made a tsk-tsk, and I worried I’d disappointed her again. “Such a shame.” She stepped closer. “Perhaps you can solo for me?” 
I scoffed. “How about a nightcap first? There’s a speakeasy close by that should still be serving.” She agreed, and we began our walk. 
We made it a few blocks when I was suddenly pulled into an alleyway. Before I could register anything, I was slammed into scaffolding. I heard the sounds of wooden planks and pieces falling to the ground before I felt a sharp, biting pain in the nape of my neck. As I fell, my hand grasped a fallen piece of wood. Without thinking, I struck upwards. A few drops of blood splurted from her wound and dripped into my mouth. They tasted like ash.  The biting sensation ceased, and the feeling of being burned internally was the last thing I remembered before blacking out. 

I woke up to the smell of flesh on fire. The sensation I had felt before blacking out had returned, but only in a concentrated area. I opened my eyes slowly and saw smoke rising from my left hand as the sun hit it. The sight jolted me into action, and I scurried back into the shadows. Any signs of Margeret’s existence were gone as far as I could tell. The sun's light hurt my eyes, and my stomach grumbled loudly. The club. It was the closest place I could think of. I zig-zagged through the alleyways, finding it difficult to stand and feeling increasingly drained as the sun rose higher, higher, and higher. I made it to the club quicker than I should’ve been able to and dashed down the stairs. With the last of my might, I shoved open the door and slammed it shut behind me. 
Immediate relief washed over me. My strength returned. Then my stomach growled again, reminding me that not all was well. Somehow, all the way from the entrance, I could hear the faint rummaging sounds of someone in the office backstage. I closed my eyes; it was the sound of whiskey pouring into a glass and a pen scratching paper. My legs moved forward before I could think to tell them to. I crept back to the office and stood down the hallway. 
I watched him silently. It was the owner of the club, Mr. Coppula. Like an animal, I sniffed the air around me; He reeked of sweat and alcohol. My stomach growled again. I realized what it was that I craved. I realized what it was that Margeret had craved, too. I closed my eyes in an attempt to silence the thoughts coming to me. This is wrong, this is monstrous. The lack of sight, however, just allowed my ears to hear things normal ears shouldn’t be able to hear- like the sound of blood rushing and a heart beating. William’s story about Marie rang in my mind, distantly, as if I were recalling a past life memory. He is the real monster, remember Marie. Acceptance washed over me. My stomach growled again as a final warning. I decided it was better to surrender to my impulses on my terms than let them dominate me. 

On all fours, I crept up behind him. He remained occupied with his work. A floorboard creaked under my footstep, causing him to lift his head. Before his neck could swivel the full 180 degrees, I jumped on his back and smashed him forward, impaling his eye with his pen. I watched momentarily as his blood and black ink began to mix, seeping into the papers he had been hunched over. I bit him on the neck and held on until he stopped squirming. My hunger finally ceased.