Bitch

Chantelle walked down the busy streets of New York City miserably. Her parents had taken the lead and were casually strolling across the streets and gazing into shop windows admiringly. Chantelle gave a bored sigh, her heels clacking on the pavement as they went pass many designer shops presenting expensive fashion clothes to die for. While Chantelle was cruising past all these dreamy shops in her expensive heals and custom-made designer clothes, the homeless were everywhere.

There were people of all ages slumped down on the pavement, ragged blankets wrapped around them as they held grubby, empty coffee cups, begging for a few coins that could buy them a meal for today. Chantelle stuck her nose up at a young boy sitting in the door way of a block of flats, the bottom half of his body was snuggled into a grimy sleeping bag, and his raven black hair was slick with grease. He looked up at Chantelle with large, glassy brown eyes. He was around her age and actually seemed quite bored, sitting there on the doorstep with a dirty coffee cup which only contained a few pennies that could just about afford him another coffee. Chantelle made a noise of disgust, hurrying past the slum-dog as she trotted on to catch up with her oblivious parents.

Vermin, in Chantelle's opinion; every one of those disgusting layabouts deserved to be just wiped off the streets whether they had homes to go to or not. Their bedraggled, begrimed and contaminated selves were a poor sight to lay eyes upon. If everybody else could find a job and afford a home then why couldn't they?

Back in the hotel room, Chantelle was getting dressed to go out for some fancy family meal with her parents. Chantelle sighed. She hadn't spoken much since arriving in New York three hours ago- unless it happened to be a complaint about the whole holiday. Chantelle pulled up the straps to her floral, pink summer dress, pulling on some bright pink peep-toe heels. She gazed at herself in the large mirror, touching up on her pale coral lipstick which was already piled on her full, plump lips. She looked stunning; more like a model in an OK magazine than a school girl off to a classy meal with her monotonous parents. With her long, tanned legs that stretched on for miles and a chest a stripper would die for. The blush blossoming dress hugged her body in all the right places, showing off her amazing curves and a very earning figure.

Chantelle picked up her white leather jacket before grabbing her expensive designer, leather handbag and making her way downstairs. Her parents were waiting for her as she proceeded down the hallway. They walked out the door in silence. Chantelle could hear her father muttering under his breath about the shortness of her mini-dress. She just rolled her eyes, pulling the dress up further so it barely covered her thighs. How else was she meant to get laid tonight? Her "amazing personality" definitely wasn't going to score her any points.

They arrived at the restaurant which wasn't very abounding at the time; the best restaurant (and most expensive) would only allow those who were well provided for to enter, which wasn't a problem for Chantelle's parents. The three walked across the burnished marble floor. Scintillating chandeliers hung over their heads as they passed cherished ornaments and dear heirlooms. The fragrant smell of air fresheners hung in the air and appeasing classical music danced through the air dreamily. Chantelle hated it. The music: it was boring her. She felt like nodding off while she walked. Classical music always had a dull effect on her, made her feel dreary and somnolent.

Her parents were escorted to a table by a formal, young waiter. He held one of those towel-things in one arm and a neat notepad in the other. His dark eyes nearly bugged out of his head when they laid on Chantelle; he grunted to try and keep his cool, smiling sweetly at her oblivious parents as they sat down at the table. Chantelle smirked at the waiter, slipping a small piece of paper into his trouser pocket before also sliding into her seat. The boy smile politely, laying out some leather-bound menus before asking them for their order of drinks.

Her parents each ordered a bottle of champagne and Chantelle originally asked for red wine but her father refused to order any alcoholic drinks for her.
"Don't you think you had enough to drink on Friday night?" He criticized and Chantelle scoffed as the handsome waiter came back with the champagne bottle and her fat free sparkling water.
"Chantelle, don't look so sour!" her mother hissed as her father brought out the champagne bottle from the ice bucket and popped it open, pouring the shimmering gold liquid into a crystal champagne glass.
Chantelle huffed, crossing her arms irritably across her chest.
"What's wrong, Chantelle?" her mother asked in an annoyed tone. "We bring you to the best restaurant in New York and you're acting nothing but-" her mother coughed, looking around the room quickly before lowering her voice. "Well, a stroppy mare," she whispered.

Chantelle rolled her eyes dramatically, smirking at her mother daringly. Then the waiter came back to take their orders. He flicked his floppy, lush, brown hair from his gorgeous black eyes, trying not to make eye contact with Chantelle as each other of her parents spoke their orders. Then he looked at Chantelle.
"May I have your order, ma'am?" he asked politely and Chantelle looked at her menu, tapping her chin as she pondered and deliberately took her time.
The man still kept his cool though, ignoring the scowls coming from her parent's direction.
"Ah!" Chantelle beamed, ordering the most expensive thing on the menu just to piss off her parents.
The waiter nodded, jotting the order with a black-inked fountain pen.
"Anything else?" he asked, glancing up at Chantelle's parents.
They both shook their heads and the waiter looked at Chantelle. She crossed one of her long legs over the other, winking at the waiter.
"Yeah actually," she purred, twirling a lock of blond hair in a manicured finger, "Meet me in my room tonight when you get bored," She proposed. "My phone number is written on the paper." Chantelle's parents gasped behind her, but Chantelle just ignored them, smiling teasingly at the waiter.
The waiter's eyes widened, he looked around nervously before shaking his head and walking quickly out the room in embarrassment.

"Chantelle!" her mother cried in shock.
Chantelle raised an eyebrow, turning to her mother, "What?" she snapped, "I'm bored!" She whined like a stroppy five year old.
"When we go back to the hotel room, you have a lot of explaining to do young lady!" Her father scolded.
"Why do you have to show us up like this in public?" her mother lectured.
"And in front of all these fine people." her father added, motioning to a few people who had begun to watch the big scene.
"Honestly Chantelle, what do you have to say for yourself?" her mother went on.
Chantelle shook her head, standing up and knocking her chair over in the abrupt action. "NO!" she yelled and the entire restaurant was watching the commotion now, their eyes wide in shock.
"You can't tell me what to do!" Chantelle screeched. "I have a life of my own! And you can't control it like this!"

Chantelle grabbed her handbag and slung it over her shoulder, "And I will go out and actually have some fun," She added, "And if I don't come home, it means I fucked off to a better life without a couple of dull, shitty parents who tell me what to do all the time!" she screamed, stomping out the five star restaurant in a stroppy tantrum, leaving a group of formal, high-class citizens gaping in disbelief and shaking their heads at Chantelle's parents; thanking god that Chantelle didn't belong to them.

Chantelle stormed down the street, her luscious, long, blonde hair blowing in the bitter breeze and goose-bumps growing on her smooth, bare shoulders. She hadn't picked up her coat when she'd hastily left the restaurant. She wished she'd at least made sure she had everything before she'd propelled out the room so quickly. The street was empty as she walked down the dark dreary parts of New York. She didn't know where she was going, all she wanted to do was find a fancy club to head into and enjoy herself. This time she wouldn't let her parents take over her life. She'd have her own way whether they liked it or not. She's always had her own way.

She stopped suddenly when she came outside an old out of date Chinese takeaway shop. The neon, flashing sign displaying the shop was blinking sluggishly, and a swarm of moths were fluttering around the dirt-stained light. The shop had obviously not been visited in a while and by the looks of it, the owner had given up all hope of ever gaining customers. The bins outside were spilling full of garbage and the windows looked like they hadn't been cleaned in decades, grime crept up the glass and the frames were rusty and rotting.

Chantelle sighed, digging through her handbag for her iPhone so maybe she could look up Google Maps for a nearby club. It was quiet, the only noise was the whining of a stray, mangy, black cat which was lurking behind one of the dustbins; the only thing you could see of it were the animal's large, yellow, bulging eyes. Almost like huge bulbous glassy orbs. One looked infected and was dripping with disgusting milky-colored puss. The cat's meows were very weak and didn't make much noise at all. It was dying, there was no mistake in that.

Chantelle ignored it, still digging around her bag for her phone. She groaned, deciding that she was going to need better light for this search, so she headed off further down the deserted street, her expensive heels clacking as she passed broken down and rotting abandoned food stalls. Old grubby beggars lay asleep on the floor, the only thing keeping them warm were thin, frayed sheets of newspaper, falling apart due to the rusty water off of the damp, dusty floor, and the only thing keeping them company were the fleas hopping around their gray, matted hair and the rats scuttling through the scummy alley.

Someone coughed. Chantelle looked up, glancing around frantically, her soft palms starting to sweat.
"Hello?" she called, slipping her handbag over her shoulder.
There was no answer, and Chantelle stepped forward. She started to advance down the street, hurrying forward with her head down. She'd been in many situations like this, and the trick was to just simply walk into a crowded area...but that was when she'd actually known where she was going. Chantelle took a quick turn, regretting it when she walked into a darker alley, completely empty this time. She swore harshly under her breath, trotting forward, her breath raspy as she started panicking. She was lost and she knew it. She was also being followed.

The sound of footsteps arose from behind her, echoing throughout the alley way as worn boots marched on the cracked floor. Chantelle's pace quickened. She hurried forward, quickly glancing behind her to reveal her stalker. It was a man, completely dressed in black and with a hood up. She couldn't see his face in the dim lighting but she could just make his height to be about 6 feet tall. She turned forward and gasped when another man began to patrol forward in the other direction. She was trapped, and they were coming at her in both directions. There was nothing she could do. Chantelle regretted walking out that restaurant now. Why couldn't she just sit down and behave for once? Why hadn't she listened to her fucking parents? WHY HER?

Chantelle gave a pathetic whimper, falling back into the shadows where she met the third man. He'd been backed up against the wall. A gloved hand was clamped over her glossy mouth as a scream rose up in Chantelle's throat and then everything went black.