Erotimaniac

Ethan sat by his lonesome at the corner booth of a small diner. The scent of

pungent coffee and fresh baked goods drifted across the eatery. A few

people sat at the bar, bickering about the football game on the television,

while some families enjoyed a freshly-cooked breakfast at the other booths

and tables. A few waiters and waitresses walked around, happily serving

their patrons.

The young author shoved some scrambled eggs into his mouth, then he

took a sip of his coffee. He kept his head down and avoided eye contact,

trying to keep a low profile. The manager and employees didn't know him,

he rarely visited the diner, but he still tried his best to lay low. Four weeks

had past since Emiko's death, but he still couldn't get over her.

"This place was really hard to find," a male voice said from beside the

booth.

Ethan glanced to his left – he could only see the man's black pants and

polished dress shoes. He slowly lifted his head, examining his two-button

coat, crisp white button-up shirt, and expensive tie. He recognized the man's

golden locks, crystal blue eyes, and chiseled face. His agent, Paul Davis,

stood beside him.

Paul asked, "Do you mind if I sit down?"

"Go ahead."

Paul took a seat across from Ethan. Elbows on the table, he clasped his

hands in front of him and gazed at his client. Ethan furrowed his brow and

leaned back, baffled by the awkward stare. He couldn't tell if he had good

news or bad news for him.

Ethan asked, "What is it?"

Paul grinned and said, "You did it, Ethan. I finished reading through

your manuscript and... you did it. We have a hit on our hands. This new

horror book you wrote... It's exactly what we needed. It's a raw, disturbing,

and emotional look into the lonely psychopath's mind. It's violent, it's

gruesome... It's controversial, and controversy sells. Psychos are going to be

lining up to purchase this."

"They're not psychos."

Paul cocked his head back and responded, "Excuse me?"

"The readers are not psychos. They just like the darker side of things.

They enjoy the macabre like everyone else, they're just not afraid to admit

it. Besides, I don't think you'd know a psycho if he sat across from you and

looked you in the eye."

Paul nodded and said, "I suppose you're right. Either way, there's an

audience out there waiting to read something like this. I mean, it's just so... I

don't even know how to explain it. How'd you come up with such a vicious

idea?"

How do you come up with your ideas?–many authors were not fond of

the question, but it was very common. The young writer sighed as he

rubbed the nape of his neck. He could tell the truth – it was inspired by a

woman I kidnapped and killed – or he could lie. The choice was obvious.

Ethan said, "It came to me in a dream. Just like the book, it was about a

confused man who kidnapped a woman in order to fall in love and make a

family. I just... I kept seeing this woman chained up like an animal in a

basement. I had to write about it. I had to preserve it."

Wide-eyed, Paul said, "Jesus, Ethan, it sounds more like a nightmare to

me."

Ethan shook his head, shrugging off the poignant memories. He asked,

"Will anything have to be censored? Was it too violent?"

"I don't know, but I'm going to try to push the version you gave me. The

people are going to want the director's cut, not the pussy's cut."

Ethan frowned and stared down at his coffee. He didn't care for the crass

conversation, but he couldn't muster the courage to end it.

Paul continued, "We're going to make a lot of money off of this book.

I'm going to start contacting a few more publishers so we can start selling

the rights worldwide. Listen, we're going to push so many more units if we

can get this translated to German. They love these types of stories over

there. I'm telling you, I think we hit a gold mine. I won't have to hound you

to write another book for months."

"Good, good."

Paul raised his brow and shrugged. He was selling dreams with his

words, but Ethan appeared to be trapped in a nightmare. He expected Ethan

to clap and hug him. The author, however, remained indifferent.

Paul asked, "Are you okay, Ethan? I thought you'd be celebrating. You

could have a real hit on your hands."

"I'm fine. I'm just thinking about the next book," Ethan responded.

"You should be thinking about taking a vacation. You deserve it, man."

"Thanks for the suggestion, but I just want to stay busy."

Paul puckered his lips and nodded. Knowing he wouldn't be able to

convince him otherwise, he withdrew from the conversation.

The agent said, "Alright, well, I'll call you when everything's settled.

Enjoy your day, Ethan. Take care of yourself."

"You too."

Ethan leaned on the window and stared at the busy street as Paul

departed from the diner. People walked on the sidewalks and rushed across

the crosswalks while drivers zoomed down the streets. The women were

beautiful, but he was not aroused. He didn't feel any magic with the

strangers – a spark did not ignite his love.

Depressed and exhausted, he imagined throwing himself in front of a

semi-truck. It would be a bloody spectacle. Besides, suicide seemed like an

appropriate ending to his story.

"Excuse me, sir," a woman said from beside the booth.

For the first time in weeks, Ethan glanced up and made eye contact with

a stranger. He found himself staring at a young brunette woman. The

waitress wore a blue a-line dress under a white waist apron – an oldfashioned uniform. The quaint uniform was attractive. She had a sexy

figure, too – curvy. Her dark brown eyes in particular caught the author's

attention.

The young woman asked, "Will you be having anything else?"

Stunned by her beauty, Ethan stuttered, "Wa–Wasn't someone else

serving me? A–A man?"

"Yeah, sorry about that. He had to run out for a minute and I couldn't just

leave you waiting here. Do you want the check or would you like some

dessert?"

"I–I'll have the apple pie."

"Okay. I'll be right back with that."

Ethan watched as the waitress strolled into the kitchen. He didn't leer at

her ass or ogle her legs. He stared at the back of her head, hoping to catch

another glimpse of her eyes. He could feel the butterflies swarming in his

stomach. He could feel the magic.

The waitress returned to the booth. She smiled and nodded at Ethan as

she placed a plate on the table. She wasn't giving him any special treatment.

She treated him like every other customer – but her kindness was

misconstrued.

The woman said, "Feel free to call me over if you need anything else."

Before she could leave, Ethan grabbed her wrist and pulled her back to

the booth. As the couple locked eyes, he nervously smiled and asked, "What's your name?"