FOF tale

the bar is warm. It's freindly. In a way, it's even great. You hate places like this. Too many people, too much talking, too many assholes wanting to know your life story until they actually get a look at your face. Fuck places like these. You wouldn't have even come if it weren't for 2 things. 1, you wanted a drink 2, you wanted to follow the acoustic guitar player home and carve them up like a christmas goose for being  such a pretentious little shit. The whiskey burns as it claws it's way down your throat, and you order another. bitter. Painful. Hateful. Your in love with the stuff. You've lost your nerve, or at least some of your anger along with your sobreity, and reach into your wallet to pay the fare, when a girl slides next to you with a twenty in hand.
"I've got it, and pour up 2 doubles on rocks." She says. Sweet voice. High voice. Bizzare to hear it at such an adult place. It sounds more like it'd be suited for a princess ad or something. Some nonsense that every little girl was supposed to aspire to. When you turn though, you see that's clearly not the case for her.
The eyeshadow is thick, the makeup isn't, her tits are large, glitter seems to be falling from her face like it's rotting off of her. When she breathes, you smell cigarettes, and when she coughs you can hear something stronger in her lungs. You debate leaving, but the drink's already been poured, and you're not one to turn it down. You don't down it all at once. Not that kind of drink. might've been a mistake. She thinks your fine to talk to now.
"so... where are you from?" You grunt noncommital enough to state that she should go away without being rude, she doesn't get the hint though. "I'm from california, although I consider myself closer to oregon. Spent every summer there. Have freinds there. Nice little town in the middle of nowhere. Funny, though, isn't it? I spent way more time in cali, but I couldn't tell you anything about it, but gravity falls oregon? I could talk your ear off about there." She smiles, and the braces come into full focus, shining the light back into your eyes.
" Listen..." She starts, the word trailing a little. "I've been here for a couple of days, and no one seems to want to show me around, tell me where I can score anything, or what have you, and you seem like you'd know. Whaddya say?" She's lonely. Your not sure how lonely. a part of you doesn't want to know and a sick part of you wants to play with it. Play with her. Your hand goes to your face and you rub the work out of your eyes. You hate this, but your not the kind of bastard that wouldn't give her that much.
The hotel is dark. The room too. The sweater goes the corner. She tastes sweet, but not a good kind of sweet. It's overblown, over the top, like eating a bag of sugar. She pulls out a baggy of coke, snorts a bit, spills the rest on her tits, asks you to snort it off, but you choose to lick it. More passionate. Less of it fucking with you, or at least it'll come on slower. Hopefully. Probobly. Does it matter?
The sex is empty. Lust and lonliness controlled. Fucking out of need, not love. Of course not love. Has it ever been about love? She screams for one name or another, but you know you didn't give her yours. It's more than one name,  but one of them comes up more than the rest. Dipper, dipper. You hold back an urge to throw up.
Smoke fills the room when she's done. You don't normally smoke, but you think to yourself, you might as well humor her. It hurts a little. You can see why people like it. You can't say it isn't fitting to the situation she's in, whether she knows it or not. She giggles a little, still high as a kite, or just coming down. She doesn't care whose name she was screaming. She doesn't care what yours was.
She scratches her head and a clump of hair falls out, drifting onto the bed. The smile vanishes, replaced by a sad confusion. She doesn't know what's happening, but she knows that it's been happening for a while. She can't place why, but you can. You slip out of the bed, and go to your coat.
"w-wait. Where are you going? Aren't you going to show me where I can score?" She's confused. Was she losing her edge? Was it the hair thing? It'll grow back, she can promise. You go to your pocket, making it look like your holding your phone. The trigger feels light in your hand. Lighter than it normally is. You wonder if you could make it lighter.
"Your mabel, right? Mabel Pines?" She freezes, shocked you were able to see through the cling film disguise.
"Y-yeah?"
"I'm afraid I work with the FOF." Her eyes go wide. She looks to the window, but knows she can't break through it. Not here. They were very clear on that. She thinks about running, but your in front of the door. She thinks about screaming, but she couldn't have screamed any louder than she had been before if she wanted to.
And for a momment, it dawns on her, that she's safe. That she's seduced you. That your going to tell them that she's gone, dead, or at least not here, and that she might be able to get some peace. The social butterfly can finally stop flapping it's wings.
"Th-thank you." she mutters, the cocaine and adrenaline pumping in her heart, making her stutter. "I...I'm so tired of running." You don't know if she realizes what she said, or what your actually here for. You nod with a solemness and pull the trigger, splattering her heart against the wall. It's quick. Maybe even painless. Certainly better than what it would've been. As you step out, you get your phone out of your pocket, and call your employers. They thank you for the overtime, even though you won't be paid more. You don't care.
It's not about the pay, or the work, it's about what happens if you don't do it.