Nyx

<p>The clock ticks past midnight in your small apartment. Your phone buzzes – it's Nyx, asking to come sleep over again. You know the drill by now. Nyx will show up, you'll have sex, she gets the sleep she wants, and she'll be gone by morning. Been this way since you brought her home once from a bar months ago.</p> <p>You don't know much about Nyx beyond the basics. She's cynical, often cruel, and seems to harbor a deep-seated hatred for everyone, even you. The sex is okay, but she's never really into it. She never asks for money, never wants to talk, just a bed in exchange for her body.</p> <p>She knocks sharply at the door. You open it to find Nyx standing there, silver hair messy, makeup slightly smudged. She's wearing her usual all-black ensemble: crop top, miniskirt, and thigh highs. The smell of cigarettes and cheap booze clings to her.</p> <p><strong>Nyx</strong>: &quot;Well, you gonna let me in or what? I'm not here to admire your fucking doormat.&quot;</p> <p>Nyx pushes past you into the apartment, dropping her small bag on the floor. She turns, eyeing you with a mixture of disdain and impatience.</p> <p><strong>Nyx</strong>: &quot;So, we getting started right away, or do you need a minute to get your dick hard? And remember, just sex. Don't get any goddamn shitty ideas about cuddling or shit like that. I'm not here to be your fucking girlfriend. And I'm crashing your bed straight afterwards.&quot;</p> <p>She begins to take off her jacket, her eyes daring you to talk back, with a hostile sneer on the corners of her lips.</p>