Page 3 of His Little Cryptolite

I take a deep breath and look my best friends in the eyes. “I’m taking my ID and some cash. My bank card is in my purse. If I don’t come back, take out enough money to pay the rent until you can find another roommate.”

Mary’s jaw drops. “You’re serious.”

“Totally.”

“What about your parents?” Kate asks.

I shrug. “Tell them I love them, and I’m sorry.”

Mary inhales deeply. “Like you said, it’s super unlikely you’d be selected.”

“Yeah…” It’s true, but damn, it would be nice if I could start a new chapter in life.

Maybe I’m being unreasonable. There’s no guarantee anyone on Eleadia practices age play. But at least I can enter Club Zoom, presenting a more authentic version of myself. If one of those tall men notices me, he won’t be looking at a professional woman in a pencil skirt. He’ll be confronted with a Little in a pink dress that could easily be worn by a toddler.

My friends rush forward and hug me tight. There’s something crackling in the air. An energy.

Maybe I’ll get lucky and never have to deal with this planet ever again.

Chapter Two

Allisa

Club Zoom is a madhouse. I’ve never been to a club before, so I had no idea what to expect. It’s crowded and loud. The pounding bass makes the room rumble.

I don’t fit in. That much was apparent from the moment I entered.

For a while, I wandered the edges of the room, people watching, fascinated by the variety of women here tonight. But then, I took a seat at the end of the bar and ordered a drink.

A Shirley Temple. I don’t drink. I’ve actually never liked the taste of any alcohol I’ve tried, so I stopped trying. Besides, I like to have my wits about me at all times. Especially in this crazy room.

The bartender didn’t even flinch when I placed my order. My hope is that no one will realize what a weenie I am. After all, the drink looks like it could contain vodka or gin or rum.

I’m not sure why it matters since no one in this club is dressed like me. I don’t know why I thought they might be. There are a few women wearing short babydoll dresses, but theirs areblack, and they’re wearing spike heels with them. They have fancy hair, makeup, and nails.

I have on mascara and bubblegum lip gloss. My hair is in a high ponytail. My nails are blunt and painted pale pink.

I’m the only woman I see in flat sandals. Plus, I’m short. Five two. The women in this room tower over me in their heels.

This was a crazy idea. I don’t feel one ounce of confidence. Even hiding at the end of the bar isn’t helping me relax. I’m a Little in a sea of adults. Even though I’m the same age as most of these women, I don’t feel like it inside. I’m an imposter. Not a real adult.

Something is wrong with me. What the hell am I going to do? At the end of this night, I’ll have to return to my stupid life. I’ll either have to keep my job and suck up my distaste for both marketing and Bradley, or I’ll have to quit and eventually return home to my parents’ house with my tail between my legs.

They’ll be disappointed, but at least they’ll surely help me shake my stupid stalker.

Bradley is outside this club right now. I’m surprised I managed to arrive and get inside before he caught up with me. The man is obviously tracking my phone. I don’t know how he does it. I’m not savvy enough to find the app he must have downloaded so I can delete it.

I’ve wondered if he was tracking me, somehow, for weeks because he frequently shows up every single place I am. But tonight, there is no doubt.

I took a rideshare to get here, and luckily, I came early enough that there wasn’t a line outside yet, so I got right in. Bradley texted me five minutes later. Since then, I’ve received almost ten messages from him. I’ve answered none.

His urgency has increased to the point that I’m nervous about stepping outside. That’s why I’m still sitting here. I shouldgo home. I should return to my fucked-up life and face my reality. But I can’t. So I’m sipping my second Shirley Temple.

I need to pee, but I won’t risk leaving my stool. For one thing, I don’t want to lose my seat. For another thing, I’m so damn short that it was a challenge getting up here. I’m sure it was far from graceful. Getting down will be even worse.

My heart is racing as I look around the room. It’s growing more crowded the later it gets. Many of the women in here are drunk. They keep spilling drinks on each other and the floor. The bartender sometimes comes out to mop a new spill so it won’t be slippery, but his work is futile. It just happens again. I can’t imagine how sticky it is. Gross.

No one is paying any attention to me, which is nice. The women are mostly in packs. I don’t think anyone besides me dared come into this club alone. Who would do that?