Sugar Daddy Vampire

Rain tapped against the diner windows like impatient fingers. The neon sign buzzed faintly overhead, casting a sickly red glow on the cracked tiles. Chloe's hands, wrapped around a chipped coffee mug, were trembling, not from the cold but from exhaustion.

  She hadn't slept in two days. Her mother's medication had run out three nights ago. And the rent was overdue by a week. Again.

  Her sneakers stuck slightly to the greasy floor as she moved behind the counter. The smell of burnt coffee and fryer oil clung to her clothes, her skin, her hair. Her back ached from the double shift, but she couldn't afford to leave early not when this week's tips were barely enough to cover the electric bill.

  "Chloe," barked her manager from the kitchen, "Customer on table six. Move."

  She forced a smile onto her face and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She looked older than twenty-two. Life had worn her down early. No college. No safety net. Just her mother

  Paralyzed from a stroke, her body frozen in time but her eyes still sharp with sadness and an endless string of minimum wage jobs that never lasted long enough.

  Table six was a man in a suit too expensive for this part of the city. His fingers drummed against the menu, arrogant and slow. He didn't look up when she approached.

  "What'll it be?" she asked, pen poised.

  He glanced at her, gave her a slow once-over, then smirked. "You take tips in cash, or... other ways?"

  Chloe blinked. "Excuse me?"

  He leaned in, breath sour with liquor and power. "I'm just saying, you could make more in an hour with me than you do here all week."

  Her grip on the pen tightened. Behind her eyes, she saw her mother's face, pale, silent, waiting for medicine they couldn't afford. She forced her jaw to stay still.

  "Order something," she said flatly, "or leave."

  He laughed. Loud. Ugly. "Don't be stupid, sweetheart. Women like you aren't made for real work."

  The mug in her hand slipped. Coffee splashed across the table, right into his lap.

  A second of silence. Then he stood, flinging the cup aside. "You stupid bitch!"

  The slap never came. Her manager stormed over, apologized profusely to the man, and turned to her with fire in his eyes.

  "You're done, Chloe. Out. Now."

  She didn't argue. Just pulled off the apron, threw it on the counter, and walked out into the rain.

  Her sneakers were soaked by the time she reached the bus stop. The streets blurred under neon lights. Her fingers ached from the cold, but she didn't cry. She couldn't afford the luxury.

  Her phone buzzed, a reminder from the pharmacy.

  Prescription ready: $146.32.

  She had twelve dollars in her wallet.

  Chloe sat down on the cold bench and finally let herself exhale. She'd promised her mom she'd fix everything. Now she couldn't even buy her seizure meds.

  She stared at her reflection in the