Disclaimer: If I owned The Rocky Horror Picture Show, I'd have been alive in the 70s. Sorry darlings, I popped out of the womb in the early 90s.

X.x.x.x.X

She awoke with the sun peaking through the dusty chintz curtains; wrists raw from the chains they had used last night. Her eyes wanted to stay closed, wanted to relive the wild animal cries, the kinky intimacy. She could still smell the sweat and Chanel, wanted to bathe in the scent forever; but when she reached for the Doctor, she only felt air.

Eyes shot open, still smudged with eyeliner, and heavy with sleep. Where was her beloved Frankie?

Sitting up, the ratty crimson sheet falling down, revealing tiny, perky breasts, and budding, hard nipples. She looked around, her long raven hair in tangles, cascading down her moon-glow white body, utterly confused. Closing her eyes, Columbia got a rush of what had happened last night once more. Popping them open, she half-expected to find him there, grinning at her in the charming way of his. But alas, nothing.

Jumping out of bed, the groupie searched under it for her sweet transvestite, growing more anxious. She knew it was stupid, but the separation anxiety was getting to her. "How can you rock my world like that, and than just disappear?" She squealed, running down the hall, still wearing nothing. Ah, there was her room, with a wall covered with Frank-N-Furter's face. Jumping up in excitement, she dashed to the larger than life photo, kissing it; her lips against his, which happened to be a good ten times larger. They never made love in her room, she shared it with Magenta and the domestic had grumbled about how she didn't want to see her best friend, and the woman (man, maybe?)-Who was just using her until she got bored- going at it. Columbia didn't even think Frank had been inside their room, he kept to the lab mostly.

The lab, of course.

Switching on the surveillance screen, she only saw black and white static, flecked with gray. Something must have addled it. No worries though. Throwing on under things, ripped fishnets, and a bright red slip dress. Looking in the mirror, she blew a kiss, only half approving of her appearance. Running her fingers (which badly needed painting) through her black hair. Leaving the smudgy eyeliner from last night, she looked like a zombie, but the need to see her darling Doctor was tugging at her; she had to give in.

Sprinting down the staircase, she tumbled down the last few steps, the need for Frank growing stronger, making her shudder and more persistent. It was hard to believe she had known him a mere ninety three days, eighteen hours, and (was it? She should know, it was mentally engraved in her head) fifty-three minutes, but was falling faster and harder than ever before. This was the only situation in which time meant anything to her.

She remembered it clearly, relived it every time he wasn't around.

X.x.x.x.X

She was twenty three years old, still was, and walking down the street in broad daylight, smoking a cigarette and contemplating whether she should blow her savings to go see a concert. She had a job interview to get to, not that she wanted a job. Practically a professional groupie, it was known around the town that she had fooled around with half of Led Zeppelin, and there were rumors that she was the real reason The Beatles broke up. But that was all about to change.

He was across the street, sitting in the driver's seat of a beat up old pick up truck. She heard him cat call, and grinned, assuming he had heard of her latest "sexcaspades." Not stopping, she turned her head to blow him a kiss. He winked, and she was totally spell bound. Stopping dead in her tracks, Columbia felt her heart thud against her chest, the impact trailing all the way down to her knees, making them weak. The man (or woman, maybe) had a curly mop of hair, black that rivaled her own. Heavy makeup, and sinister plum lips; he was completely and utterly divine. The man curled his finger in an indication for her to cross the street and join him; she swooned, and ran.

A car blared, bringing her back into reality. The driver was a young man with glasses, the girl curly haired and innocent. Yelling at her, Columbia didn't make out the words, she was too love struck. Flipping them off casually, and strolling-as if in a trance-towards him, her heart pounding, making her slender figure shake. Than, she was there, face to face with the transvestite she immediately knew she loved.

"Hello gorgeous," a thick English accent floated towards her ears, and her breath became shaky. His breath smelled like cigarettes, and he himself smelled of Chanel. Never one for designer fragrances, Columbia decided she loved it anyway. She stuttered a breathy, high-pitched hello, making him laugh. It was charming, it was perfect, she was in a dream world.

"Do you always talk with your voice so…cartoonish?"

It was a lazy voice, and he had lazy eyes that still managed to pierce into her. She shook her head, blushing. The cigarette was flicked to the ground, it would get in the way.

"You should."

"Okay!"

He asked her for her name, and she told him, practicing her new voice, an octave or two above her real voice. He asked her if she wanted to take a ride, and grinning eagerly, the groupie bobbed her head up in down. Her feet sprinted to the other side of the vehicle; pulse racing once she was inside. They drove off into broad daylight, the smell of Chanel and being in the presence of someone she (for once) more than liked made the day go on in a dreamlike trance. He took her to the castle, his home, and bedded her, carefully and skillfully, better than Jimmy Page ever had. It had been that way for ninety-three days, eighteen hours, and fifty-four minutes, and Columbia would be alright with it being that way forever.

But that was about to change.

X.x.x.x.X

The lift reached the lab, pink, and starry ceiling-ed. There was her wonderful Frankie, her pal Magenta, and her weird brother, Riff Raff. But they were not alone. In the middle of the room, they were all crowded around a chair, which held a man. A greaser. Columbia didn't know why, but she hated him. He was bound and gagged, and looked horrified, making her grin with delight. Everyone turned to her, but she couldn't miss the look of-dismay, could it be?-on the Doctor's face when he saw her.

"Columbia…good morning," He sad, uneasily. Snapping the pink gloves, she walked towards him, her heart racing when he stepped back. This wasn't a good racing; it made her feel sick and worried.

"Good morning darling," She tried cheerfully, her grin too big, horrible ideas forming, clouding the little logic that she had. He barely returned the smile.

"W-what's wrong? Whose the fat ass?"

Magenta snickered; even Riff Raff looked amused. Frank-N-Furter bit his cherry red lips, sighing. "This is Eddie. He's going to be the specimen."

"For what?"

"For…my new project."

Dread filled her, even though she had no idea what the new project could be. For all she knew, Frankie could be creating clones. But no, she knew. Something just wasn't right.

"Specimen? New project…for what? What are you making Frankie?"

He shuddered, hating that she would use his pet name in front of his servants. Clearing his throat, he snapped the gloves a few times, wishing it would give him courage to face her. Turning paler, paler than the makeup made him, he opened his mouth. No sound came out. Clearing his throat again, he commanded Magenta and Riff Raff to leave. They did, making Columbia whimper.

"You see…Columbia…I'm going to make a creature."

"Oh? What kind of creature."

She knew. The kind of creature that provided the services she already thought she was providing. Her eyes got that horrible hot feeling; her whimpers became sobs of anguish. She considered dropping to her knees, begging for her darling, sweet Transvestite to reconsider; let them live their lives happy and sexual. She could promise to fill up his emptiness; even though they would both know it was a lie. So she did what she hoped would prevent the creation from happening: she lunged at the terrified greaser.

Her stubby nails clawed at him, she kicked him with her bare feet, and he tried to cry out from his gag in protest. Her feet were wild and forceful, but she was too distressed to make solid impact; there would be no bruising. Than, she felt the strong, cold hands of Frank, and her body turned limp. He spun her around, made her face him; but she couldn't look at him.

"Yes, Columbia…I'm making a man. This man…Edward, will provide half his brain-" "Edward's" eyes bulged, and he squirmed more. "Look, Columbia…you're a groupie. You did what groupies do. Now, it's over."

She thought she could hear her heart breaking, wasn't sure if it was her imagination or not. "I'll just…leave," she suggested, not wanting the bit of hope in her voice to be heard. She turned around and began to walk to the elevator shaft, eyes to the ground. She wanted him to cry out that this was a mistake, he changed his mind; they could forget about Edward, or whatever his name was. But when he called her, only half her wish came true.

"No, I'm sorry. That cannot…happen."

"What?" She spun around, red eyes glaring, not caring that her already smudged makeup would be running down her white, normally porcelain face.

"You can't leave. I'm afraid you know too much."

The thought of having to see her Frankie everyday, but not being able to touch him broke her even more. Letting out a high-pitched scream-she didn't remember how to talk normally-she twirled around, falling to the ground. Right before she passed out, her head hitting the floor with a dull thud, she could hear his voice, vividly smell the Chanel, and hear him utter words to her in that thick English voice of his:

"I'm sorry Columbia."

X.x.x.x.X

Hope you enjoyed! Yes, I know it says Columbia had black hair, but that's all part of the plot. Yes, I've seen the movie. I am technically a Video Virgin, but for my sweet sixteen I'm totally having a Midnight Screening! That's a little far off though…

Read, review, I dunno when I'm getting the next chapter out, but I really want all these thoughts hammered out, so hopefully soon.