Viktor
This morning I was standing before myself in a steam coated mirror, dripping wet, examining my skin too close, pulling, pinching and smoothing it over the bones beneath. Looking at the intricate patterns of fine lines. Asking myself who I was. Now I stood in a grand hall before a thousand beady little eyes, eager to punish themselves. Eager for myself to punish them.
Age still on the brain. Age evident on my face. Age I did not wish to have, no matter where the lines appeared they were only reminders of how repulsive I am. Unlike rings on a tree trunk my age was indeterminable, far less written into science textbooks, I chuckled to myself every time I looked at my drivers license. You could not put into a flimsy plastic card how many lifetimes I have lived. My own trunk would expand further than its roots could burrow into the earth. I nearly choked myself with my tie thinking about today. Pulling it so tightly against my throat hoping for the worst. Waking up on the cold tiles beneath me with darkness descending outside would be of great relief, I can deal with a little concussion. However I knew another day would come, and I would be standing before myself again willing to get it over with. To stand with thousand fresh glistening hopeful eyes on you every year brings you back down to earth. Their hopes and dreams in your grasp like they were toddlers on a field trip. Clamming up that these are all people who will know their fate, of birth, marriage, love, hate and thus eventually death.
You're thinking if maybe I should have chosen a career with a little less hope? Believe me I've thought about reverting back to nature, living in complete isolation never to face the peering eyes of another ever again.
I had never been this nervous for my first day back to work, usually I stride in captivating myself without trying. What was so different about today? I've done this a thousand times, no hyperbole intended. The sun is shining outside, even so, a sudden downpour would not be causing me to react this way. With my hand I smoothed the red satin tie against my chest, the red so rich, decadent. Soothing myself, the repetitive flattening calmed a sore spot in my psyche. Feeling my chest rise and fall beneath my hand with ever breath. What omen could be causing this anxiety to erupt within me, shattering my so iron clad mind?
Striding through my kitchen my sock covered feet mere sliding with each step I approached the fridge. Grasping both its shiny metal handles to view its contents like it lay on an operating table. Against the inner white walls lay organised meats and fish, spinach, and a myriad of cooking essentials rarely used positioned on the shelves like a graveyard of a useless cook. What I really wanted was not to look at my sauces and cheese but to look at what the hunter had given back to the herd. A herd of one but a hunt so effortlessly abashed, the tokens of so laying on the highest shelf. I held it in my hand, it had no bones making it flop and mould over my grasp. Even sealed I could catch whiffs of the metallic tang.
_
I waited all night to have her essence to dance in my glass. Swirl in the liquid current, as the soft clink of the ice soothed me. Through the thin plastic tube I watched the viscous red trickle into the bag. This part always makes me feel like a dog with a carrot dangling in front of his brow, teasing himself. Only hours ago she was flesh tangling before me. I glanced across the dark oak bar, its veneer stained with white rings. Water marks from the obvious lack of care from its employers. I followed the circumference with my pale pointer before wiping it with the handkerchief I kept in my breast pocket. Filth.
This woman was alone, dark hair cascading down her shoulders and trickling onto the wood as she leant forward on her forearms. The residue of sticky liquid on her tanned skin. Now splayed out in my apartment I smoothed the wisps of dark hair away from her sleeping face. She wore a dark grey blouse and tight pencil skirt, a matching set. It was too formal for any bachelorette party or even night out with friends. It was a spur of the moment decision to be here tonight; A breakup? Let go? How my dear did you find your way into my trap?
This was how I always went about pursuing my targets. I had a checklist which made sure it was easy enough and would do the least amount of damage. Those who came with friends would be noticed, boasting about the hot hunk who was whisking them away. Ring wearers and love sick puppies were another. For obvious reasons a husband would notice, if he cared enough, in the morning. Love sick puppies, well, I just didn't want to disappoint or break their little hearts even more. What my ideal 'target' resembled in a nutshell was someone who was alone, not drinking for specific reasons. They need that ignorant naive look about them; that being led into a dark alley wouldn't make them bolt.
You are probably also wondering why just women? Isn't that a bit of a sexist take? Well, I simply have a preference for them. Easier to persuade. I've targeted a multitude of men in my time, don't you worry. The 70's were wild let me tell you, they were the ones leading me into alley ways. But, if the place is dry they can be a last resort. But their blood is muskier, more rust than sweet metal, reeking of gym and grime.
This woman before me fit my criteria just upon first impression. What didn't fit was the empty bar, Sunday night. A risk I had to take to fulfil myself. Those who occupied seats tonight were lacklustre and would not take notice of my advances, only noticing that I had made a move before they had summoned up the courage to take their chance. Parties consisting mostly of tradesmen in for a nightcap or the regulars here for their fix, no matter the time or day. I would have to be very subtle in ways not to look like a predator, more than I already do, sounding the alarm bells in such a desolate environment would not be good. I'm not a young man anymore. Never leering or showing that she was my only contestant. I had to play a game of cat and mouse (without the mouse knowing they were in danger).
Taking the last remaining gulp from my glass, the liqueur tingled my throat giving me a warm hug from the inside. Alcohol has no effect on me and yet I still protest to drink it, I guess subconsciously giving myself a placebo sense of 'liquid courage'. It's an expensive hobby yet one that made me fit more into the cultural normality of society. I slammed the glass back on the counter and proceeded to slither around the bar. Not fast on my approach so that the adrenaline could creep by her, through those dainty veins of hers, forcing her guards down. By the halfway point the corners of her down turned mouth protested against her hormones now creeped upwards, her eyes melting from their melancholy state to follow my creeping steps. You didn't believe you would be approached tonight, so I essentially made her day.
Coming to her side with my hip resting against the counter top I initiated, "Bad day?" With her even sitting down on the stool my brooding stature towered over her. If I was to crook my spine I think I could easily see over the top of her head and down her spine. But I wouldn't, that's creepy.
"Why do you say that?" She retorted, picking up her sickly looking blue drink and taking a long sip through the straw. I wanted to vomit knowing how disgusting it probably tastes.
"Everyone has noticed the sad pretty girl sitting all alone," Taking the drink out of her hand I took a swig at it. Drawing her attention to my lips her mind wandered to how hers where there only seconds before, particles from her now picked up by my lips. It tasted neon and blue, what I imagined the inside of a lava lamp resembles. But I would do anything not to have small talk and cut to the chase. Looking around us only a few people remained, the odd tradesman at a table or senior here for his fix. Seeing I had made my move they knew they had no business here anymore leaving in a huff.
Leaning into me, puppy eyes at the ready, she said, "I'm not sad anymore." Looking up through twinkling lashes.
"Then sad, what is your name?" I too can admit the terribleness of that sentence but it seemed to work, the adjusting shift on her seat telling all.
Her free hand presented toward me, "Trynitee, yourself?" "Viktor." Taking her hand in mine I turned it over, palm down, and planted a small kiss on top. Like a bee sting her eyes shot out and her heart rate rose. Beneath my touch the veins in her wrist thud, thud, thud.
A job well done and in under an hour. I might say, I am good but that would be cocky wouldn't it. I still need to prove that to you.
___
Looking, bag now in my hand, three quarts full, enough for at-least a week if I rationed it carefully. Flopping it back into the fridge amongst the eggs and minced meat. I had to push the temptation to binge out of my mind. I needed to be tame this week. I was about to be in a hall of over a thousand pulsating hearts the centre of their attention.
