Through words

Chapter 8

Red. Crimson. Rose. All adjectives to describe what I was seeing, I wanted, no, needed her dead. Yes because she was suspicious and yes because she was making me feel weak. My skin felt flushed, and I was unconsciously rubbing my sweaty palms against my jeans. A fork to the neck would cause to much blood spatter and she wouldn't die immediately, to much risk of her screaming.

I could shove food down her throat and say she choked on a particular large chip. Vile thoughts of dragging her back to my place under the pretence of love and then impaling her with the sharpened pipe I kept under my bed flooded my brain.

I felt dizzy and out of control. The world felt distant and I suddenly got the feeling I was drowning, water rising over my head and pushing me further into the empty depths.

Her lips were moving but I couldn't hear what she was saying, my knuckles were white and small crescent-shaped indents would surely be left on the flesh of my palms.

"If you would excuse me," I managed to grit out, rising from the table, quietly cursing when my knee hit it with a thump. I knew I looked suspicious but I didn't care, allI wanted in that moment was away from her.

Away from those blank grey eyes that delved into what little soul I had left. They reminded me of the eyes of a corpse that had been decaying for a few days. Milky and blurred, almost alien. The only difference was I liked them on a corpse, Not the living, Her entire existence made me angry, everything about her made me uneasy.

I didn't like it, I was the powerful one here. If given the chance I would have dragged my knife across her ivory skin, watching in satisfaction as her blood trickled over, staining her clothes a wonderful red.

Fuck, this is dangerous. If I get to restless I'm more likely to get caught. "Hey, wait up," Her voice was smooth and sounded like how velvet felt, I wanted to choke it out of her. I had never understood Eddie Leonski, why would you want to take the voice of a woman? There are so many better reasons to strangle someone, but here listening to her call after me, I wanted nothing mor than to snatch it from her.

I wanted to lock it away. I wanted to throw it in the ocean where nobody could ever retrieve it. I despised it. "Leave me alone,"

My tone was clipped, it was obvious I wasn't in the correct mindset to carry on with my plan. "Look," she paused to continue walking after me, "I didn't mean to scare you off," I snorted. "You couldn't scare a fly," I turned abruptly, her body crashing into mine. When she had regained her balance, she looked up, searching for evidence she was looking at my face.

That same sick feeling came back as she continued to stare completely through me, expression completely blank. "Look, darl," The word felt wrong and it look a lot of effort to wrangle it out of my mouth. "This truly was a scintillating conversation, but I really must be getting home, work and such,"

I heaved out, running my hand over my chin in a tired fashion. She wasn't convinced. Bending down slightly, I looked her directly in the eyes, this action suddenly felt pointless which was a blow to the confident act I was putting on.

Pretending I  hadn't just questioned what I was doing, I grabbed her chin between my thumb and pointer finger, "You should be getting home too, anything could happen to a pretty girl such as yourself when the moon comes out," if she wasn't entirely convinced I was a serial killer before she was now.

There was venom in my words, a clear warning to stay away. Usually people cower away from me when I use it but she continued to stand there, board straight. She hadn't shied away in the slightest. I had come to my own conclusion, there was something wrong with her.

The thought of her being mentally impaired quelled the monster with in me. Not because I feel sorry for her, but because it would make her boring. She's not standing up to me because she's brave and annoying it's because she doesn't know better, her fight or flight must be faulty.

After a few seconds of me inspecting her she moved, her fingers sliding into her pockets and fiddling there for a bit. Finally, she pulled them out to reveal a crumpled bit of photo paper. "I would like you to kill this man," Not skipping a beat, I let out a laugh, a low and threatening laugh.

That's what a sane person does when they're accused of killing people right? Laugh. Staring at the object though, I couldn't help my curiosity and took it in my own hand. With the precision of a man who cuts people up for a living, I slowly unfolded it, smoothing out the creases.

It was a man, about 5'10, he had a brown handle bar moustache and combed over hair. Loose brown trousers hugged his legs and flopped around his ankles. "Bell bottoms, really? No wonder you want this guy dead," I couldn't help it, I had a dark sense of humour.

To my surprise she let out a light chuckle. "Nah, it's cause he raped me when I was a child," She was still laughing, like she'd said the funniest thing in the world, I was really starting to question her mental functioning.
Another thing to add to the list of things I hate about her: *she may be more insane l than me.

Once she had finished laughing, she paused to look up at me, a stupid grin stuck on her mouth. "So?" 

"So?" I repeated, examining the man again, he had a mole just below the corner of his mouth and a strange oval birth mark on his right cheek.

"Will you do it?" She clarified, still grinning. I wanted to say no, I wanted to shove the photo back in her hand and push her away from me, I wanted her to fall and to whimper and she looked up at me with tear filled eyes. I wanted her to be hopeless and helpless.

Knowing this, you can imagine how surprised I was when a simple 'yes' escaped me, the word firm and confident. The grin grew bigger and yet I still hadn't pushed her, I hadn't made her cry. Perhaps this was my subconscience's way of telling me to begin making her fall in love with me. or maybe it's because looking at this man made me sick and I wanted him dead.