Our Lethal Desires

CHAPTER ONE

The sun sets, glimmering shades of pastel fading into midnight abyss, and the lull of the ocean stretches as waves crash against footprint-stained sand.

When the vast expense of the ocean stares at you, asking that measly little question that only weighs heavily on the scale of a grave, beckoning you with its sirenic songs of a life with no harm, what can you do except hesitate for the answer–looking back at the life you would leave behind you.

I do this now as I inhale the crisp salt air. Memories of laughter, a net, a team, an embrace, a joke, a love, tickle the back of my mind. A time before a hollow of emptiness swallowed me whole, and a life I lived passionately, laughingly, and dramatically, that's now become my memories and not my days teases my conscious.

A wave washes over the sole of my sneakers, the pressure for an answer, and today I reply what I have been replying for the past few months–tomorrow.

A haunted word: tomorrow. Tomorrow I'll let the salt wash away my sins, tomorrow I'll let silence become my voice, tomorrow I'll let god claim me so he can cast me into the fire of hell. Tomorrow.

When I walk away, I can still feel death's disappointment, her yearning need to claim me as one of her followers, a subject whose shackles would be their own will and not the ones she would need to clamp around their soul. But she lets me run free, knowing that tomorrow I'll be back, and eventually one of my tomorrows would be my last.

My sneakers crunch against gravel as I reach the pavement of a long since abandoned highway. It should be eerie, the wind doesn't blow gently here, instead, it screams in agony, forced to hide the horrors that lie deeper within the city.

The car door slams shut and the frost on my skin bites as I turn the heater on, the engine rumbling underneath me as I slam my foot on the gas pedal.

I'm late.

I roll the window down and let the breeze whip my hair back as I travel across roads, too far away from the city that it almost feels tranquil, serendipitous, idyllic, and I imagine living this life as a normal girl. Perhaps I would be driving under the ancient sky, blasting my favorite song and humming along, under the knowledge that what awaits me at the end of the journey is family, friends, or maybe a lover. Perhaps, the only reason I would be lighting a cigarette now is because I wanted to try it out under the pretense of adventure and not because it felt good to blacken my lungs and heart to match the wretchedness of my soul. Perhaps, the sneakers on my feet would only be stained from the sand running toward the ocean and not the crimson blood of a person who had fought for their last breaths.

Perhaps ... perhaps ... perhaps.

The thoughts keep me company as I make my way to the farm, cast in shadows under the low hum of the streetlights, looking almost abandoned under the midnight sky.

This.

This place is what feels eerie, not a highway in the middle of nowhere only marked by the trail of travelers, but a place that's marked with the countless sins of murderers.

A jolly knowledge that I fit right in.

As the gravel crunches beneath the wheels of the car, I spot the several scarlet lights that flicker between the trees. Their glow fades once they recognize the familiar face behind the wheel and I continue forward, reaching the already-opening garage.

Once I park the car, I quickly grab the glittery purse sitting in the passenger seat and sling it over one shoulder. No one ever suspects a pretty girl with a pretty purse.

I scan my badge at the door to the corner of the garage and a few gears and locks whirring later it hisses open.

The smell always hits first. It's disgusting and makes me scrunch my nose petrified at the thought of inhaling more. Sweat. Cologne. Testosterone.