Ginger

My first Kill

I griped the sink looking into the mirror. My face was pale and tired looking. The black of my clothes made me look an unhealthy pale. I sighed and pulled the turtle neck over my head and stood there in my black bra and skirt. I turned the tap to hot, and splashed my face the hot water felt good and I began to feel human once more. I slid out of the black skirt and stood there in my black underclothes. I looked into the mirror and made a mental note to eat more as I could count my ribs. Turning, I walked over to the shower and turned the water to hot, shaking out my hair and finishing undressing.

I stood in the shower letting the hot water run down my cold body it felt as though I had been frozen and was being thawed. As I stood there feeling ill, I began to go back in time something about tonight’s victim brought me back, to when I was just 18. When I was 18 I had felt happy, that was when this apartment I lived alone in hadn’t been just me, and in fact it had been filled with much love and laughter. How was I to know back then that everything was about to fall apart or that all my lies would come crashing down on my head.

He wasn't tall; though he also wasn't short he was a few inches taller than me. His eyes had been brown the colour of hot chocolate when I put peanut butter in it, and his hair light brown like a new tree. He was a well-built man, muscular without being grotesquely so. He had been crazy about me since the first time we met. Our romance had been one of great passion. He was a year older, and had been a very serious mean person. I can now look back and say that. Back then however I never noticed his faults. I thought he would accept me when I found the courage to tell him the truth. I never realized I was just a silly teenager.

It was sunny, his favourite weather, and we had gone to eat in a fancy restaurant his favourite, at the end of our meal he got down to one knee, I didn’t want to say yes but I knew I had to. Otherwise I would look bad. I didn't want him to propose before he knew all of me I didn’t want to wed before he knew the truth behind my lies before he understood why I lied. I couldn’t exactly say it there in a room full of my enemies, people who would love to see me dead. I had finally convinced him to go home after it was already dark. He was so high off of happiness.

When we arrived back at the apartment he had his hands all over my body. He was touching me in places that could only mean one thing. His mouth was on mine, and honestly I could say naught. Before long he had my dress unzipped. He picked me up then and put me on the bed. I bit my lip, looking up at him as he struggled with the button on his pressed slacks. I sat up and unclasped my bra, as I laid back down he lifted my legs to pull of my panties, I shook my head. He looked confused as I unbuttoned his shirt and slid it off of his arms. He smiled down at me, and then... Our bodies seemed to come together. We had never fit together very well, and that night had been no exception. He didn't last very long, he never had.

As I lay beside him (he had never been one for cuddling), I knew I had to say something. I stood and looked down at him. I walked away and faced the window.

“Come back to bed darling”

“I cannot. Not yet. I need to tell you something.” I whispered to the rain.

“You can tell me from bed.”

“No. It's something I want you to know, and if I am beside you, you might once again distract me” He looked pleased. Men were so easy to please. Give them one half compliment and they are forever yours.

“Just spit it out. Jeesh this is annoying. I expect any woman I marry to be by my side at my beck and call.” I turned and glared at him, a knife in my hand, behind my back. Not because I had planned to do something, it was just in case.

“It's about my looks”

“You look perfect by my side. Why else would I be with you?”

“I dye my hair.”

'So? I figured out you weren't naturally black haired a long time ago. A brunette looks better at my side, than a blond, so stay with it.” I took a breath.

“I'm not a blonde”

“Either way. You will stay with black hair”

“You don't get it. I'm a Ginger! I have red hair!” I said in anger He got up slowly.

“You had better be joking me.” He came closer and reached out and slapped my face. It hadn't been the first time he had hit me, so I wasn't worried.

“No. I'm not. I am a Ginger.” He reached for his gun and fired. It misfired and before he could shoot again I had stabbed him. In the heart, and then carved an E into his chest. Without realizing what I had done. I carved an E because of all the times I had been called evil, or inadvertently called one by people calling other gingers evil.

I leaned on the wall of my shower, and cried. It had been four years before, and so much had happened, why did I still feel like this? I wasn't the same little fantasizing girl I had been. I had grown, and now no man would ever hit me again. I turned off the water and got out, determined that I would not cry again. Not for that pig. He was rotting in the ground while I lived on. It was clear who was right in my mind. Otherwise his gun would have gone off and I would be dead.