Don't. Touch. Me. [Book One]

Taking Out The Trash

*The Next Morning - 10:27 a.m.*

I was sitting in my kitchen, in my robe and pajama bottoms. The robe fell at my sides, revealing my bare chest. I was busy reading the paper and drinking my coffee.

"Hey..."

I looked up and saw the girl from last night, in one of my dress shirts. I really do hate it when people go through my shit.

"Last night was fun.............Look, I need a ride home. I don't have a car, my friends probably blowing my phone up, and I have too much shit to do to drink coffee with you. So let's get up, shower and I'll be out of your hair."

I raised my eyebrow. Does she really think, I'm getting up because she has "too much shit to do today"? She has legs, she can walk.

"Hel-lo?! Is anybody in there? Didn't you just hear me say I gotta go?"

I went back to my paper.

"Hey, jackass! Listen to me, when I'm talking to you!"

She snatched the paper out my hand.

"The hell is wrong with you? Can't you see I need a ride?!"

I just glared at her with furrowed eyebrows. Who in the fuck does she think she is? This is my house.

"Oh, what you can't talk? Well, let me give you something to make you talk."

She unbuttoned my shirt and flashed me. I just stared.

"I've seen better."

"Excuse me?!"

"I've seen better." I reached for my cup, but she took it out my hand and slammed it on the table. She then straddled my waist.

"You may have seen better, but you haven't had better."

She started kissing allover my neck. Her hands went from my face to my chest. She moved from my neck to my lips. I let her tongue in, while she tugged at my string on my waist band. She pulled my dick out and sat on it. She moaned in my mouth, trying to get it to fit.

No condom.

I picked her up and sat her on the kitchen counter. She started bouncing up and down. I had to admit, the shit felt good. I gripped her waist, while she pulled and tugged on my robe. Her moans and screams echoed throughout my apartment. It was so loud, she hadn't notice me pull out my favorite knife.

The long one with the jagged edge and black handle.

Before she could finish off her orgasm, I jammed the knife into her back. Letting it hit her spinal cord. Her body jerked and twitched for air, as I turned the knife sideways. I pulled back a bit and saw her eyes were still open. Blood was trickling out of her mouth and spilling down her back. I hate that I had to ruin one of my best shirts.

Such a waste of cotton.

The garbage bag was heavy as hell. I had thrown it over my shoulder, being careful as to not get blood all over the new rug. I unlocked the door and walked down the steps, towards the curb. Along with the rest of the trash, I tossed the bag. I wiped my hands and walked back inside.

I showered and put on a white tank, white jeans and a pair of Jordans. I looked back at my reflection. I needed a new look, I was bored with my hair. I ran my fingers through it.

Highlights.

That's what I need: blonde highlights. That's exactly what I'm doing today, getting highlights. But before I go, I need to dispose of some items.

I searched under my bed, where I found that lady's purse. Inside was her phone, wallet, hotel room key and different varieties of lip gloss. I checked her wallet first: credit cards, receipts, a few bucks and her ID.

Lauren Henderson

23 years of age

Citizen of New Jersey.

Suburban girl walking the streets of New York. She shoulda stayed her bratty ass in Jersey.

I gathered all her shit and threw them in my fireplace. The flames rose and changed colors from an orangey red to a deep blue. Everything burned except her phone. It was vibrating in my hand. She had ten missed calls and fourteen text messages, all from I'm guessing her friends. I tore out the chip and SIM card before throwing the actual phone away. The chip and SIM card were engulfed in the flames. I waited a few minutes before putting the fire out and going back upstairs to my bedroom.

I looked for my gold watch and chain, before walking back downstairs. I was en route to the barbershop. In dire need of a new look. Grabbing my keys, I locked my apartment door, and walked down the street in the cool March air.

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(A/N: Just to let y'all know Chresanto August is a mentally ill sociopath with anger issues.)

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