I'm So Dirty Babe

Love Means Losing Control

Recently, being the past 10 years, I'd gotten myself into what I refer to as a small predicament.

The first kill - I remember it so clearly. My mother, a homemade noose around her throat. I forced her onto the chair with my fathers pistol, I'd watched him open the gun cabinet a thousand times in my life. He liked to bring Mikey and I up north to hunt, I just liked killing the wild things. She was sobbing and shaking violently. She was so weak. I had full control of her life, or should I say death. No way would they think she was murdered. I was her son, they never even took me in for formal questioning. My friend Ray, against his will of course, supported my alibi of smoking weed with him behind the school. The tests too, supported my claim. I was cleared of further questioning. I was sympathized for, "poor kid. How could his momma leave him like that?" I tried to laugh.

I remember telling her, gun pressed against her temple, that it was all going to be alright. Then I kissed her cheek once and said, "Mama, we all go to hell," then yanked the chair back. Snap. It was done.

I cleaned my prints of everything carefully. My moms prints were found on the chair and the rope. An unexpected miracle, I suppose.

That high. That high was better than any drug Ray and I had ever experimented with. I didn't want to share my new discovery. This was mine. All mine to control and own.

Now, 10 years later at 26, I live alone in a small apartment in Hoboken. I have a boyfriend, Frank, he doesn't come over as much as I'd like. But it also gives me more time for other things.

Like last night, I saw this beautiful girl on the sidewalk. She was distracted, pulling down her skirt that had rid up a little too much. She looked flustered, standing outside that bar. I approached her casually.

"Are you alright, miss?" I asked her. She jumped at my words and

then calmed back down.

"Yes. Some bastard tried to get in my pants in the bathroom. I never been so scared!" She yelled, clearly still frightened. I asked her to tell me what the bastard looked like. Then, I found him, took him into the alley and made him strip at gun point.

"How's it feel to be violated?" I sneered, then fired three shots into his chest. He died face up, and completely naked.

- - - - - - - - -

As I got to my front door, I noticed Frank standing there, ready to press the button that would allow him to speak with the receptionist. I quickly fixed up my hair and called out to him.

"Frank? That you?"

"Yeah. What are you doing out so late?" He asked, stepping off the apartment steps. He approached me, giving me a friendly hug. I hugged him back and pecked his cheek, causing him to blush the color of a raspberry.

"Cutie." I whispered to him as we entered the lobby. He blushed brighter and smiled so big I thought the smile might pop off his face. I had succeeded in avoiding his question.

He was still so young, younger than Mikey, even. He was 21, turning 22 in October. He was barely legal to be drinking, and when he did drink, he was a damn fun time. I wanted to tell him about what I really did after dark. I wanted him to help me. Partners in crime. I romanticized everything about my murders. I imagined Frank there with me as I offed one foul human after another. Of course, I knew it was wrong, but I didn't think it was that wrong. I only killed people who deserved it. That's the way I felt. Kind of a like a super hero, except not, because that's corny.

I opened the door to my apartment and let Frank in before me. I muttered bullshit about having to get something from the bedroom, so I could stash my gun away safely. Still to early to slip up.

When I returned Frankie was seated on the couch with an amused look plastered onto his face. I cocked my head to one side like a dog and asked him while chuckling, "What?"

He smiled and shook his head in a cute way. I sat next to him and put my arm around his shoulders, he returned my action by leaning in to rest against me. The thing was, I really fucking loved the kid. But he was young and stupid, so free spirited and not quite yet worried about the world. He hadn't gone to college and he had no plans of going. That was the worst thing about the depression that Frank suffered from, he planned nothing because he didn't care if he lived to see another day or not. And while he'd gotten better since we started out, he still planned nothing. I loved Frank because he loved me, he needed me. If I wasn't there, he wouldn't be there either. He depended on me to look after him and care for his broken pieces, and I did. I loved doing it to, feeling as though I was putting back together someone who someone else broke.

Let me tell you, if I ever found Frank's father, who beat him up, I would snap his neck. Ring it right around. He deserved it.

Another problem, I couldn't tell Frank I loved him because that would make me vulnerable. Showing that I'm capable of feeling was something that made me feel weakened, I felt like I didn't have control, and I'm ALWAYS in control. Or else.

We sat on the couch for a while before Frank begin to snore softly on my chest. I kissed his forehead and whispered, "It's better off this way," before I fell asleep myself.