Killing Maya Rae ✔

Two

     I know what it looks like.

     But I swear, it's not like that.

     This isn't some sick love story.

     Look, I get that you want it to be, but it's not. Don't pay any attention to the fact that I'm sitting here, in the coffee shop Maya works at, hunched over a ceramic mug like some stalker. It's purely for research purposes. After what happened two days ago, I need to regroup. Get my shit together. Kill this damn girl.

     Call it whatever you want. Whether I "saved her" or not is none of your concern. It was just a one-time thing and, I promise you, this isn't a romanticized version of a killer falling for the victim. I'd have to have that capability, for one thing. I don't. All I have is some mixed wiring in my head, a knack for blades, and a leather jacket... And now a pretty good latte.

     I'm in the far back corner of the joint, out of the cashier's field of vision... out of Maya's field of vision. I ordered my coffee just before her shift started, to avoid looking suspicious. Just a girl in leather pants with a black bob haircut and heavy eyeliner with nothing but some coffee. Not suspicious at all.

     Maya's busy at the register for the day, so she won't be leaving her post anytime soon, which is why I've decided for today to be another observation day. I'm already off-schedule anyways. I sip the warm drink and look around the café. It's busy this afternoon. Some CEO looking woman-and might I say she has one hell of an ass-walks by my table while she's on the phone and doesn't see my outstretched legs right in front of her. She stumbles a bit as her knock-off Louboutins scuff the sole of my boots. What the fuck? Now she owes me.

     Her to-go cup falls from her hands and she has the nerve to glare at me as her precious crap-a-chinno spills across the concrete floor. "Watch it, Barbie," I say as I return to my drink. She scoffs and struts away, mumbling into her phone. I overhear one of the baristas ask another girl to grab the mop and take care of it. Then I hear an overtly chipper voice answer back.

     "Sure thing!"

     Shit.

     Maya begins skipping over with a clean-up bucket as I try to shove my phone into my pocket. I stand up quickly, but it's already too late. She gasps and bounces on her heels, quickening her pace. "It's you! From that night! Hi!" Why is she so loud?

     I pretend not to hear her as I throw some change down and weave through tables toward the exit. I'm almost out the door when I hear the distant rolling of an abandoned mop bucket and fast steps. Is she running after me? You've got to be kidding.

     The door flies open and I nearly knock into some people coming in as I rush out and into the hectic streets of New York. I avoid any more possible collisions and make it to an intersection.

     "Wait! Stop!"

     Screw waiting for a light, I'll take my chances.

     I sprint into traffic and just miss the front end of a taxi. Phew. But right as I reach the other side, I see the overhead signal a red countdown. Just my luck. Maya catches up to me and rests a hand on my arm-places herself right in front of me. She's having trouble breathing and I've barely broken a sweat.

     "Why did you... pant... Run when I... pant... Saw you?"

     She stares up at me with curiosity in her eyes, as if nothing seems off about this situation. For once, I don't think the whole silent and mysterious thing will benefit me here, so I scrounge up some excuse and say, "Oh, yeah, um, I remembered I had a reservation at this restaurant." Come on, what kind of excuse it that? In what world would someone actually believe-