Killing Maya Rae ✔

Four

     Maya’s looking nervous and naive as people pass her by. She’s always had that curious, too sweet and pure for her own good kind of thing about her. I’ll bet she’s wondering if she’s on the right street corner or not. She is, I’m just forty-five minutes late. Does it count as being fashionably late if my excuse is deciding on which blade to hide where around the house? Why did I even show up?

     It’s not that I don’t feel like dragging her back to my place and giving her an escape from this world there, I definitely am looking forward to that. It’s just that, right now, I’m enjoying watching her check street signs every two minutes. Her internal panic is like a drug, knowing that I’m the one in control of her nerves is the intoxication. But, I suppose enough is enough and, besides, her blood will taste so much better than the bitter bite of this small power over her.

     I walk up to her casually, melting out of the shadows as I please. Her back is to me and her hair’s up in an endearing mess of a bun. Her pale skin stretches across the joints of her neck, revealing a blue or purple vein here and there. A freckle or two. God, it would look beautiful if the bone were exposed. I could shape the surrounding skin into a butterfly fold, perhaps use the freckles as pearls in a lace pattern. Yeah, just a slice here, one there and--

     “Oh. It’s You.”

     I snap out of my daze and find my fingers close to her skin. She's turned around now and her smile is infectious. Thankfully, I'm immune. She glances at my hand as I lower it from her collar bones. “I didn't mind, I just--”

     “Follow me.”

     I turn around on the heel of my boot and head down 72nd street. Maya is quiet behind me and she sticks to staying a stride’s worth away. I know she must be looking about, trying to map out where we are, where we're headed. This is precisely why I choose to take many “wrong” turns, elongating the route to my humble abode. Even considering that Maya won't be able to tell police where I reside once she's a rotting shell, someone could claim to have seen us on the street. I prefer no witnesses, no leads. Hence, my uncanny ability to weave through thick crowds like a drop of red in black ink.

     Her delicate fingers curl into my palm at a stop sign and I'm tempted to run into the river of speeding cars. But, I can't kill her if I'm dead. So, naturally, I slap her hand away. A giggle seeps through the blur of footsteps and horns. “Okay, okay. No PDA.” I can't wait to slit her throat and cease that obnoxiously innocent laugh.

     We continue in silence until I stand on my front step. I check the surroundings before unlocking the door and stepping inside. She's too busy looking around like a child when I decide to turn the deadbolt behind her. My head is buzzing and I can't get the visions of out my mind.

     I can see her everywhere I look, her blonde waves stained red. There, on the couch, and here, on the cold wood of the entryway. My hand is shaking as I run it through my hair and brush past her. Has she always smelled so fucking intoxicating?

     “So, what are we doing tonight?” she asks as she follows me into the living room.

     “Fun things, Maya.”

     “Okie dokie. I like fun things.”

     The way her voice drops hints that she has different ideas. “You should change your clothes,” so I can burn them and purge your pure existence from this cruel world, “since you'll be sleeping here.” A sweet blush colors her cheeks and I watch her curl a lock of gold around her finger.

     “Oh, I'd like to.”

     “Good.”

     I shrug my jacket off and drape it over the back of a lounge chair. It's way too damn pretty to have it lose its shape. I turn on the TV and plop down on the sofa. Now, which news channel would be running a story about me right now? I bet they're all wondering when I'll strike next, whose body will be discovered outside the police department next. What I'm wondering is where I should do it.