Killing Maya Rae ✔

Five

The cold, rainy morning light blinds my eyes as I wake up. I feel stiff, as though I've been laying in the same position for hours. I try to stretch my arms and legs, but there's a light weight pressing them into place. What the fuck?

As I blink away the grogginess, Maya comes into clear focus, or, at least the top of her head does. I can register that weight as her limbs entangled in mine. My first instinct is to push her the hell off of me and yell some sarcastic comment. But, I remember today being her reckoning. I slide out of her grasp, like a serpent exiting the garden, and perch on the edge of my bed.

She stirs slightly, grunts in her sleep, and returns to stillness. Nestled against my gray bedding, Maya resembles a painting. Her golden hair spreads around her head, the dawn sunlight catching it like silken honey. Freckles begin to take the shape of sun speckled rays dancing. Her pose reminds me of a work by John Waterhouse and it pulls at my heart.

I run my hands through my hair and look around my bedroom. Nothing is out of place. There's no adverse chill, no foul energy in the room. People assume that death is significant in this world, that there's some change in the air before the plunge into darkness. To be honest, that's complete bullshit. The world doesn't care. There's isn't a fateful overlord who orchestrates the events of your otherwise mundane day of demise. You're just here and then you're not.

That's what give me comfort in my hobby, my duty.

Maya stirs again in my sheets, pulls me from my contemplation. I’d better get to the whole murder thing before some comical interruption ensues. It's now or never.

I move across the bed to straddle my own painted Ophelia. She hums and is obviously pleased with my movement. What a poor, hopeless thing. I lean down and reach into my bed frame through a decorative gap in the wood, feeling for my favorite dagger.

“Good morning, Sunshine.” Maya's words are scrambled through her yawn as her hands come to rest on my hips. God damn it.

Now or never.

I bury my head in her neck as I continue my blind search and I can feel the warmth of her blood beneath her skin. She giggles, too happy.

Now or never.

My hand is fumbling now and hers are continuing their gentle circles, dumb and naive.

Now or never.

Cold steel meets my palm, warm tongued and ready.

“You're an absolute dream to wake up to,” pitiful and weak.

Now.

I sit up and plunge the dagger into her throat, right in the main artery. She gasps, stunned and broken. Shit! I wanted to drain her in the damn tub. This is why you don't compliment a serial killer. It ruins the untouchable vibe and makes us act on impulse. Now my plans are ruined, fuck.

Her nails dig into my skin and  scrape against the bone as she coughs. She's choking on her blood now. I can see it, seeping past her pale lips.

“Shhh,” I whisper. I feel a grin spread across my mouth. The colors of her eyes are fading fast and her grip is losing strength. My blade is still firm and I don't plan on pulling it out, unless I feel like opening up a geyser. I'd rather let the blood pressure die down before getting rid of the body.

Maya Rae is limp now, paler than ever and lifeless. I've stolen her innocent spark. A flash is lost in the sunlit clouds, but the crash of thunder outside my window doesn't hesitate to startle me. Of course. It just had to be cliche, didn't it?

I've always hated the rain.