RUINED ALREADY [18+]

|Two|

Death means comfort and in death there is no pain Death is too easy.
~Emilio

♠Emilio♠

I hadn't killed a man in ninety seven thousand, nine hundred twenty minutes. Sixty. Eight. Fucking. Days. And I was on edge. No one had crossed me in the last one thousand six thirty two hours.

And no matter how I counted it the result was always the same. I ached for danger and the thrill of the chase. I knew something was wrong with me mentally. Numerous psychologists had labeled me as sociopathic and psychotic. Worst, I wasn't delusional about the state of my mind. When they diagnosed me I had smiled. I was a man who always owned up to my shortcomings and I saw no point in skirting around the truth.

The bloody Mary in my hand was the closest I'd ever come to something that resembled blood in sixty eight days. Yet it wasn't dark enough like the tangy, yet sweet aphrodisiac that pumped through the veins.

I craved violence and the pain of others filled me with sheer satisfaction. It was sadistic. And it was my pleasure.

I glanced around the bar. I had no idea why I had decided to stop here when I much preferred the dark ambience of the gentlemen's club I operated in LA. Coming back here from Mexico since two months I felt home sick. Which was odd because the only places I'd ever imagined as home were Mexico and Spain.

Mexico, until someone tarnished it and ruined me for all eternity.

The man I was now was the fitting result of my horrid past, all the vile things I had been subjected to.

I drained the glass and tossed it down on the table.

And retribution hadn't been paid in full yet.

I glanced up and my eyes found her. She wore a formal black dress and heels to match if the dim lighting of the bat weren't playing tricks on my mind. Her hair cascaded down her back in wild natural curls.

Her eyes flickered nervously almost naughtily around the room as though she had her fingers crossed she wouldn't be caught doing something illicit.

Good luck with that, baby. I smirked. I noticed the way other men's eyes followed her to the bar and I knew her only aim was to stay undercover.

Not that this little bird was helping herself. Her conservative black dress did nothing to distinguish her womanly curves and I felt my loin aching. I hadn't bedded a woman in six months. A feat for a man like me. Women couldn't handle my animalistic ferocity. I was a hard man to please. Certain arrangements I had had gone to waste over the years, though. My business and friendship came above all things.

My eyes wandered back to Miss Black Dress as she was now perched on a stool, her perfect ass on full display.

A man two stools down turned his head to look at her and stood, slowly approaching her. Her head snapped up and she glared at him like a feral tigress. The sight of her face made me laugh. The man quickly scurried away finding another prey at the other side of the darken bar.

I didn't know what it was but something kept pulling my eyes back to her. She wasn't drinking hard liquor. In her hand was a...Bloody Mary. She held up the glass and stared at the liquid as if it intrigued her as it did me. Did she possess the same macrabe thoughts as I did? I stood from my seat and stalked closer. I could see her clearly now, her small delicate shoulders, the dress covering everything; no skin was on display except her face. Her demure style of clothing had me wondering what she was hiding beneath that drab dress. I loved women who left men thinking.

I stayed close yet faraway as I watched her face. Even in the dim lighting I could see those eyes, brown and empty as my soul and yet beguiling.

She tugged at the long outdated sleeves of her dress. It occurred to me that her choice of clothing was a form of defense mechanism. It made her feel safe and obscured. Pity for her I wanted to strip away those layers and seek what was hidden.

It reminded me of the scavenger hunt I had partaken in two year ago. The female bartender who had served me with her fiery hair and vicious tattoos smiled at her and they chatted briefly. Miss Black Dress squeezed her eyes and bit into her lower lip as the bartender touched her shoulder.

When the woman finally went away to serve customers she closed her eyes and her shoulders trembled.

So sad and desolate. Tears had never moved me. I had cried once in my life and I had been punished for it. Severely. I still had the scars to wear. Yet, I found myself bewitched by her expression. The liquid gleamed in the flickering lights at the bar, green, blue, violet and red. I wanted to trace the tip of my tongue over the salty rivulets of her tears. It reminded me of the time I had seen my mother cried. I had been too young to understand. I had asked her why tears tasted so salty. She had looked at me through those pale green eyes for a long time before answering.

"I think that's what sorrow and bitterness taste like, sweet Emilio."

Was Miss Black dress crying away he sorrows? If only it were that easy. I knew from experience what it felt like to cry until there was nothing left. After crying came the screaming but none of the aforementioned were ever enough to feel at peace.

Turning away from the woman I retreated in the darkness half of the boot and continued to watch her.