The devil has bangs

The main part of the story... Where the fuck am I getting at? I guess to the part that I want to avoid. I mean it's not like I want you to like me. I just don't like to remember that I hate me.

Let me see. Okay so.

I kill sex offenders. 

That was supposed to make me sound good until you realize that I'm a murderer. See. Right there. You just realized that. and now you hate me. or want to walk away and not be any apart of this. That's fine. I don't need you. Or anyone. Except for Abby.. kmkadmsakld.

My fingers slip off the keys drenched in tears. I get paranoid about my laptop bursting into flames but I don't try to dry it off. Oh fuck it. I'll just buy a new one. I end my very first chapter and sign off on my online Diary of a Serial Vigilantly I've started writing which most people just think is fiction, fortunately for me. I have 85 subscribers already on whatsaverb.com, a popular fan fiction site which explains my earlier comment. Don't ask me what prompted this. I will get to that. I slam my laptop and get ready for the gym.

My job is not easy. I need to stay in shape to be able to attract all kinds of skeezes. Today is butt day. Yes it's a job. No, I don't get paid. That's what my day job is for, but there's still a lot of work that goes into what I do. I have a very specific process I go through before I pick my mouse. First I go through online forums and support groups for rape survivors to find targets. The girls give me information on them and where they hang out. After that I try to find out what kind of girls they're into, if that's relevant, then begin the set up.

I don't accept money for it, because it wouldn't be right. Then it would feel like I'm doing it for another reason other than Abby. But I don't do it for the money. I don't even do it for the victims. I only do it because for a moment it feels like she's back.. It's insane. But I can't imagine what my life is like if I don't do this. It's the end. I'll be forced to move on? Forced to live? Without her? That's just the worst thought I can imagine..

My day job helps a lot with my night job with other than just funds. I make wigs. For all kinds of people and props, from home. I refuse to interact with people, so I have my clients send in orders via email and I mail it to them within 7 days. I have 2 wigs I've made for myself to protect my alibi. One is straight, red with bangs like the devil. The other is flowy and platinum like an angel. It's good to switch things up but most of the time I just use contour.

First things first: Hit the gym. I need to work out because of how much junk and alcohol I consume at night just to catch my guys. I need to drink enough to be convincing, but eat enough before hand so I'm not too tipsy.

I can only afford to "fake" pass out wherever we end up, before I go in for the kill. Good song btw. I go to the gym bald. So guys don't hit on me. I don't have time to be fake nice. I need to hurry and work out. If a single guy talks to me, I'm going to start working out at home. I mean it. or girl. Because I am fly as fuck after working out recently. I mean I was never heavy but now I'm toned. Any ways. Too bad no one will ever get to appreciate it. Besides aggressive pricks with a death wish.

After a long day of making wigs for god knows what, I head to pub to scarf down some cheese fries before I head out for my 2nd job. I've been coming here for the past 3 weeks 4 times a week which isn't good because 1. People might try to start interacting with me. 2. Could ruin my alibi. Not even my bald head can fend off people for long I suppose. Maybe cancer is cool now? but Carls is the only place that has decent cheese fries in the area which is my go-to food that keeps me sober the longest. So fuck me.

Roger (see I already remember his name)the bar tender decides to personally deliver the food this time and he looks like he wants to talk.

"So what? You don't drink or something?"

He sets the plate of goey ooey delicious steaming cheese potatoes down on the table as well as his gooey butt on the opposing dimly lit booth seat across from me.

"You're the only one in this town who hasn't been to my bar. I've never had to pry for a story but I gotta know."

He takes a bite of my fries. I want to scream.

"My bad." He notices my glares "If a picture could tell a thousand words, that expression would do the trick so I suppose I got what I came for. "

He expects me to apologize, maybe lighten up and maybe crack a smile and tell him "I'm just passing through" but I can't.

"Sorry again" He tries to leave with a smile.. "I'll bring you another tray of fries or anything you'd like. On the house" I look up at his wide head almost hitting the lamp, light shining through his buzz cut. But not at his eyes.

I shake my head and start finishing up my fries in a hurry. He accepts and walks off.

I don't have to be rude but I can eat however the hell I please if he's the reason I'm crunched for time. I fork a heap of dripping fries into my mouth.. Suddenly remembering I shouldn't ruin my outfit.  

Maybe it's silly but I refuse to talk to anyone except for dead beats and therapists unless necessary. Yes I know how that sounds.. Might learn sign language. I leave a big tip and head out.  I find the bathroom to bleach my mouth out with Listerine and am ready to go to 10234 Burke Ln. Where there will be a party I'm not invited to.