Pedokiller

Chapter 6

The police knew there was a serial killer. They called me The Pedo Killer. I liked the nickname. It suited me well like the new heels I'd just bought for a bargain. I had made a new friend. Despite my efforts of being anti social she was rather pushy. 

I went out for coffee and a movie with her. I wasn't gay or straight. I was asexual. I didn't want to be touched by anyone except my own hand or a vibrator. No man could find my clit and I wouldn't touch a woman's parts.

The childhood trauma had messed me up inside. I didn't want sex at all. I'd never been kissed or held. My life was a lonely and depressing shell. I often contemplated suicide. I blamed myself for my childhood even though I knew it wasn't my fault.

Her name was Megan. She was a tall slender dark haired girl. She wasn't like me at all. I could tell she had never been raped. She had never been beaten like a dog. She was very energetic and optimistic. Being around her was exhausting to say the least, but I needed her.

I needed a friend in my desolate life. I was a reclusive person. I never said much to anyone. Despite her blissful ignorance she knew something was wrong with me. She looked into my eyes one day. We had been going out to places together for a month or so.

"What's wrong?" She asked.

"Nothing," I replied while looking down at my feet.

"Seriously tell me," she demanded.

"Do you really want to know?" I inquired.

"Yes," she replied.

"I'm a serial killer," I stated.

"Ha ha very funny," she sarcastically retorted.

"I just can't find a man to date," I lied.

"Who needs them," she laughed.

I knew lying to her was the best option. I tried telling her I was a killer, but she thought it was a joke. I knew she would think that. I tricked her into believing my love life was the problem. The fear of being put in prison was my real worry. I couldn't tell her my truth. Although in a cunning way I already had.

"I want to admit something to you," she said.

"What?" I asked.

"I like you," she admitted.

"I like you too," I lied.

"No, I mean I like you, like you," she declared while playing with her hair.

"Why?" I asked feeling uncomfortable.

"Because you're like so unlike anyone I've ever met. You are real. You are intense. Your opinions are so valid. You are beautiful inside and out," she said.

Her words meant nothing to me. They held no emotional weight inside of me. If anything I felt disgusted that she liked me. I was damaged beyond repair. I didn't deserve to be loved or wanted by another person. I was a blood thirsty psychopathic killer with no regard for human life.

"Listen, I need to tell you something very important. I'm not gay. I'm not straight. I'm asexual," I confessed.

"What does that mean?" She asked with a confused look spread across her face.

"It means I don't want sex," I replied.

"Well, why not?" Megan asked.

"I don't want to say," I said while holding back tears.

"Oh, I see. I think I get what you're saying," she whined.

"I w-was molested as a child," I divulged as tears ran down my cheeks.

She hugged me and all I felt were her arms around me. Her breasts pressed against mine, but my heart didn't beat faster. I felt empty and my tears just felt wet. I didn't feel any pain inside. I was just a hollow log in a woods long forgotten.

"Is there anything I can do?" She asked.

"Kill me," I said without thinking.

"No, I love you. I really do. And you may not believe it and you may not think you are worth anything. But you are so worth the world to me. Like you don't even know how amazing you are. You are so much more than you give yourself credit for," she confessed.

"You don't love me Megan. No one has and no one will," I said while blinking back more tears.

"You're wrong. I do. I've loved you for a long time. I used to watch you type on your computer. I watched you talk. I sat there with my palms on my face and I adored you. I really do love you its not a joke or a lie," she confessed while looking me in my eyes.

"You are serious. Wow. I d-don't even know what to say?" I inquired.

"You don't have to say anything at all. Please tell me how you feel about me though," she suggested.

"Do you want the truth?" I asked

"More than anything," she said.

"I love you too," I lied.