Escaping Mr. Grayson [UN-EDITED]

Chapter Eighteen.

Nothing: My Most Frequent Emotion

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Mr. Grayson's p.o.v

The pungent Kiwi-Passionfruit scented candles sitting at the top of my marble stone sink fight a losing battle with both my nostrils. I hate the candle, and I hate the smell it releases, but it helps with the odor of the rotting flesh.

I slip on a fresh pair of yellow rubber gloves as a precautionary measure. I don't need any sort of fingerprints or DNA on this body. Rolling my sleeves up above my elbows, I yank back the shower curtain and revealed to me is the bloody corpse of Matilda Manning. The twenty-something year old blonde lady I met at the liquor store two nights ago.

"Hey. I'm Matilda", she greeted me that night. I wasn't the least bit interested in anything that she had to say, but I knew that she wanted me. I could smell it off of her like a cheap cologne.

"Good evening", I responded

"...You uh...you come here often?"

"Yes. Do you?", I asked her nonchalantly, I grinned at her horrendous attempt at flirting with me. But only on the inside.

"Only when hot guys like you are around"

I stared at her blankly before she got embarrassed and said, "Im sorry... I suck at the whole flirting thing. I just... I really think you're cute and... I thought why not shoot my shot"

She twirled a strand of hair that fell onto her face and shifted her gaze quickly from my eyes to my lips. I invited her back to my apartment. It's then that she started to undress and I found myself wanting to slice her throat open.

And so I did.

I lean over the porcelain bathtub and stare at her pasty, pale features before pulling her gently out of the bathtub and placing her in the black body bag I picked up yesterday. I start to slowly drag her corpse all through the bathroom and down the stairs. With each thump, a bead of sweat forms at the back of my neck and at the bridge of my nose. In a matter of minutes, I have disposed of the body, and just like that, it's almost as if Matilda Manning never even existed. Death is a cruel mistress.

As I stroll towards my bedroom, I frown at the sight of a blood stain saturating into my pure white Calvin Klein dress shirt. I sigh at the loss of a splendid shirt and tuck it away with the rest of my old filth.

It could have something to do with the fact that I was fired just yesterday, but I'm particularly agitated and I need to be anchored. Now. So I change into something more comfortable. Dark jeans and a plain white cotton sweater. I need to go meet and old...friend.

#

I arrive at my destination and I'm visibly unamused by the sight. The house has an 80s looking exterior, coated entirely with bright red paint. An old fashioned red mailbox stands firmly at the front of the lawn, as if to be a sardonic touch. Who even physically sends mail anymore?

I climb out of my car and march up to the front door. I don't bother knocking. Luckily enough, the door isn't locked. I step into the house and a slight creek echoes the home as I close the door shut. The house is well decorated in mainly brown and red, with some purple accents. She always did like the colour purple. I take my time to examine the surroundings quietly, passing through the living room and laundry room. There's millions of pictures hanging on the walls.

She seems...happy.

The faint sound of...something strange and unfamiliar to me comes from the room beside me and I'm intrigued. My eyes dart down the corridor before I slowly enter the closed room. Once I open the door, I'm overcome with a strange sensation. I'm not sure what it is. I've never felt it before.