You're My Favorite Murderer (Chapters 1-5)

Chapter 1 : 𝓓𝓪𝓻𝓴𝓼𝓲𝓭𝓮

Have you ever killed someone? No? Aw, poor innocent little thing. Well, I have and fuck, it's exhilarating! Unlike anything you'll ever experience. You don't understand, feeling the life leaving their body, seeing their unseeing eyes knowing there's nothing behind them, merely a hollow shell. Shit, it's powerful, you literally hold their life in your hands.

That being said I was only at the too-young-to-be-an-adult-yet age of seventeen when I made my first meaningful kill. It was my first time, in terms of sex. Let me make this abundantly clear so as not to confuse you, it was my first time for sex, but the signs of my psychopathy were always there. Ever since I was young, I knew something was amiss with me; I wasn't like the other little girls.

***

Her Past

When I was seven, playing in the yard, yanking grass free of the earth I found a rabbit a few feet away, nestled in the garden, munching on a carrot. It was so cute and white and fluffy, but it was causing problems, eating our veggies, bringing other wildlife into the garden; a few birds and a deer approaching the fence with curiosity, it had to be stopped. I had to stop it. Bolting upright I shooed away the remaining critters, running after the rabbit, the straps of my large denim overalls falling off my shoulders, sliding down my thin figure. My tiny little child feet tripping up beneath the fabric, face splat down in a mud puddle, brown gunk plastered all over my face, painting my hair. Wiping my eyes free of the sludge I watched as it hopped away further, just out of my reach too fast for my tiny little legs. But it refused to leave.

Picking myself back up I took a step toward it; it took a few wiggled steps back. I stepped back, it took a hop forward. I stopped and stood motionlessly still, staring at it, its red beady eyes staring back, the spring wind blowing my dirty blonde hair across my face, the damp scent of mud plugging up my nostrils. Keeping my gaze locked I gradually lowered myself to the ground, crossing my legs over one another shutting my eyes, waiting ever so patiently to feel the rabbit's presence draw nearer.

Eventually the little thing came close enough, but I had to do this right. One false step and it would surely run off again. I kept my eyes shut, the rabbit approaching warily, as it should, crouched right next to me. Carefully opening my big brown eyes, I snatched it up, grasping it tightly around the ears, its furry little feet running in midair but there was no escape for the poor creature.

Bringing it closer, I held it in my hands so tight, hugging and squeezing it, until I heard a snap. Pulling it back into view I noticed the misshapen angle of its neck, a tiny pink tongue dangling from its mouth. Staring back at its red eyes, cold and dead, I felt a single tear slide down my little cheeks, but I wasn't sad. Wiping away the meaningless droplet I took one of my old shoe boxes and stuffed the white fluff inside before burying it in the backyard close to the garden. After that the animals stopped coming.

When I was nine my parents got me a small grey cat. Most girls around our New England neighborhood had puppies but I insisted, and being an only child plus knowing how much easier it would be to take care of a cat than a dog they happily agreed. I truly did love her, being all fluffy and cute, like the rabbit but she wasn't going to cause any trouble, which made me adore her even more. Taking one quick glance at her fluff, I came up with the name Cutie and took her up to my room to play.

Every day I would feed her tuna and milk in the morning and once I returned home from school we played with the feather fishing pole. I would giggle as I teased her, bringing the feather just within her grasp and then yanking it away. She seemed to enjoy the games too. When bedtime rolled around, she would curl up to me on my bed, purring incessantly. Any nightmares I had would simply disappear. Life was good with her around.

But one day on my way to school I must have accidentally left the door ajar setting her free. I didn't even know she had gotten loose until I came home, calling out to her, the house empty with my parents busy at work and no kitty to play with. I searched every inch of the place but nothing. Curling up into a ball on the black kitchen tiles, my princess book bag still secured to my back I cried, tears cascading down my cheeks, my whole face wet with salinity.

I stayed like that until my mother arrived home hours later. Only I didn't tell her that, I told her the truth. Someone must have been jealous of Cutie and taken her away from me. She looked upon me curiously but utterly ignored the accusation wiping the tears free of my eyes and making me a cool strawberry smoothie. She might not have believed me, but I knew she wouldn't just run away, not after all the love and care I had shown her. That slippery little trollop Lucinda from school was always making fun of me for not being like everyone else. She was so jealous of Cutie that she took her away. Well, I'd show her.

When everyone had gone to bed, the clock striking 11:00 PM, the lampposts along the street dim, every light inside every house dark and the arriving summer sun finally having set, I made my way out the window, down the ledge and into the street. Carefully I crept through the darkness, my Swiss army knife—with the red marble handle my father had gifted to me for my most recent birthday—curled tightly in my fingers. Stepping into the neighboring houses, I peeked over gates checking for chained up dogs. One house after the other, the dogs remained inside, hidden away from a monster like me. But they didn't matter, there was only one I had in mind, I just didn't want to get caught.

Little by little, eating up the distance, my feet practically floating over the sidewalk until I arrived at Lucinda's. Her perfect red brick story mansion stood before me, darkness shadowing over every door and window, unwelcoming in the blackness of night. I smiled up at where her room sit, just a story above the front door having been over for a playdate many years previous when we didn't hate each other yet. Striding over to her backyard I took a glance through the picket fence noticing a chained leash, and a tiny little chihuahua snuggled up in a bed. Shaking my head with the biggest grin plastered over my young face I made quick work of hopping the fence, snatching up the tiny thing and darting behind the nearest tree.

Staring up at me, shaking beneath my touch I held it tight squeezing and hugging it, a vision of the fluffy white rabbit returning in my memories. Clutching it tighter, a hand held over its jaw I heard the crack and whimper as the thing went limp. Pulling the body back I carefully lay it on the grass, taking my knife admiring the gleam of such delicate metal shine beneath the dim lighting before slicing across its throat. Remnants of its lifeblood pouring from the wound. I let it lay there dying as I wiped my blade on the tree's trunk and returned home unnoticed.

The next day news broke out of Lucinda's dog's death, and I had to hide my smile knowing I'd never be caught for my crime. My mother had a feeling after what I had told her about Cutie being stolen rather than just running away but she could never prove anything.

School would finish up that Friday, but my parents insisted on an early vacation, rather my mother did, and my father was always one to follow her every word and whim. Hopping in the car we drove and drove and drove. As the night began to settle in, we stopped at an off the beaten path type of hotel. I was out the minute my head hit the pillow and so were my parents. Only when I awoke the next day, I found a note on the mirror and no sign of my parents.

Our little Clementine. We love you to the ends of the earth but what you did was wrong and evil. Your father and I promise to never tell anyone of the horrendous acts you've committed so long as you do not attempt to find us. Forever our love, your mother and father.

I was only nine, but I understood perfectly, they had left their monstrous daughter behind so they could live an evil free existence. I didn't dare shed a tear as I packed my bags, snuck out the bathroom window and ran, never looking back.

Chapter 2: 𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘉𝘰𝘺

Being a killer is easy, killing someone is easy. Snuffing out their light simple and undoubtedly boring. One minute they're alive and the next you kill them and now they're dead. Big deal. The real beauty, true finesse can be found in the torture before their ultimate demise. Watching as the blood drips down their body, ligaments contorted into positions they weren't meant to be forced into. Hands smashed, bones protruding through the split flesh; eyes forced open to witness each moment of pain...honestly the feeling is unparalleled. I take a sip of my coffee, the warm heat enveloping me in a sea of calm as think of last night's victim.

***

His Last Night

He was some insignificantly big broad-shouldered man, working the door at one of the many slutty named strip clubs downtown. I stood in line for a half hour, freezing my dick off, just for the asshat to look me up and down with disdain and shoo me away. I rolled my eyes annoyed and fucking freezing but in truth it wasn't about entering the club it was about finding a challenge and sleeves of I heart my mum tattoos was a big fucking challenge.

I watched as he let rows of obvious perverts and not half as dangerous as me predators just walk through the door, letting out the stale stench of cigarettes and body odor until we were the only two left. All, alone. Trying to ask nicely clearly wasn't working so I did the next best thing. Pulling my switch blade out I strode right up to him and threatened him with the knife. The tip hardly grazed the scruff along his jaw before he dragged me to the back of the building no doubt to teach me a lesson.

Only when he tossed me into the brick wall, he forced me to my knees, unbuckling his belt. This motherfucker had no idea who he was dealing with. I play for both teams, but this waste of skin and bones was far from my type and no way in hell was I letting a diseased dick like that enter these precious lips. But I played along for a second, stroking the appendage, cradling his hairy ball waiting until his head tilted back, eyes shut, reveling in pleasure and vulnerability.

Tightening my hold on my, oh so special switch blade my brother gifted to me when he went off to college, I stabbed it into his thigh. Four-inch cock, at best, still dangling free as I sliced and diced it to ribbons, till it was nothing but a wilted blend of blood and skin. He reached out for me, but I quickly shuffled away, getting back on my feet. The tables had turned now with him kneeling on the ground, cradling his groin the other wounds I'd inflicted on his arms and back unnoticed, his preciously damaged dick his only priority. Observing the hoop earring that dangled in his left ear, I ripped it free of the hole and jammed my blade into the sensitive part right below the back of his head. He kneeled there somewhat paralyzed, before I kicked him in the back to land on his face, gravel digging into the skin on his cheeks.

Staring down at the pathetic waste I couldn't help but spit on such garbage, his eyes still open witnessing the torment as he made fruitless attempts to crawl away. But I wasn't done just yet. Laying a couple hard kicks into his ribs he let out whimpers and gasps rolling and crying. Smirking at my handy work I grabbed the opposite ear and lopped that off. His blood soaked the ground, a puddle of red surrounding the mound of pitiful meat.

"You should be more careful who you try to force to suck your diseased dick you fucking cunt!" I spat down at him again, my manifested rage landing on his bald head. Wiping what blood remained on my hands on a handkerchief hidden in my leather jacket—tonight was no accident I came prepared—I stuffed it back in, hiding away the dirty evidence. Slowly I walked around him, carefully calculating the way in which I was going to end his pathetic life, in the most painful way possible of course. Unfortunately, I had only brought the knife because I wasn't entirely sure who I'd encounter tonight, or how big they'd be.

Glancing around the dirty back lot for a weapon of some sort, my thundering grey eyes landed on a couple small pieces of upstanding plywood. Smiling, my piercing pulling at the skin on my lips I hurried over to it, judging the weight and size in my hands. "Yes, they'll do quite nicely. What do ya think Reg?" I hadn't the tiniest fucking clue what this asshole's name was, but he would be dead in a couple of minutes, so it was of no consequence to me.

Sauntering over, taking my sweet ass time and enjoying every delicious moment of this I watched as he crawled across the pavement, burbles of spit and sobs escaping his lips. I shook my head and smacked his outstretched hand with the wood. He screamed out as I drank in the deplorable whimpers.

"I'm...s..sorry" he wheezed between his gritted yellowing teeth.

"You're sorry? You're sorry?" I just smiled, laying another couple smacks on his hand and back. "You're only sorry you got caught you worthless piece of shit!" I screamed as he fidgeted with each blow. Bringing the wood down hard on his head he froze for a moment, I worried I'd gone too far and killed the bastard. There was still so much pain to cause and so much anger to release.

Walking up close, I nudged him with my black doc martins—I wouldn't want to accidentally stain my converse. He attempted to grab it but with how weak he was I just stepped free of his measly grasp.

Shoving him on his back, eyes staring open wide I said "Goodbye Reg" before slamming the wood as hard as I could manage on his face. And then a few more times just for the fun of watching all his features get crushed beneath the weight, skin splintered with wood.

When I was done, raking a bloodied hand through my hair, damp with sweat, he was a mangled pile of flesh and broken bones. Yanking my switchblade out, I violently sawed and ripped his sorry excuse for a cock free shoving it into his decaying mouth, placing the torn loop earring over top as decoration. Taking the handkerchief back out I wiped over all the spots I spit on, ridding my evidence from his grotesque body. Even if I hadn't there was no finding me in their precious database, always taking on a new identity every few weeks, my victims so generous with letting me live their lives. Thanks to them I was practically a ghost.

Tossing the plywood in the nearest dumpster, the overpowering stink of rot, vomit and piss nearly making me gag, I ran off, looking disheveled but feeling calmer than I had in weeks, my raging bloodlust somewhat satiated. At least for now.

"Can I get you anything else" the waitress' voice pulls me from the darkness of the glorious evening.

I smile "no thank you, I'm all right" I say, and she walks off.

Chapter 3: 𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘉𝘰𝘺

The brass bell of The Coffee Shoppe jingles delicately as more patrons hurriedly enter the mom-and-pop type place; an intoxicating aroma of recently brewed hot coffee and freshly made scones overtaking the smell of damp spring rain pouring outside.

Sipping my espresso as the windows get pelted with the light pitter patter of droplets, I pull out my burner phone, scrolling through the latest headlines.

"Body found in compromising position. Robbery gone wrong, local police have no leads."

Robbery my ass, I squeeze the device in my hand, hearing the slight crack of plastic. I didn't want anything that fucking cunt had on him. I even gave him back that cheap-ass piece of costume jewelry! Anger increasing, I quickly skim back over the article, noticing there was no mention of the mutilation or him sucking his own dick. Even dead fucking scum bags get some coverup from the press, pitiful.

Taking another sip of my coffee, the buzz of caffeine doing little to simmer down my boiling rage I browse a few more news sites, though they all seem to say the same.

"Robbery."

"Unknown victim killed during robbery."

"Police have no leads."

I can't help but roll my eyes, damn tabloids always trying to make everything a story, even if half the shit they print ain't actually true.

Swiping to a couple of other news sites, mindlessly scrolling, an older headline catches my eye. Swiping back up to it a huge grin paints itself across my face.

"Young teen found murdered." It's dated four months ago. Perusing through the article, I skim over it trying to determine what might be true. "Throat slashed, torso cut up." Quickly taking a vested interest in the story I browse other similar articles, the dates getting more and more recent.

"College student found murdered" lights up my screen, dated last week. "Throat slashed, torso cut up." I smile even wider feeling my piercing curl with the stretch of my mouth. Seems I have some competition. Reading a couple more vague lines, the same sort of statement stares back at me, "police still have no leads".

I scoff.

"They never do".

"Who never do what?" I pause on the ambiguous sentence, my attention pulled to the deep toned angsty nineteen-year-old in line for his over-priced-too-long-to-say coffee, goat milk, gluten free and all that shit. His beanie somewhat falls off his head, tufts of black hair he clearly dyed himself showing. The dark charcoal streaks along his hands and numerous leather bands lining each wrist tell me starving artist, this guy is just too easy to read.

"The police, they uh" I rub the back of my neck trying to seem distraught. "They never seem to have any leads do they?"

He shrugs offering a side smile. "Fuckers wouldn't know how to do a proper investigation if every piece of evidence remained at the crime scene and the perpetrator was standing there over the body." I laugh nodding in agreement, turning back to my coffee and stories.

Though after my ending the conversation I'm surprised to see him plop himself in the chair directly opposite me. Casually glancing around I notice a few empty tables, more than deserving of him to sit at. But no, he's chosen here.

Placing his green coffee, green fucking coffee down he holds out a hand, with rings on the thumb and forefinger. I recognize the same pattern repeated on his left hand, holding a brown leather book quite tightly to his tank top, scarf and leather jacket combo. This guy is trying way too hard.

"Jaco Winters but everyone calls me the J man."

I grit my teeth holding back the incessant laughter, coming up with the most common name I can think of. "James."

"Well James is there a specific crime that's worrying you?" He asks propping his chin up on his beringed hand.

Realizing my quiet time is officially over I place the phone face down and continue coming up with my lies. "I was just reading about these murders. Scary shit ya know? Stabbings, torture, heads chopped off." I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from getting aroused, the surgically altered canines opening up the skin, dribbles of blood resting on my tongue.

"Tell me about it." Reaching for his coffee he takes a big gulp through the straw, moving on to a more specific topic of conversation. "Did you hear about that body they found last night?"

I quirk a brow.

"What body?"

"Last night, there was this body found in the back of that sex club beaten to death. Apparently, it was a robbery gone wrong. They had to identify him using fingerprints, needless to say his dental records were useless from the relentless beatings he experienced." So, someone does know there was mutilation.

I attempt acting surprised but think better on it. "Jeez, bastard must have had it coming. I wonder what he did to deserve it?"

"Why do you think he did something to deserve getting mutilated?

"Well last I checked; bad people get bad karma" I smoothly retort sipping from my cup.

Slumping back in the seat, bested by the hot stranger in under ten seconds, he slurps his caffeinated drink through its straw trying to hide his look of utter disappointment. "Besides" I add on, "you gotta be one sick fuck to beat a woman that badly. To the point you aren't even able to identify her through dental records..." I flash him a deep frown.

His brow furrows, leaning his head up off his hand. "What, you think the dickhead who did this was sane?" He stands raising his voice with enthusiasm, the whole situation a spectacle. "You have to be one motherfucking sick fuck to kill anybody, man or woman!" I glance around; steady conversation having ceased to listen in on our own. This guy's gonna be a problem.

Trying to help him climb off his metaphorical soap box I hold up my hand in surrender whispering an apology I nowhere near mean. He falls back into the seat, sipping his coffee, mine suddenly gone cold and forgotten.

Changing tactics I ask "you a journalist or something? Smart kid like you, so invested in these murders. Gotta be working in the business somehow..." I trail off letting him finish for me.

He waves me off. "Nah fuck journalism. Beside reading about serial killers is just a hobby of mine. I'm actually studying film with a minor in sketch and design over at Smithson college." So naive, so trusting.

"Oh, cool." I say nonchalantly. He nods, looking like he's about to dive deeper into the subject but I've had my fill of this child for the day. Pulling out my leather wallet with red stitching I place a $20 bill under the saucer standing up, pulling on my black trench coat. "Well, it was nice talkin' Jaco and hopefully the film stuff works out for you." With that I walk out into the cold and dreary scene, hurrying along the sidewalk away from that exhausting adolescent.

Only I don't get as far as I hoped, as he's running after me yelling my fake name, arm raised and outstretched holding something. I huddle under the closest awning as he approaches, his large platform boots stomping through the puddles along the way.

"Wait" he shouts over the downpour. "You forgot your phone" he hands me the wet screen, every inch of him drenched; head to toe.

I take it back without much thought. "Thanks."

"It's nothing." I begin to walk away but my eyes catch onto the blooming blush on his wet cheeks a smile beginning to grow. "I uh, put my number in there in case you wanted to—"

My heart's racing, he went through the phone, I never closed it out. He's probably seen all the murder articles I opened. Shit, shit. Biting my lip still trying to fix this shit show of a problem I stuff the phone in my pocket as I lead him back out into the downpour.

"You know" I hurriedly cut him off "I don't have any plans tonight if you wanted to come back to my place. Just for a drink or whatever." I don't want to come off as desperate so I'm halfway down the block when he snuggles up close to me, that leather book of his gripped tight in his hands. At least he's stopped talking, hard to hear anything through this rain.

As we're walking, I'm frantically trying to come up with a plan to get me out of this, it's only a matter of time before he mentions the articles, damn murder aficionado. My hand twists the switch blade around and around in my pocket, eyes darting further down the way looking for an alley way, or dark corner. Fucking something! At least we're alone on the street, the rain having kept most people indoors.

Before I can think, the stupidly named nineteen-year-old stranger tugs me into a tight alleyway, his back to the wall, with me pressed up against him. The book discarded somewhere nearby. "I couldn't wait" he whispers into the opening, his voice nearly lost beneath the downpour. My hands press to the wall on either side of his head as I force my cold wet lips to his, meeting me with the same level of heat. His hands grip the back of my neck, pulling me in closer.

"What's your real name" he asks in between stolen breaths.

I smile, shaking my head, grasping his soft face in my hands.

"Naughty boys don't get to ask questions." I pull him in again, my fangs catching on his bottom lip spilling blood.

He jerks away, feeling at the cut.

"You bit me" he says, nervous yet still clearly aroused. I can feel his attraction poking me in the leg.

My hand slides down, rubbing the thick girth over ripped jeans. "You loved it" I darkly whisper, watching as he comes apart beneath me. I smile, his face morphing into a show of such overwhelming pleasure. "Yeah, that's right." I lean closer, my lips at his ear so he can hear me. "Grind against my hand like the good boy you are." I listen to his moans getting swallowed up in the cold rain, his hips bucking in rhythm with my hand. But clearly, it's not enough as he grabs my hand shoving it down his pants. The minute my thumb grazes over the swollen tip he's moaning to the sky. Too easy.

"Tell me your name" he says between moans. I shake my head again, stroking his dick faster and faster.

"Why you wanna know so bad" I ask. He's gripping onto the back of my throat, scratching and clawing, the rings imprinting into the flesh.

"So, I know what to scream when I come" he whimpers. I laugh, stroking faster, my hand choking him watching as he drowns in the pleasure. I give him a few hard slaps across the face, before choking him tighter, stroking faster.

"Oh, you wanna come, do you?" He nods viciously. I love the way his fingers dig so deep into my skin holding on for dear life. "Yeah, you're my good boy, aren't you?" He tries to make out the words but can't manage to spit them out.

I can feel him on the verge, but I'm enjoying torturing him too much, no way am I letting him come. Smiling, eating up his torment with a fucking spoon I abruptly stop, letting go of his throat as I lean in and whisper "get on your knees J."

With hardly a word spoken between us we switch positions as he falls to his knees in front of me, ripping my zipper free, tugging out my hard cock. I slide the beanie off, running my hands through his hair, his lips hollowing out as he slowly takes me in, thick inch by agonizingly thick inch, drips of rain landing on his soft skin. I watch as he struggles to handle my size, his hands gripping my thighs trying to push off and readjust.

Tightening my grip on his hair I tug him closer, forcefully accepting a couple more inches. He's clawing and gripping my legs, his dark eyes wide, tearing up from the rain and the lack of oxygen. I bite my lip at the scene, thrusting a few more times before finally letting him go.

Intaking a large breath he slowly stands, noticing the dribble of blood on my lips, wiping it away with his thumb, tasting the red. I smile, my teeth coated in crimson, "naughty boy."

He matches my devilish smile, stepping closer. Leaning up, he places his lips at my ear whispering taunts. "I know you like blood sexy. I saw you kill that guy last night." I smirk; this is going to be fun.

Slowly I pull away. "You think you saw me kill someone last night, but you're wrong." My hands toy with his waistband knowing how easily I can bend him to my will.

He steps back "and I saw all of those murder articles on your phone." Leaning against the wall I flip my switch blade around in my pocket.

"So? You said it yourself, reading about serial killers is a hobby of yours. Why can't it be a hobby of mine?" I can't help the smile spreading as I have a prepared answer ready to throw back in his face and question everything.

"Stop lying" he growls, his fingers flexing into tight fists at his side. "I know what I saw, and I have proof." Now this I gotta see. Pulling his phone out he swipes to a few images of what looks like a blurry individual smashing a piece of wood over an unconscious individual lying on the ground in a pool of what could be freshly spilt blood. Everything is too pixilated to tell.

I shake my head with a sardonic smile. "You got nothing kid. Besides I didn't do it. Nice try, though your sleuthing skills could use a bit of improvement."

Stepping up to me, forcing my back to the wall he presses his finger over my lips, a malicious grin reflected on his own. "I know I'm right but don't worry sexy I won't tell anybody." He lowers his gaze, wetting his lips. "For the right price."

I can't help admiring his cockiness, but it's about to get him killed. "Oh Jaco" I say disappointed, cupping his cheek in my hand as I pull out my switch blade, burying it deep into his abdomen. "You shouldn't threaten a killer baby." He lets out a muted scream, mouth open wide as I give the blade a twist, driving it deeper. "It'll just get you killed."

He stumbles back, falling to the alleyway pavement on his ass, the rain soaking his jeans through and through, black hair dye trailing down his face. One hand holds the wound, blood seeping through his fingers dripping around his wet body as the other wipes his vision free. He looks up at me, fear filling his gaze as I stare down at my latest victim, knife steady in my hand fresh blood staining the skin.

Kneeling down to his level, straddling his weak body I choke him with my left hand, his fingers gripping at mine trying to yank me off. As the other hand holding the knife begins cutting at his beringed fingers; the digits a mess of red, bleeding cuts until he finally gives up on trying to pull free.

Tightening my grip on his throat his muted screams drowning under the rain I drink in the puffiness of his face as his eyes roll back into his head. Clutching his neck so tight until his head falls to the side, back of his hands slapping the pavement next to him. I give him one last firm squeeze ensuring his death before crawling off of him.

Staring down for a few minutes admiring the gory mess I made, his blood pooling around him, rain washing away the red. The large purple bruise around his throat where I stole his very life, tearing it from his flesh with my hands so pronounced against his pale skin.

Looking to the sky I notice the rain easing up, darkness of night shrouding me in shadows as I search for his leather-bound book. Pulling my burner phone out I switch on the flashlight, scouring the area. My light falls over pieces of scrap and garbage before landing on the book, casually leaning against the wall. Reaching down I pull it free from the junk striding back over to the body. Quickly flipping through the pages, I realize it's a sketch book filled to the brim. Not bad J.

Turning to the last couple pages I see images that look quite familiar. One is a sketch of a handsome figure that looks strikingly like me, standing over a dead body. Pieces of him scattered about the area. Turning to the next I see me again, drinking my espresso, staring at my phone. Shaking my head down at a now dead Jaco, I tear the last couple pages free of the book, tossing the leather bound on his chest pocketing the images.

Crouching down to his level, I pull the rings free of his fingers, placing them on my own as a reminder. And I just really liked the look of them. Flexing my hands, getting used to the feel of the new jewelry my hands grab his phone laying a couple feet away. Lighting up the screen I realize a fingerprint is required. Letting out an exasperated sigh, I quickly saw away at his thumb, yanking it free of his hand.

Pressing the pad to the screen I watch it open up; the images he was showing me mere moments ago staring back. Smirking to myself, I kneel down to his body once again, shoving the phone in my coat pocket before sawing off his remaining fingers tossing them into the rubbish behind me.

Tugging on his wet tendrils I slice across his throat over and over, the gash deepening with each slash until his head is nearly detached completely.

Letting out a couple of breaths, two murders in two nights with two different signatures, I slowly push up off my knees to stand. Dragging his body into my arms I toss him into the wall, the nearly detached head smacking against the surface, separating from the rest of the body little by little.

After too many tosses, my heart racing, short, ragged breaths manifested into mist before my eyes he's finally in two pieces. "Finally," I wheeze out exhausted. Kicking the body a few times out of anger for making me do so much fucking work to cover up the murder I toss the head in a dumpster halfway down the walk. The lamps dimly lit, the streets still deathly quiet and lonely.

Wiping my hands free of everything, I let out another ragged breath feeling calm and at ease. Walking the rest of the way down I whistle into the quiet, shadows and darkness following close behind. I'm off to find and out do my competition.

Chapter 4: 𝓓𝓪𝓻𝓴𝓼𝓲𝓭𝓮

A Few Days Later...

The wind whistles through my ear buds as I make my way, trudging along the trail to the last of my chemistry courses marking the end of the fall semester. Hugging my oversized grey hoodie closer wiping the sleep from my eyes I pick up the pace ever so slightly. My off-brand Ugg boots scraping the gravel as I drag my exhausted husk further. I'm going on about three-hour sleep and no coffee, just the brisk winter chill to keep me awake. Barely.

In such a zombie state I nearly have a fucking heart attack as my phone buzzes with an alarm, no doubt to get my hopefully-not-still-sleeping-only-to-hit-the-snooze-button body out of bed. Add it to the list of grand things going on this fine morning.

Violently swiping up on the screen I shut off any and all remaining alarms, now fully awake my body vibrating with annoyance. Exiting the clock app I notice the date, March 15th. My heart starts racing, beating faster, harder, pounding beneath my chest. The memory of that afternoon in junior year rising to the surface; my very first murder of a human being.

Georgie, my girlfriend at the time who was at least three years older, suggested we get "hot and heavy", her words I assure you not mine, during lunch. I wasn't all that eager, nearly finished with my chicken sandwich and not feeling anywhere near sexy to be around. What with my raggedy clothes and unruly hair that always looked unkempt no matter how many times I tugged a brush through it. My little breasts that were hardly present beneath my top, too small for even a kids bra to hold. I was the direct opposite of sexy.

But ever the expert of persuasion, my girl was able to convince me. Running her delicately manicured nails through my rough auburn strands she tugged my hair, forcing my gaze up, back arched. I couldn't help but let out a gasp as she leaned in close, whispering sensual promises in my ear.

"I'm gonna make this tight body of yours feel so good. Pleasure like you've never felt, my nails dragging down your chest, digging into your skin." I bit my lip, closing my legs together a burning throbbing sensation beginning between them. She looked to my legs laughing darkly, her lips caressing the shell of my doubly pierced lobe. "You like that baby girl?" I nodded as best I could, back still arched, my eyes shut imagining what it would feel like to have her perfectly alluring body caressing mine.

Pulling back she held out a hand for me to take. Wiping my own free of ranch dressing, I grabbed up my bag, took her hand, fingers intertwining with mine and hopped in the car.

Her heavy scent of mint and cigarettes fills my nose even now I can't help but pull out my cherry vape taking a hit trying to rid myself of the distant memory. The vision of her black hair with a single streak of silver blowing in the wind instead fills my mind, remembering as we drove, she had such a carefree attitude about her that I admired so deeply.

Yanking free a large bottle of whiskey from my bag that I stole from the office administrator's special cabinet—ever the rebel I was to impress her—we passed it back and forth taking swigs. Her brown eyes glancing over to me with lust, even behind the dark red shades. I downed more than a couple of chugs of the burning liquid on the drive over trying to get rid of my nerves. The longer we drove and the more I drank the easier the afternoon and my decision to give it up became.

Mind hazy, body feeling light she led me inside, upstairs into the bedroom, tugging my hand the whole way clearly keen on fucking that tight seventeen-year-old body of mine. I couldn't help blushing, though I think that largely had to do with the alcohol pulsing through my veins.

Pushing me onto her plush mattress I scooted back up towards the headboard watching as she slowly tugged off her tank top, her skin glistening with drips of sweat from the nearly summer sun. It wasn't long until I was off to my final year of hell, and she would be off doing who knows what somewhere else, but then it was just us and we could and would do anything we pleased.

With intoxication humming throughout my tiny light weight physique, I wet my lips slowly ridding myself of my worn-out black t-shirt, her bright red tank discarded underneath it, clothes gradually piling up on the floor next to the bed. As she crawled onto the mattress, I pulled her close awaiting the feeling of her smooth olive skin sliding against my own.

Forcing me onto my back she straddled me staring down with a smile regarding my, what I deemed unattractive figure with such longing. I had this feeling in my chest, something I can't quite describe even after all these years, but I think it was love. Or lust, one of the two I was pretty inebriated.

Bending down she captured my lips with her own, the secret tongue piercing that drew me to her in the first place sliding around inside my mouth, moans released between her lips, her hands caressing my small breasts, pinching the nipples so tight it hurt so good. My hands found their way down her waist, toying with the button of her shorts, cupping her sex over the fabric, eliciting a gasp from her, our lips still tangled sweetly, the taste of each other the only flavor riding my tongue. I was going by what I had seen in porn, but it wasn't nearly the same. The sounds, the feelings, the moans, the smell of arousal—that's something no one ever tells you—everything just seemed perfect in that moment. One blissful moment.

Taking an extra-long hit from my vape the memory slowly fades with the mist, but the feelings remain, rooted to my very being like tattoos. She was so gorgeous and beautiful and fuck so delicious, but it was in that moment, that gloriously sensual moment, that things changed further, and there was no going back. Laying my lips over the vape inhaling so deep I nearly pass out on the university pavement as I force the mist from my lungs and the past along with it.

Checking the time again I notice I've only got about two minutes before I'm late and utterly fucked. Fruitlessly blinking the exhaustion from my heavy gaze, I heave out a breath and break off in a sprint towards my class. Dodging students and professors alike, nearly running a few down but I don't dare stop or slow my pace, knowing even though I'm leaving the campus and this identity behind tonight, right now I can't be late for this test.

Heart pumping blood faster through my chilled veins I hurry my run nearing the red brick building. Why does this campus have so many old timey brick buildings? The question goes unanswered as I manage the stairs two a time flying up three flights in record time, and completely out of breath. Landing on the class's floor I pound right into the shutting door, my foot stuck in the tiny crevice of space left.

"Technically" I wheeze to the angry-eyed professor glaring down at me, hand still gripping the metal handle. "I'm not late." His face remains stoic as always, the disappoint that I couldn't give one let alone two shits about searing into my soul. Without a word, and an exasperated sigh he nods his head inside, shutting the door with an overemphasized slam, the exam papers gripped in his other hand like deadly throwing stars, at the ready.

"Well now that Ms. Doughty has decided to join us" —his cold eyes burn my back— "we can start the test." Again, couldn't care less, just glad I wedged my foot in the door, though the bruises that'll be staring up at me once I take off my fuzzy socks and boots might say otherwise.

At the very front of the stadium sized classroom, he passes numerous test papers to the front row asking we each take one and pass it back while reminding us of the stupidest old-school rule "eyes on your own paper." Dumbass.

With me, the final one in my row to receive the test he sends us off and we begin, the space bitterly silent as minds run through complicated chemistry questions. All but one, my own. I can't help replaying the images with Georgie; her round brown eyes staring up at me between my legs, dark luscious strands tangled between my fingers, knotted in the dainty ring upon my thumb, as she tastes the most sacred parts of me. The alcohol and her expertly experienced tongue doing a great fucking job of ridding me of my nerves. Those ever increasing in volume moans of mine echoing in my mind. It has me gasping involuntarily.

"Miss, Doughty. Is there a problem?" I jolt from the sensual imagery, catching the professors disappointed gaze staring up at me as my eyes are staring off in another world, mouth open in a silent choked breath. Closing my mouth, biting back the retort resting on my tongue, I shake my head not trusting myself to not chew his head off. "Then you best get back to the exam." He glances down at his watch, brown leather band holding securely to his wrist the automatic movement inside keeping perfect time, what a snobby asshole! "You've got forty-five minutes left in the class. If you're not finished by then I will be forced to give you a zero. Are we clear?" Clenching my hand under the desk I can feel the steam coming out of my ears.

Just as I reopen my mouth to say something indefinitely profane, a large hand with matte grey rings along the thumb and forefinger covers my lips, a deep sexy voice answering for me. "She understands professor." Side eyeing the white knight I didn't want he releases my lips directing my gaze back to my own test behind large dorky glasses. But sitting atop his fine nose, somewhat hiding his stormy grey eyes they don't look all that dorky.

Rolling my eyes I try to focus on the typed-out questions, each answer struggling to come to me with the memory still playing painfully clear in my head. I bite the end of the pen poring over a question, an image of my teeth nipping at her perked-up nipples, her mouth open in a gasped moan, shines through. I shake off the alluring illusion rereading the question. I inch lower down her body leaving a trail of kisses. Massaging my temples I read every word carefully. Why can't I just fucking focus?

Finally, the question makes sense, and the answer is in sight typed out in black lettering. Glancing down to the options I squeeze my thighs together as I remember teasing her clit with my tongue, my fingers working her into a frenzy, her arousal on my lips, my fingers wet from her dripping cunt. I can feel my cheeks getting hot and pink, as I stare more determined down at the questions. Focus damn it!

Pounding my head in silently in the cubicle of a desk, I've crammed myself into, I scribble down rushed answers that I'm pretty sure are right. Glancing back up at the large clock sitting over the chalk boards, I told you it was an old timey building I feel my heart thump thump thumping harder, faster with each ticking second. I have exactly five minutes to answer seventy-five remaining questions, I'm fucked.

Gritting my teeth I haphazardly answer the last few, sniffling back my frustration as single tears roll down my heated cheeks, that too know I'm going to fail. A hand identical to the one that silenced me slowly drifts into view of my paper, pen working hurriedly, filling in a few of the empty slots. Stunned I look to the man as his grey eyes drift from his own paper to mine, occasionally glancing to the professor. I bite back a smile seeing the unwanted white knight once again save me. Our hands quickly trailing over the paper filling in bubble after bubble the tick tick of the second hand pounding in time with the rapid thump thump thumping of my heart.

With only about a minute left and ten questions to fill in he reaches over to fill in another bubble when I lay my hand on top of his, the significantly smaller fingers caressing his large, bruised knuckles. They don't look fresh, but they must have been put there quite recently from their red-pinkish, purple-yellow color. He looks up, catching my eye as I smile slowly pushing him back to his spot. He nods in understanding as I glance down to the professor and notice his head hung working on grading a few of our other assignments. Wiping back the remnants of my tears, back of the pen once again bit between my lips, my mind clear enough to focus I fill out the last few questions for once absolutely sure of the answers.

A minute later the clock strikes 1:30 PM signaling the end of the class and the end of the semester. Gradually everyone gathers their bags, books, papers, flying down the rows and out the door, depositing their exams in the bin marked Exams. With a bit more pep in my step I lay mine down scurrying out the door ready for freedom from this hellish nightmare of a school.

Chapter 5: 𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘉𝘰𝘺

It's been a few days in this shabby establishment they dare to label a university and still no sign of my competition. No indications they're even here. For all I know they've moved on already only leaving me more wanting. I checked the local news sites before striding into the random classroom, just had to pick the one taking a test didn't I, though nothing new caught my eye.

But my luck hasn't been all bad, at least I've found my next victim—my bloodlust goes both ways, I kill hard, but I fuck harder if only to somewhat satiate it. And this one nowhere near deserves death but the overwhelming torment of a deep, hard fuck.

She stumbled into the place smelling of cherries, and now I desperately want a taste. I lick my lips as the delicious scent fills me so deep, the feeling of her soft skin caressing my bruises, fresh, touch lingering like a spirit. Didn't even notice I had those but killing people isn't a clean sport, blood and bruises happen. Her eyes, big and dark brown, looked to me with equal amounts of annoyance and gratitude. If I had any ability to love in my blackened heart, it might have happened just there, but I don't so clearly that's an impossibility.

She was a vision, a dark, sexy vision with those long midnight strands save for one silver streak falling over the left side of her face. I all but held myself back from tucking it behind her triple pierced ears.

I think back to a minute ago, when her eyes kept wandering, face flush and legs shut tight trying to stop the incessant throbbing in her sex. It was easy to tell she was getting wet from the memory that wouldn't allow her to focus. I clench my hands into fists, playing with the switch blade nestled deep in my tan corduroys, I want to be inside her head, plague her with memories that keep her mind reeling, heart pounding, needy little cunt wet and ready. Ultimately be the only source of her arousal.

I can only imagine what it would be like to feel that tight pussy grinding over my dick, my beringed fingers digging into her skin as she's riding me, clawing at the skin with her black manicure, gasping and panting till we were both fucking spent. For now.

The fantasy of her flawlessly naked body on top of me, taking control gets me hard. I wonder if she has any ink. Even if her skin lays bare, I can hardly wait to mark it with my teeth, my hands, my tongue and the deepest fucking tattoos.

Walking down the steps, secretly readjusting myself, I hurry out into the quad in search of her, my little Darkside. She's mine, at least for tonight and I intend to make sure she fucking knows it, no matter how much it hurts.