The Lipstick

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The girl across the room from me was beautiful. Her blonde hair was straight and gorgeous, the perfect hair that models would use to seduce the photographer and make faces at the camera. She was reading a book, her lips pouting in thought and wonder, as she was reading a horror novel I had read over and over. 

I could site the entire book in my sleep, and I shuddered when her tongue flicked out in disgust, her teeth gently biting down her red lips. I wanted to walk up to her, and put my fingers against that red, smearing it across her face, like I was ruining a beautiful painting. The fantasy vanished when a tall boy went over to her, backpack slung over his shoulder. 

He was talking to her, and the girl smiled, her red lips stretching into something wicked. I eagerly hoped she was wearing a terrible brand of lipstick, so that the red would slightly break, exposing a small flaw within that red shade. I was met with disappointment as the girl closed her mouth, getting up to leave with the boy. 

I watched her leave, and I pictured the boy kissing her, ruining that color that I wished could be mine to destroy. A text interrupted my train of thought, and I blinked back into reality when I read the message. 

Rose: Hey. Wanna hang tonight? Thinking about renting that horror movie you wanted to see the other day. I heard from my sister that Talk to Me is pretty brutal to watch.

I rolled my eyes. I did hear that movie was good, but none of the women in that film wore any shred of lipstick. It's a huge shame, since I think any of those women could make their lips blossom with red. Or perhaps a dumb bitch would be in that movie, never forgetting to apply her makeup, despite the horrible situation her and her friends are in. 

I smile in anticipation now, and text my friend back:

Dani: Hell yeah. I heard awesome shit about that one!

Rose: Cool. See you then. ;)

I picked up my purse and left the plaza. I stuffed my hands into my pockets, feeling that familiar wire that has become my go to weapon whenever I get an 'urge.' It's been a while since I had killed. Well, it's been too long since I killed a woman in a public place. 

The mall was too risky, but I couldn't help myself. That color on her lips called out to me, and before I knew it, I had wrapped the cord around her neck, and I didn't stop until she wasn't breathing. The ecstasy and excitement I felt when I smeared her lips was fucking awesome, and that feeling never left my body for weeks, proud of myself that I was never caught. 

You would think the mall would have fixed their cameras before that happened, but greedy corporations never liked to spend a single dime that wouldn't benefit them somehow. I was a bit upset that I was the cause of multiple camera setups in the mall, but oh well. Perhaps I could find another breeding ground. Parties were so damn easy to get away with. 

Go to a college party where everyone is drunk or high, and you get away with the perfect murder. I killed two girls there, and it was exquisite. They were too high to fight back, and I marveled at the news online, when male college students were suspected of murdering them. 

It was kind of a shame that women wouldn't be accused of those crimes. I find it hilarious how conspiracy theorists and true crime podcasts have been saying that 'he' is sick, that 'he' must get a thrill from killing these women. 

Yes. 'She' fucking loves it. 

I wasn't too crazy about the name though. The Lipstick Killer was so freaking lame. Like come on. They couldn't come up with a better name for me? How come serial killers more fucked up than me got cooler names? On the bright side, at least I have found women fetishizing over me online. I smiled as I remembered one comment that made me laugh on Reddit. 

mshyena789: I want to put on lipstick just for him. I want him to strangle me as he is kissing me at the same time, using his tongue to taste my red lips.

I giggle out loud, and a random couple look at me strangely. I don't pay attention to the woman. She is wearing eye liner only. I prefer my prey to have their lips painted. But only that. It tastes so much sweeter inside when they only have that. 

I am now walking through a park, killing time before it's time to head over to Rose's place. She used to wear lipstick, but she stopped once she learned about my type. It was for the best, I lost track how many times I had to compose myself around her, and she once caught me staring straight at her, but in reality, I was looking at her cherry pink lips. 

It was so hard to control my urges around her, and I sometimes would lock myself in the bathroom for hours, scrolling through images of beautiful women with painted lips. I bit down all of my nails, until I drew blood from most of them. I would have bitten off a finger, if Rose hadn't knocked on the bathroom door, asking if I was alright. 

I was terrified to open the door, but when I did, her lips were bare. Her whole face was clean, and her hair was wet. She had taken a shower, and had to wash off her makeup. I buried my face in her neck, and she hugged me back, whispering comforting words in my ear. 

She knew about my past. What I went through when I was a kid. She assumed I was thinking about that again, and I'm glad that she did. Telling her the real truth would break us forever, and I couldn't let that happen. 

I can't imagine what I would do. 

Would I kill her, even if she wasn't wearing lipstick? 

Or would I let her go, letting her turn me in?

I don't want that to happen. I can't let that happen. I want to stick around, at least a little while longer. My capture is inevitable, it's not easy for killers to stay in secret in modern times after all. 

The sky is now darkening, turning an orange before the sun sets. I have been sitting on a bench the whole time in the park, waiting for night to fall. I am reading news articles about the murders, and then I'm watching makeup tutorials of different shades of lipstick. I am always left with a tingle inside of my chest, as the women smile, slowly applying that beautiful color. 

"Wonderful day, isn't it?"

I jump, the phone slipping out of my hand. I grab it before it hits the ground. I pause the video at the same time, right on a zoom in of the woman puckering her lips at the camera. I feel a shudder rock my body, and I pray that the woman didn't spot that. 

"I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to scare you!"

Relieved, I look up to talk to her, but my vocal cords freeze up when I spot a shade of red coating her lips. She is a bit on the older side, somewhere in her 40s. I spot a wedding ring on her finger, and I suddenly feel jealous, knowing that stranger kisses that shade of red. 

"Are you alright, ma'am?"

I smile. 

"Yes. And yeah, you did scare me, but it's fine."

I put the phone back into my purse. The woman points at the bench. 

"May I?"

I nod, my eyes never leaving her lips. 

"Thank you."

She sits down on the bench. I can smell perfume wafting from her, as she tosses her hair over her shoulder. Her lips appear to glisten, and I finger the wire in my coat pocket. 

"I don't think I have ever seen you here before," she says. 

"Oh. I like to come here on the evenings. It's nice being out here in the dark, huh?"

She looks around. "Yes. You're right. It is…but I kind of stopped coming out here at night. I only do it if more people are out here. This may be inappropriate to bring up, but have you heard about the news? With the…killer?"

I shrug. "I have, but I haven't really heard much about it."

The woman looks down at her lap. "They say that this monster likes to kill women who wear lipstick. They say that he most likely sees it as a fetish thing. Isn't that awful?"

I almost snort at the killer being 'a male theory,' but I regain my composure. 

"It is. I wonder why he does it? Like my mother used to say, there are sick monsters out there."

I should have mentioned a random family member I didn't remember, but she always lingers on my mind. I bite down on my tongue, and don't stop until I draw blood. I should have known better. That woman has only been mentioned to Rose, and that is how it will remain. 

The woman was now starting to resemble my mother, and I could see it. The same hair, the same smile. The same clothes she wore. The perfume. And her lipstick. That same fucking shade. 

I lunge at her, the cord already in my hands. She lets out a cry, but doesn't scream. I wrap it around her neck, and pull. Her mouth is open, but still, she does not scream. I think it was due to shock. 

She never expected it to be me. I don't stop until she is dead. I put my head against her chest, and listen for a heartbeat. Nothing. I hear voices, and I bolt the fuck out of there. It was careless to kill her there. What if there are hidden cameras I didn't know about? Or worse, what if she had screamed?

I don't stop running until I reach a familiar apartment building. Rose's place. I check my phone, and realize that I unintentionally showed up on time. I think about leaving, telling her that something came up, but my plans are vanquished when I see her walking down the sidewalk, holding two plastic bags of food. 

She beams when she spots me. I instantly relax when I notice no makeup on her. She picks up a bag. 

"I bought your favorite sweets. I know I told you that they are bad for you, but fuck it. Today is movie night!"

She does a twirl, swinging the bags with her. A grin breaks out on my face. 

I accept whatever happens tonight. Tomorrow. Or soon. If that random attack lands my ass in jail, so be it. I will have this wonderful moment installed in my brain like a memory card, and I will never forget it. 

I pump my fists in the air. 

"Fuck yeah! Let's have our movie night!"

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This story came to mind, and I knew I had to write a sequel to The Lipstick Killer. I couldn't stop thinking about how the sequel would play out in my head, and when I came home from work, I ran to my bedroom and wrote this piece. What do you think? I'm tempted to continue this one!

Thank you for reading!

Emy Quinn