I let her curly hair fall ringlet by ringlet through my fingers. Her breathing grows deeper as I move my lips up her neck, taking in her scent and the smooth texture of her skin under my rough hands. She whimpers and I slowly lean back so that I can look into her eyes. I smile and I can almost imagine that she smiles back. But I know she doesn’t. I know she is scared. That she wonders why this is happening. In many ways, I pity her for that, in many others I don’t care.
I let one hand trace over her slightly parted lips and the other move down her thigh to rest between her legs. I don’t plan to rape her, that, I feel would be demeaning for both of us. I just wish to enjoy another’s company.
Her eyes still stare into mine, a mixture of fear, disgust and lust. Or perhaps I just imagined the lust. Perhaps none of this was real.
Her eyes are like the deepest green ink flecked with small bits of brown. Her lips are cracked and broken though, not taken care of, her hair messy, as though it had not been brushed in a while. But none of this mattered, no, it was her eyes that held my attention, her eyes that seemed to bore right into my core and dissect it. Or maybe I just imagined that. Maybe none of this was real.
I let my knife trace itself alone her arm, beads of blood slowly begin to appear and I smile again. I run my finger along the scratch, letting the blood gather in the ridges of my finger, then lift it up to show her. She doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. Leaning forward I run the bloodied finger across her lips, leaving red lines behind, then I cut my own finger and run my blood over hers. We are connected. Then I lean forward and kiss the blood soaked lips. I can almost imagine she kisses back. Almost hear the ecstasy in her moans.
When I move away she just stares at me, frightened. It does not matter; I have grown tired of my play date anyway.
It suits, I suppose, that my last thoughts before the lethal injection were of her. My finest, victim. So, as they slid the needle into my arm and millions of people sighed with relief that they would be safe once more, they also frowned, maybe even grew a little worried, a little scared. Because, why would someone who had shown just how much they love living die with a smile on their face? Why would a serial killer die with a smile on his face?
