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Cole: May 2007

She had called me, and I hadn’t spoken to her in a while. Her life has always been a little chaotic. I’ve loved and hated that about her. Something bad is always happening to Luna and part of me wants to take care of her, look after her. The other part of me wants to take her by the shoulders and give her a good, hard shake because what the fuck has she been thinking?

Luna is now sitting on my bed. The bed wasn’t made when she called me, wakening me up and making me go and pick her up from some fucking club a few towns over. I did though, of course I would. I went straight to her as quickly as I could get there.

Her voice had sounded slurred with a hint of panic.

Panic on Luna was not normal. I knew then how bad it was.

Now she’s on my bed, the bed I had been sleeping in. There are boxes everywhere, stacked and piled up around the room. I’ve been packing, I’m moving out soon. The mortgage on my flat has been approved and I’ve just got to wait for the old occupant to move out. It’s a little bit of a fixer upper but I’m excited to have my own space. Mine, no roommates or anyone else, just me.

This is my parents' home, it’s the same house I was raised in and from the way they talk, I doubt they will ever move.

Luna is in my bed.

My bed.

I can’t think like that because something bad has happened to her. I’m not used to her being so quiet. She’s trembling, there have been tears. We had to stop while driving so she could puke. I don’t know what she’s taken.

“I’ll be right back,” I tell her and exit my bedroom leaving her there but it’s only for a moment. I go to the kitchen, quietly, it's around 4am and I don't want to wake anyone. Going to the fridge I take out a bottle of water. Water, she will need water, I think. I stand in the kitchen and look around. What else? Chocolate. I go to the cupboard which has a selection of snacks, there’s not many, my mother doesn’t believe in having many sweets in the house but there is some. I take a chocolate bar and a pack of biscuits. She’ll need something in her stomach.

I stop by the bathroom on my way back to my room and grab a towel. I wet it a little and took it back to her where I found Luna sitting exactly where I left her.

“Luna,” I say quietly and as kindly as I can. She does look at me then. I hold up the stuff I’ve collected and move slowly towards the bed, sitting down in front of her. Watching me, I take the towel and show it to her, I don’t want to spook her. “I’m just going to wipe your face a little.” Luna has a little vomit and sweat coating her face. I just want to help her. I gently dab the soft towel to her face and wipe her mouth, cleaning her up as best I can. Her mascara has run down her face too. My mother will be pissed at the mess of the towels, but I don’t care about that. I can buy her some new towels as a moving out present. She’s pissed I’m moving out though, I think she hoped I’d be here forever.

Luna sits and watches me but lets me wipe up her face. I get most of the black lines off her, it’s stained her skin a little. I’m sure just water isn’t enough, but it’ll do. I was more worried about the vomit. I push her damp hair back from her head, it’s curled up and frizzy in whatever state she’s been in this evening. There’s not much I can do about the rest of her except put her in the bath, but won’t that destroy evidence? I’m sure rape victims aren’t supposed to bathe.

I want to give her a little kiss on the forehead, but I hold myself back. I am angry but I also want to protect her.

Getting up from the bed, I open the water bottle lid and hand it to her. I then, once I’m convinced, she can hold it steadily enough on her own, open the chocolate bar and give her that. First, she takes a drink, then after a moment, tries a small bite of the chocolate. She’s so fucking skinny now. And unkempt. I’m used to Luna taking care of her appearance. It looks like she’s falling apart at the seams. Something is deeply wrong with her.

I go to my wardrobe, the one that I am not taking with me since there is a built-in closet at my new flat and take out a t-shirt and a pair of shorts. I don’t have a lot out now; most things have been packed away with only enough for a few days to see me over. I have a moving van organised for the day after. The guys are helping me move in, it’s going to be a pizza and beer day.

Going back to Luna, I bring her the clothes and motion to her to change. She nods, a small smile crossing her mouth. Grateful for something to change into. I turn around and stand watch, hoping to make her feel safe as she changes.

“Cole.”

It’s the most she’s spoken since I picked her up. She sounds terrible. I turn, taking that as my cue that she is now dressed and am glad to see her in my clothes. It looks so normal, Luna in my shirt and shorts, in my bed. Something simple. I get a pang of jealousy and resentment that we should be moving in together. My flat should be our flat. I see her now, truly see her in a way I hadn’t allowed myself to for a while now.

I can’t think about her like that now, she’s tired and has been hurt. I can see the bruises shaped like finger marks on both her arms and neck. I know those marks, those bruises because that is someone who has used a lot of force to hold her still. The split lip, the bruise that is forming under her right eye. She fought back.

Not enough.

Something feels strange inside myself, and I wonder, is this what guilt feels like?

I have done that to women. I haven’t done THAT. But is it really any different? Those young women ended up dead. Luna was lucky to escape with her life. Does she feel lucky to be alive?

I don’t think I would.

Moving back to her, I don’t speak much because I will say the wrong thing and she needs a kindness here I am incapable of expressing in words. Instead. I take my duvet with its dark blue cover and wrap her up in it. Sitting down beside her, I pull her over to me and she just lets me. I manage to snuggle her up a bit, hoping that what I can’t give her with words, I can just do with being here for her.

It doesn’t take long before I hear the soft sound of her sleeping. “Silly girl,” I whisper into her hair as I just hold her. She is asleep, I hold her as tightly as I dare. Stroking my hand over her now tangled dark tresses. She’s beautiful, even when she’s a fucking mess.

I think about the women I have killed. There were five in total. Five so far. Luna is exactly the kind of girl I would take advantage of. Not sexually like she has been this evening, no, I would take advantage of the vulnerable state they are in. Drunken girls get abandoned by their friends. It’s too much trouble; it’s not worth the hassle of looking after them.

I look at Luna, how hurt she has been and realise that maybe, the way I have been killing people isn’t the best. I have been blinded by my anger. I have a need to kill, that’s always been there. My anger at women comes from my mother being too overbearing, she was always taking control and never letting me have any space to breathe. Then bitchface whose name I never acknowledge, cheated on me in our fake little stupid relationship. It hurt my pride more than anything else, so I had killed that girl, because I didn’t feel like killing my ex-girlfriend was the smartest idea.

So, I started killing other young women, vulnerable women like Luna. I stare down at the beautiful fucking mess of her as she sleeps, with her head on my lap. I stroke her hair as I think about what I’ve done and how much she would hate me for it.

We both sleep, not for long. The sun streams in the window and lights the room up. She smells bad, a stench of sour alcohol and there’s vomit mixed in too. It’s not the most attractive but I can’t help how hard I am as I wake up. Her head was still in my lap, not helping the situation, making it worse.

I know what’s just happened to her, but I can’t help but imagine her taking my cock into her mouth and the sound she’d make as she sucked me off.

Fuck…

She wakes up and I almost jump, startled from my fantasy as she speaks then, “Cole.” I try to move myself a little, she sits up thankfully as I realise that I am rock solid underneath her. “Yes, Luna?” I struggle with the words, but she doesn’t seem to notice, “You really came and got me last night?” I stare at her then, “you called.”

Tears glisten in her eyes and I’m unfortunately too horny for her to comfort her maybe the way she needs me to. She nods and pulls away, wrapping herself up tighter in my duvet. “I’m not going to ask what happened, you can tell me if you want but you don’t have to.” She doesn’t look at me. “What I am going to ask though,” I almost don’t want to say the words out loud because it’ll confirm what I’ve wondered for a while. “Is that the first time something like this has happened?” She does look at me now. Her face takes on a solemn look I rarely see, sober, “No.”

I take a deep breath in. I knew it. I want to blame her for what’s happened to her. There is some responsibility on her part here. What’s got her so fucked up she keeps getting into messes like this?

At the same time, knowing my own appetites for women and their deaths, I know that this is just how some people are. That violence and death are unavoidable. Men like to hurt women. So many male serial killers hurt women because they get their hearts broken or they have issues with their own mothers. I can tick off both of those on my own list of stupid reasons I hurt people. Female serial killers can be as bad as men, partners to their paedophile or sexually deviant boyfriends or husbands.

Other female serial killers are revenge killers. Men are traditionally family annihilators getting bored of their responsibilities; wives and children. Women kill their abusers; husbands, fathers, boyfriends. Sometimes their own mothers.

I think of Luna and how alike yet different we are. How she is a constant victim and how I am the culprit. Victim and prey. I wish then that life would be better for her, that she was more like me.

“Do you want to go to the police?” I ask, and if she does then I will take her, be there with her even if I avoid the police like the fucking plague. No one likes the police; they aren’t nicknamed pigs for no reason. I do like to keep my distance though.

“No.” Is all she says. I almost breathed a sigh of relief. I know that is selfish of me. “Why? Don’t you want the person caught?” She laughs at me then and I’m struck by the sudden change in her that I find myself smiling at her. “You honestly think if I speak to the police, that they will actually find and punish the person?” Laughing so much I can see her shoulder shake. I want to join in, but I realise that she’s not laughing because it’s funny, she believes the same as me. The police are useless. It was a ridiculous statement to make. I was trying to do the right thing, that is what people are supposed to do. Make reports of crimes to the police.

“What about the doctor?” There are complications with being raped and being female. What if she has caught something? Pregnancy? That shocks her into silence, and she stares at me a little wide eyed. She’s aware of the risks too, knowing Luna she won’t want to deal with it. I can’t force her though. “I’ll phone on Monday morning.” She talks quietly, I add, “I want you to text me on Monday morning to tell me you have an appointment.”

Staring at me, her eyes narrowing a little in annoyance. Was she lying to me or is this Luna peaking back through from the haze of what’s happened. She’s annoyed because I’ve told her to do something. That fight hasn’t left her then.

“Fine.” Is all I get but it's enough for me to be happy. “Well, if you're not going to the police or hospital then you need a shower because you fucking stink.” Her mouth widens as she looks at me, horrified that I've even suggested such a thing, “I’m going to have to change the bedsheets now.” I carry on, it’s more for her benefit, to help lighten the mood. Make her smile. I’ve achieved that because she does smile, “Fuck you! I smell like roses,” she declares, with her nose a little up in the air in pretend sophistication. “Fuck me? You smell like the shit they grow the roses in.”

That earns me an actual laugh. I’m going to kill every single person who has ever harmed her. I have a feeling I will have to add names to that list as she goes on in life.