Page 29

Cole: April 2019

I don’t want to go but somehow, it’s become my Friday night routine. Every single fucking week I am summoned and dragged to her house. The house she shares with him.

I don’t know how this has become my life, I’d rather spend the time at home, alone especially after a long fucking week. Unlike her whose job is piss easy and saunters around an office all week long. Tossing her hair and having life handed to her. I have a job where I must do things. To act and manage and keep a track of what’s going on moment to moment.

I am tired and I am bored, and I do not kill enough.

I haven’t slept properly in years. My sleep or lack of, is going to cause a psychotic break at this rate. I’ve been reading up on long term sleep loss and deprivation, it's not good. My already fragile hold on sanity is fucking slipping. It takes all my effort and concentration to keep myself together, to shut my mouth and not fucking snap at anyone who speaks to me.

She won’t fucking stop, like a dog with a fucking bone, she has sunk her teeth in and won’t let go of me.

Once she was my everything, my hope in life and now, I do not understand what she sees in him, and it makes me sick to my stomach. It makes me hate her. So much so I have just thought about killing her, in fact, that’s all my fantasies have been about this past week.

Maybe that’s how I know my sanity, this mask is finally slipping and is about to fall off. My angel, my little babydoll has turned into the victim of my most depraved, erotic, murderous fantasies.

Now, when I think about fucking her, I don't just think about how my cock would feel stuffed deep inside of her dripping wet cunt. Oh no, I think of strangling the life out of her. Not with her permission, without, against her wishes. I think about not one hand but wrapping both around her throat and making her quiet, making her scared.

I have been grabbing my dick and wanking so hard to the thought of the fear in her eyes as I fuck her cunt hard and raw. Feeling her juices all over my balls and thighs, she’s leaking all over the bed as I strangle her.

I fuck her harder as I watch the light leave her eyes, as she takes her last breaths, finally fucking quiet. I think about the claw marks she’ll make on my wrists as I do. Like that first red headed bitch-slut-fucking whore I killed all those years ago. My first.

It’s the same marks I've seen on his wrists and on his neck and face from time to time too.

Mine, she’s supposed to be mine and if I can’t have her, then he certainly can’t. Not anymore. I also think about stabbing her. Over and over. Again, and again. It’s such a sexual act, stabbing, the penetration, the leaking of blood.

Ping.

Ping.

PING!

Luna: You’re coming right? You HAVE TOO. I said so!!!

I want to stab her until she stops talking AND ASKING THINGS OF ME. The fucking selfishness and entitlement of her. She’s with him and she wants me there. For what? Her fucking entertainment? To make her feel better?

I take three deep breaths in through the nose and out through my mouth before I reply.

Me: Fine.

Me: I’ll be there.

Me: But only for a short while

Luna: Awesome! I can’t wait to see you!

She’s always a different person when she gets what she wants.

I need to kill someone. I don’t even have anyone lined up currently. I’ve been too distracted by this fucking… I can’t call her names, no matter how much I’ve begun to hate her and her presence. I hate her voice; everything is grating away at my fragile self and what I have left. It’s not much and it’s hanging on by a thread.

I think I made the decision then to do what I should have done all those years ago. Kill Luna. She needs to go; she complicates my life too much and I let these little moments cloud my normally impeccable judgement. It’s all make believe, I don’t feel things, I don’t love her… I can’t. She has gotten under my skin and taken root; she has grown from a part of me, and I haven’t been able to cut her out. I will need to do so in a more permanent way.

How to kill her and get rid of the body? She will be noticed; she may not be missed though.

Graham doesn’t really care about her. He will however be even more insufferable if she goes missing. I can see him now, all the fake tears and crying over her, garnering sympathy. It might still be worth it.

Ping

I’m going to throw my phone out of the fucking window.

I silence the chat and turn back to work; I can lose myself a little in numbers and sequences of the figures I need to look over. That's to keep my brain calm, hopefully until I can leave, go home and get ready to go back out again.

Tonight, what I want to do is go home, order a takeout, take off my clothes and lay in my bed and watch some shite all night. Simple. Maybe, take a long bath and read. Wank. A lot. Take the weekend, alone, to figure out my next kill and prepare.

Simple, easy and if I didn’t have a disguise to keep up, that is exactly what I would be doing.

I can do that all day tomorrow I reason with myself. All day tomorrow.

I go home, take a quick shower which I hate doing. I dress casually, t-shirt, jeans and trainers. I see the pair of Converse I keep in my closet, the one with Luna’s blood-stained heart she drew. It’s her own blood; from an accident she had with a pink pen knife she had been showing off with. She had drawn the little heart on my trainer, it’s still there. I had then taken the knife, a small but sharp thing, and cut my own palm before dipping a finger into the wound, coating it with blood and drawing my own poor attempt at a heart on her trainer.

I don’t know if she still has her matching pair. She’s always talking about how she never keeps anything and just throws everything out. It hurts that Luna doesn’t have that pair anymore, it was a nice memory. Something weird and morbid that we shared. I thought it was a sign that we were supposed to be together. She was just a fucking weird child who grew into a cunt of an adult.

How far we have drifted apart.

I get myself organised and leave the flat. I take a lingering look back at my sofa, which aside from my bed is the comfiest fucking thing in existence and my TV, just sitting there lonely by itself. I don’t want to go but I force my feet to move.

I am going to enjoy killing her.

She’s been drinking. That’s been happening more often. Luna and alcohol are not a great mix, despite what everyone always says. Everyone, the preverbal we, excluding myself, love seeing Luna drunk. Frankie is giving her alcohol and giggling away with her. The two of them have been friends for a long time. Luna has put a purple sparkly kids tiara on his head, setting off the pale brown of his short, cropped hair. They are chatting about unicorns of all fucking, stupid things. This is what I must put up with.

I am sitting there, across from her at the dining table. It’s a nice solid oak table, a perfect one for families. Not that I’d consider those two a family, of course Graham sits himself at the head of the table. His giant hulking presence is meant to be intimidating. I can see it, but I don’t feel it.

He’s physically bigger than me even if I have a few inches in height above him. You wouldn’t tell the way he carries himself. He weighs more than I do too. I’ve always been slim, he’s wide and broad in the shoulders. Dark haired and dark eyed, the complete opposite to me.

I watch him, he watches me. We don’t speak but he’s obviously desperate to say something. The man is so egotistical but not very smart. He’s the kind who believes that everything he says is right and deeply intelligent, that people should listen to him. I personally think all he does is talk shite.

Luna is leaning across the table towards Frankie passing back and forth glitter that they are both playing with. Fucking kids. They are having a great time though. I’m miserable and trying hard not to take in Luna’s scent, because her perfume reminds me of home. It’s never been a physical place but something that exists when we are together. Her scent; from her perfume to whatever she’s washed her hair with, that smell of her, is a visceral reminder of home. Our home, that place that belongs to us and only us.

I place my hand across my mouth and nose, aiming for pensiveness. I probably look like I’m disgusted by the drunken mess in front of me. She’s beautiful but her weight has been creeping up. There’s nothing wrong with that but as far as I’ve known, when her weight swings dramatically from too thin or too big, something is deeply wrong with her.

That little spark has been dimming a lot over the years, specifically the years with him. I noticed it, I hate them both for it. One of the reasons I can’t stand being around them is he always talks so much shit about her, and in front of her. I don’t understand why she takes it.

Right on queue he makes one of many remarks about her, “Jesus Lu, you need to slow down, what a fucking waste of space.” I bite my tongue to not reply, to not throw my fist out towards his face.

Fucking cunt.

I want to hit him so badly. Especially with a hammer, or an axe.

I know she owns a pink hammer, I don’t know where it is. I’m sure if I asked her for it, she would go and get it for me. There are plenty of potential weapons right here though. The wall behind him, white tiled like the floor, has two rails filled with kitchen utensils just hanging out on display.

That surprises me, Luna is fussy about dust and yet her tools for cooking are left sitting out like that. Still, there’s a particularly heavy looking metal spoon. I wonder if I could beat him to death with it.

I go back to watching her instead, wanting her to fight back to tell him to fuck off. She doesn’t, just shrugs and drinks more. In front of her is a unicorn bottle of gin, she’s been showing off the shimmering glitter in the bottle. She’s been mixing it with lemonade and passing it back and forth between Frankie and herself. Luna is drinking more than normal though.

“I wonder who the Ripper is?” Asks Rebecca and throws us into another discussion about the local serial killer, my colleague of sorts I suppose. Everyone has conspiracy theories over who it is. Except Luna, not tonight, she’d normally get involved but she’s quiet. So quiet tonight. I had been expecting her to be loud and talk a lot like normal but no, she’s keeping it all in. There’s something a little vacant in her eyes and again I wonder, what the fuck is going on here?

I look at Graham again, barely containing my rage.

He looks back at Luna, then to me, raises his own drink to his lips and smiles at me before drinking. It’s not lost on me how he’s always plying her with alcohol yet publicly berates her for it and never drinks any himself. Water, he only ever drinks water. Plain water too, the psychopath.

I do want to kill her. At the same time, I also want to go upstairs, pack her bags and physically pick her up and carry her out of this house. I want to take her home with me.

“Well, they don’t seem to murder alcoholic sluts, so you should be safe Lu!” Everything he says about her is supposed to be a joke, designed intentionally to make the company laugh at her. Oh, he’s so funny. It’s always an attack though, a reminder that she is the court jester, there to be laughed at, never with.

I hate him for what he has reduced her to.

She doesn’t look up at him as she says softly, “No, but a lot of the victims have been fit, healthy men… so you won’t be.” Silence as he slams his glass down on the table. “I won’t be what?” He demands, his voice arrogant with the entitlement of a man who thinks he's better than everyone else. “Safe,” is the quiet response that comes from my Luna, with a little ghost of a smile.

The air is tense suddenly and it’s not unusual for there to be extremely awkward discussions between them. Usually, it's entertaining but there is a soft malice to her tonight. She is drunk but there’s also something else and this intrigues me. Maybe that fire hasn’t gone out in her, maybe it’s just been hidden.

So of course, I do what I do best and actively stir the pot, “Well, I’m just waiting for the call asking for help to hide your body” I say loudly and brightly, smiling as I direct that towards Graham. He is livid, the anger is palatable, I can almost taste his annoyance with her and me.

I wait to hear what he has to say when instead, Luna speaks again, “You won’t ever get that call. I wouldn’t need any help to hide a body.” She looks right at me, eyes clear and more dead than I’ve ever noticed in her before. There’s something intensely creepy about it. A flashback to what I remember about her in the early days. Instead of her pupils dilating, they shrink. It’s something I noticed a long time ago that happens with her, but I’ve never quite understood what it means. Huh. She stares at me for a few moments before turning her attention to Graham. What was intense towards me is brimming with hatred when she turns it to him.

Oh, he’s fucked.

Something tingles across my spine. It feels like ice as it walks down my back, crawling along the base of my neck. I watch even him look down; he is bowing down to her dominance in this exchange. At that moment I do wonder. Does she mean it? Is she capable of that? Everyone has always talked about her in that way. There’s something wrong with her. That’s what so many people I’ve known have said about her over the years.

Interesting…

Maybe she is still my Sundrop after all.

Rebecca tries to get the conversation back on track and reduce the tension a bit, talking about the latest Ripper victim. I can hear her talking, something about how the police believe he may have been a paedophile. She’s saying that maybe he deserved what happened to him. That’s interesting too, because no pattern has ever been established from the Ripper’s victims.

With my insomnia, I haven’t been paying much attention to the media and honestly, I have nothing to fear regarding another serial killer. I’ve never cared much about them or being a possible victim. I don’t get scared in that way. It’s almost inconceivable that I’d be picked and even if I was, I’d never be harmed. No one could overpower me.

It's an absurd notion I don’t entertain.

However, if what Rebecca said is true, then it is something for me to investigate. For such a boring fucking week, for not wanting to be here tonight, it’s been rather entertaining and useful.

“Don’t you think it’s odd though, how they went years killing someone regularly and then it kinda just stopped for a while, what does that mean?”

Usually, it's because they have been incarcerated for something else, or they have moved away, then moved back. I’ve been wondering this myself. The level of self-control needed to just stop like that… For any amount of time, I almost envy their self-control. I must kill regularly or else I would descend into madness.

After a while, the tension has died down to normal levels, I add in, “What are you doing to her?” I ask because I’m fucking fed up with it. “The fuck do you mean, what am I doing to her?” He sighs with faked indignation as he usually does, feigning disapproval of my insinuation.

In response, he throws his hand up at the right-hand side of her face. I almost threw out my fist towards him then. However, something strange happens. Luna doesn’t react, doesn’t even flinch. Slowly, enraged, she turns towards him. That stare could turn a man to stone.

“See, I don’t hit her” And he puts his hand down, going back to his own drink.

It’s that lack of motion that I know will condemn her to everyone if she ever speaks out. You see, she didn’t react. Even though Luna has always been the most reactive person I’ve known. I expected her at the very least to flinch, I expected to see some evidence of him hurting her. She has always been silent but explosive in those moments.

I remember one time she had thrown something at him, it made me jump. My arse literally lifted from the sofa of theirs I was sitting on at the time.

Not speaking, she stares at him and snarls, it’s terrifying. “See, it’s me you should feel sorry for, I’m the one with a wild fucking animal.” She just glares at him with absolute hatred in her eyes. So much hate for someone she is supposed to be in love with. This is what confuses me about love and makes me question whether it’s real.

Something horrible comes to mind as I wonder, is it possible to have been hit so much that you stop flinching? You just expect and accept it?

She catches me when I’m on my way back from the bathroom. It’s too domestic a thing to do, using her bathroom like that. I can’t cope with the simple things because my brain takes in something like a toilet break and makes me think about sharing a bathroom with her. That this is our home and our evening together, a boring Friday night for just the two of us.

I think she likes being around other people though, going out and I don’t. I don’t want to trap her, keep her locked up in a house. Stopping her from doing the things she enjoys.

The hall is dark, “You’re the only thing I have to look forward to each week, seeing you helps me make it through. Knowing I'll see you, even just for a little while.” Well, fuck me. That explains the desperation with all the begging. “I miss you when you don't turn up.”

I honestly didn’t think she had even noticed if I wasn’t there.

FUCK ME, what am I supposed to say to that?

The question is on the tip of my tongue. I feel like I am walking on eggshells with her though, I may spook her if I push too far. I don’t feel like there is any room to ask what I’ve been hinting at for so long.

Why are you with him? Why stay? What do you see in him?

Why are you not with me?

For her, I resolve to try to be here more often. Every week if I can.

What is going on though? I wish she would just tell me what the matter is. I do notice though, that she does not touch me. Still, she reaches for me but doesn’t make contact. There seems to be a physical wall between us, and I feel it's Graham. He's doing this. She still wants me. He's pushing her away from me, getting in between us. I won't let him. ?