I haven't given up, Mara. 

I just needed some time after screwing things up again. You don't know how agitating it is to keep getting so close, yet failing. I'm frustrated beyond belief and I even had to strangle my neighbor's cat yesterday just for a release. Your father's mashed potato brain was working in my favor on Saturday when I lured him away as bait. One moment he was eating up my lies, thinking I was your imbecile ex-boyfriend, Josh, and the next moment, his memory was back to reality. 

We tussled, and I have to admit that for an older, senile man, he's strong like an ox, but I'm stronger. My apologies for roughing him up as badly as I did, but it was necessary. He began shouting for help and I couldn't have him drawing attention, could I? 

So, really, it's his own fault. 

If he had listened to me when I told him to shut the fuck up, he wouldn't have bruised ribs right now or a broken nose.

None of it gave me pleasure.

I'm a lot of sick things, Mara, but I do not take pride in beating the elderly. Especially one who can barely remember his name or if he washed his hands after taking a piss. 

One thing you can count on, though, is that I will never stop trying to kill you. I'm in too deep, and it has never taken me this long to successfully hunt my prey. My therapist thinks it's because you scare me and I have a fear of commitment. Not that I've told Gwen the truth about my darkness or what my plans are for you. She thinks you're my girlfriend because that's what I've led her to believe. I'm not an idiot, Mara. I would never tell anyone about my secret hobby. Not even someone bound by HIPAA laws. Instead, I tell Gwen half-truths about us—about you. 

Because even someone like me needs someone to talk to sometimes, and there aren't enough cats in the world for me to snap.

I just have to be extra careful about what I say or else she could report me to the cops, and well, I don't want that. I can't kill you from jail, can I? So I'd like to stay out of the slammer for as long as possible, and after I kill you, I'm going to skip town. San Francisco has been fun, but it's getting too sketchy, and you can only leave a trail of bodies for so long before some Sherlock Holmes connects the dots, and they lead back to me.

Which is why I've chosen tonight as my final attempt. I don't know why I've never considered killing you at Penthouse before. It will be so easy as you exit from the back entrance to go home. People will think you got mugged again, which is perfect for me. My one last perfect kill before I leave this shithole city. 

And this time, I don't give a single fuck about obstacles. I will slaughter you and anyone else who gets in my way if I have to.

I can't take it anymore.

I need you dead to rid myself of this albatross you've created around my neck. Hell, if it ends up being messy, so be it. At this point, I don't care if I get caught anymore as long as I leave you dead. I just want it done so your whore-self no longer haunts me with those whore legs, and that whore mouth, which finally chose old over young.

It's fucking pathetic.

You're pathetic.

I am so ready for this to be over, and I hope you are, too.

And I love how oblivious you are that I'm wading in the crowd, watching you dance in your gauzy ethereal dress, with a crown made of Baby's Breath, and shimmery white makeup that makes you look otherworldly. The Lord of the Rings theme tonight is ridiculous, but you are so stunning and shine as bright as the sun breaking through silver clouds on a rainy day. It's almost difficult to navigate the sea of swaying bodies with how aroused I am just watching you. Do you know how difficult it is to walk with a bulge of this size?

Why do I allow you to do this to me? To affect me this way when I know you're just another whore spreading your legs for some old rich man.

It's ridiculous. I had such high hopes for you, but I should have known you were just like any other tramp judging by the company you keep. I follow your friends sometimes, too. Did you know that? I like doing my homework, which often involves looking into who might be collateral damage. Your friend Anika is probably the most normal one in the group with her going to med school and all. I followed her around the hospital one day while she was interning, and she's going to make one hell of a doctor, which begs me to wonder why someone as intelligent as her would give you the time of day. You're a fucking mess, Mara!

Delilah doesn't surprise me, though. She's the typical influencer bimbo with her face stuck in her phone, and zero substance when she opens her mouth. But I have to admit it tickles me how unapologetically free she is with her sexuality, yet hasn't told either of you or anyone about her secret fetish of participating in female orgies. Or how she likes to get railed by men she meets on dating apps. 

I almost responded to her one night when we matched on Tinder.

Did you know that?

It was tempting, but she's an even bigger whore than you, Mara, and well, I don't like whores.

And then we have Keira... Keira, Keira, Keira. Tisk, tisk. She is not your real friend, Mara. She's a snake in the grass. Smiling at you one moment, then going behind your back to flirt with Josh, and that lovely lad, Kyle. It was a shock to watch her do it. I followed her to a bar one time, which Josh happened to be at with his friends. When they spotted each other, they chatted amicably, and I was angry for you. 

The woman has no loyalty. 

Even a blind person could see the flirty body language. However, I'm happy to report that it was one-sided. Josh was surprisingly polite, but Keira is a desperate little cunt, and allowed the wine to loosen her tongue. She wants what you have, Mara, and that's the worst kind of friend. 

Did you know she messaged Kyle the day after your dad was found and told him that her DMs are open if he ever needs someone to talk to about your breakup? 

What a little whore.

Yet, I don't want to kill her or your other friends. I want to kill you. 

And damn it, I took my eyes off you for one second and now you're not dancing on your platform anymore! I hate this club, and I hate these people. Pushing through them is like pushing through a mosh pit of shit. It's their drunkenness, and dry humping that infuriates me. This is not dancing. This is a sex club with clothes on, and some people are blasted out of their minds on drugs. The owner of Penthouse turns a blind eye because one of his top guests is Augusta Abramovitz, the richest woman in San Francisco, and her lover is part of the damn Mexican cartel. 

It makes me sick.

All of them make me sick, and I hate this place.

But then again, if this shithole didn't exist, I never would have met you, Mara.

That night changed me.

You changed me.

I never, ever, show my true face to someone I want to kill, but you've seen my face, Mara. You've felt my breath on your ear with how close I've allowed you to be in my proximity.

I let you in.

And now I need to pluck you out.

I continue pushing through the crowd, and there you are! At the bar talking to your brother, and I must admit I respect the guy. You see, he and I aren't so different, Mara. I kill women because I have this unbearable itch that grows and grows until I can't take it anymore and need to alleviate the desire. Your brother, on the other hand, kills because he thinks he's a superhero—taking out the scum of the earth that he feels needs to be eliminated. 

But who has the right to determine who is good and who is bad?

Certainly not me, and certainly not him. Yet, we play with people's lives anyway. 

What truly makes this poetic is I fit the bill for someone he should kill, and I'm right under his nose, a lurking danger, but he can't save you from me. One day he will look back on tonight, connect all the dots that were there, and hate himself for not seeing them sooner. For not protecting you.

I saunter up to the bar, drenched in other people's sweat, and stand next to you, but you have no idea. You've been dancing all night yet still smell sweet like the perfume you wear. The strobe lights hit your gauzy dress just right, allowing me to see the silhouette of your ballerina curves. I don't think you're wearing a bra, but perhaps pasties. Otherwise, I'd see your brown areolas through the dress. The sight of your naked breasts is still imprinted on my mind from the times I've seen them.  Nipples are like a box of chocolate. You never know what you're going to get, but yours are perfect. They're not too long or short. Instead, they're the perfect hard little pebbles surrounded by a circle of brown flesh. 

Now I'm getting too worked up. So, I guzzle down the water your brother hands me and take deep breaths. I wish I could strangle you right now, and I flex my fingers, but fight the urge to reach out. Instead, I graze your ass with my hip to kill the intrusive thoughts. I've never forced myself on a woman before killing her. Did you know that? I'm a damn gentleman in that sense, but I'm contemplating bending my rules, for you, Mara. Just a little taste before you leave this earth and I leave town.

"Heading out?" your brother says.

"Yeah, but I'm putting in my resignation, first," you reply.

"Good." He reaches across the bar and squeezes your hand. "You're too good for this place, Mara, and I know there's nothing I can do to change your mind about moving in with Enzo, just... don't forget who you are."

"I won't."

"I mean it, Mar. Don't set your dreams aside for Enzo's attractive life of luxury and jet-setting You're more than someone's arm candy."

"I know that."

"I just worry—"

"I know, Lucas," you cut him off. "But I'm a big girl, and I know what I'm doing." 

"Alright." He pulls his hand away and drums the bar top with the tips of his fingers. "I gotta get back to work, but I love you, and whatever happens, I will always want the best for you and protect you. So if you need anything—"

"I know where to find you," you say, then bounce onto your tiptoes and kiss his forehead. "See ya later, booger-face." 

It's endearing—the sibling love and I look forward to how hard your brother will cry when he's alerted that your body was found in the alleyway. I look forward to watching him from the shadows as he cradles your lifeless carcass, and feels helpless. He'll want justice. Revenge. He'll want to hunt me, but I'll be gone in a blink.

You make your way through the double doors that lead to the infamous hallway with private rooms but dead ends into the management office and employee locker room. I can't go back there, so I go outside to meet you at the back entrance. About thirty minutes pass, and it's almost one AM when you finally exit the back door. Amber light spills into the dark alleyway, and there's a huge triumphant smile on your face. You're ready for this next chapter of you and the old man against the world.

It's just too bad you crossed paths with me first.

"Hey. Do you have a light?" I ask, and your gaze snaps to me. 

You had no idea someone was standing here in the dark. The unease is written all over your face as you adjust the gym bag over your shoulder and the metal door slams shut behind you. You flinch and look around, but it's just the two of us in the intimate emptiness of these back alley shadows. 

No one is coming to your rescue, Mara.

"Sorry. I don't smoke." You force a smile and keep walking.

"Good. It's a dirty habit, and you're already a dirty slut."

"Excuse me?" 

Your gorgeous scream fills the desolate night when I lunge.