“You just seem… Haunted.”
The word reverberated in the back of her mind, crashing against the walls of her skull as it ached to find an escape.
She couldn't comprehend it at first. The way the bones had twisted, cleaning the meat off so swiftly, breaking with the slightest of ease. It felt so right.
Crunch.
The sound was like a breath of relief. Every worry, every heartbreaking memory of black and blue sprawled against pale, yellow skin, words of humiliation etched onto wrists- gone.
Haunted. Yes, she was haunted. Haunted by ghosts of ex-lovers who found every flaw and multiplied it. Haunted by the father who exploited her weaknesses and the mother who resented her for it. Haunted by the classmates who ridiculed the girl who could not answer the question aloud for fear of retaliation. Fear of failure. Fear of disappointment. Fear of herself.
Here, in the blackened woods where branches extended around like lightning strikes, draping over her in a loving embrace, she found peace. She was no longer powerless. No longer afraid.
She wiped the blood off her forehead, substituting the crimson liquid with mud as she dug the hole that would soon engulf the only remaining burden. Had she been better prepared, she definitely would've opted for her ragged clothes over her new attire: a sparkling blue dress that complemented her fiery red hair and low enough to hint at the perkiness of her breasts.
But then, how else would she have attracted the sniveling aristocrat that kept eying her like a wolf on the hunt for its last meal.
Despite her instincts to run, she smiled, flashing her light green eyes in his direction as an invitation.
She was no sheep.
She was a snake. A snake in disguise of a frail woman in need of a man’s touch.
But she would act a sheep, as much as it pained her to do so. Because even ‘sheep’ needed to eat.
It was easy, luring the wolf from the bar to the cab to the dimly lit hallway of her loft. She had to bite back the bile that rose at the back of her throat as she kissed him, moving her lips to the nape of his neck to nip lightly, gradually increasing the pressure so he wouldn't feel the needle breaking skin. The rush of adrenaline made it easy to move him from one corner of the loft to the other where she placed him on a prepared sheet.
There, he slept.
She watched the rise and fall of his chest, eyes ablaze with the idea that she would soon hinder that ability.
He was notorious for lurking the shadows of bars, finding girls twice shy of his age, coercing them with roofied drinks or promising a good time and delivering just the opposite. Money made it easy for his victims to keep their mouths shut. They didn't stand a chance on the stand with a well paid attorney on the opposing end.
She scoffed. Anger rose.
Anger. An emotion. She smirked, grabbing the sides of his neck as she twisted it.
Crunch.
Haunted? No.
Satisfied.
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