Chapter 9
9
Sam
Lilly sleeps often on the couch and her sleep pattern is off. I don’t need more than 4 to 5 hours of sleep and my brain is wired in such a way that I can go up to four days without sleeping, with the condition to crash and sleep for a full day after. Sometimes, I think about myself as being a phone battery. I can perform until I end up on empty.
This night is not different at all. I keep watching the cameras inside her house, the addiction to her every move my fucking downfall.
Not even after I exhausted my body, I can’t stop being curious about her and about what she’s doing.
And when I see her walking in the house with that gun stuck inside her pants, I know deep inside me that she’s afraid. I am a predator, I can recognize prey when I see it hidden in the shadows, all alone and insecure.
Tonight is no exception and I wish I could walk over there and sit with her. Promise her that I am the worst that can hide in the darkness and that I am here to protect her so that she can sleep.
I tingle with the same need that gets me when I hunt a killer.
A part of me wants that.
Lilly sleeps on her couch, she had one of her teas and she’s alone.
I can move the feed to my phone if I want to.
A part of me is tempted.
Before I can fight against it, I cross the street and slip closer to the side of her house.
Am I crazy?
I always have an end game, but now there’s nothing. Just this irrational need of being in the same room with her.
Pulling my mask over my head, I enter the house. It’s an old black ski mask, nothing special but it conceals my face. All I wear is black jeans and a t-shirt. It could be something that I would wear on a stroll.
The back door opens easy. Picking locks is a talent I picked up in this line of work. I am not proud of the fact that years ago I had to steal things to make ends meet. There is not much out there for a kid that just left the foster system and living on minimum wage and coupons was not my idea of life.
I wanted more. I wanted to live a comfortable life that allows me the time to take care of my hobby. There are not many serial killers that work three shifts at McDonald’s, those are the guys that go crazy, grab a gun and mow all the people in the store down. Animals.
People that allow their lesser impulses and desires to take over. I am no such thing. I am a fucking gentleman. I kill whom I pick, but it’s more like the Tiffany’s of killings, clean, elegant, sparkling, not like the McDonald’s of it. Sloppy, greasy and not good for you.
The door allows me to slip inside the house. Lilly needs better security. I will take care of that.
How, you moron? My inside voice asks with a laugh, half smacking my face. How will you make sure that she will be safe?
And from whom.
She’s afraid of someone or something, that is clear. Even though I don’t look great right now, being the dude that sweats with a ski mask on his face in her house, she doesn’t have anything to fear from me.
The AC is blasting. I like the cold, but she is crumpled under her comforter on the couch. Some light from the running TV shines on her face. And she has a cute face. A small nose that is covered with a sprinkle of freckles.
There is something deep inside me that wants me to use all my dark talents to make her feel safe.
Sure, I can almost imagine that fucked up conversation, “babe, no worries, I am a fucking serial killer, no I won’t allow anyone to do anything bad to you.”
Kneeling next to her, I lean my face in closer. All I do is watch.
I don’t want to touch her.
The last thing I want is to scare her. I want to be here, where she is and breathe the same freezing cold air that she is inhaling.
An herbal scent clings to her. She smells like candy and plants.
As I lean in deeper, closer, I take another breath of her.
Why is she smelling so delicious?
This should be forbidden.
In the hope that I could read her mind, I touch her hair. Just a bit, and my hands are protected by gloves.
I really hope that she won’t wake up.
Shit.
There are so many conflicts that happen just now inside me. A part of me wants to cut her open and read her secrets in her entrails, not that I would do such a dirty and disgusting thing, but I would like to know what magic is bound to her bones that makes me so fascinated by her.
I like bones. And she has probably the most pretty bones of them all.
Lilly moves, her hands grasp for the cover and I take a step back, slipping into a dark corner of the room, even if she would wake up, she won’t see me.
Why didn’t I tranquilize her?
I could slide next to her and let her sleep that way.
No, that is not what I want to do.
My dark side asks me to take what I want, and for the first time in my life I don’t know exactly what that is. It can’t be carnal lust, because I still feel deep repulsive thoughts when I think about the act of sex.
I want her. Only I don’t know how, what I want from her. Do I want to give her something?
I chew on the inside of my cheek. An old habit, there is a scar that formed inside my cheek over years and years of doing just that. I make myself bleed, but no one but me has to know when I bleed or when I hurt.
I control my own pain as I control everything else in my life.
Lilly sits up and I flatten myself fully against the wall.
Shit.
The last thing I need is for her to see me, or to fuel the fears she already has about whomever it is that she’s afraid of.
I lean against the wall as much as I can. She is up, and passes me. Her eyes are half closed and I can see she’s sleepy. She discards her skirt and blouse and stands there wearing only a pair of deep red panties as she walks up the stairs.
Am I tempted to touch her? Well, fuck no, but I want to stand at the edge of her bed and ask her to open her legs for me, and slip her fingers deep inside herself and allow me to watch her.
Lilly.
My mind wants to engulf her and take a bite from her sweetness.
After she arrives in her bedroom, I make myself on my way home. This can’t keep going like this. I need to either get her out of my system or accept my new obsession.
Not that need and want can’t take on many forms.