The Alley
The sound of my leather gloves gripping my steering wheel fills the interior of my car, breaking the silence of being alone. Watching . I am parked just far enough to be out of Thalia’s view, but close enough that I can get a perfect view of her.
My car sits on the curb in front of another bar across from The Neon Rose Lounge, situated between two cabs.
I move my hood up around my head and hide in the shadows.
The street lights bounce off the pavement, reflecting on the smooth surface.
Inside my car is silence. All of my attention is on the woman I can’t get enough of.
As expected, Thalia is working. Knowing exactly where she is and what she is doing at this very moment fills me with a sense of relief.
Another squeaking sound of the leather permeates the front end of the car as I shift in my black leather seat when I see her.
Her bright red hair stands out in contrast to her white T-shirt.
Who knew a simple item of clothing would look so fucking perfect on her?
The loose-fitting fabric hugs her tits in just the right way.
The cropped hem exposes her pale flat stomach, showing the sunflower tattoo peeking out from her jeans.
I would love to run my tongue down the length of the stem along her rib cage.
On anyone else, a cropped T-shirt isn't anything special, but when Thalia wears one, it’s fucking amazing.
Her body is perfection, much like Venus de Milo.
I would worship her body just as the Greek god Hephaestus adored Aphrodite.
Oh, how I would love to slide my hands up the space between the fabric and her skin.
I look hard at her figure while I bite my lower lip as it lifts just slightly as she reaches for one of the liquor bottles on the top shelf.
Her hands grip the silver cocktail mixer as she pours liquid into the short whiskey glass.
She shoots the customer a smile and slides the glass in front of him.
The corners of my mouth move up just seeing her smile.
I could watch her all day. His tattooed covered hand reaches for the glass with his fingers grazing over the top of her hand.
The way he makes her jump makes me sit up in my seat, and I watch this asshole closer.
His long, dark hair is pulled up away from his face and off his shoulders.
His sad excuse of tattoos looks like black blobs on his tanned neck.
I’ve seen this guy come in before. Every Friday, as I’ve driven past the bar, I noticed he sits in front of Thalia and asks for the same drink.
Normally, he’s just full of one-liners and uncomfortable stares.
Today, he went too fucking far. He stares closely at Thalia with his mouth wide open.
His jaw almost hit the floor like one of those fucking cartoon characters, all while turning his head and following her as she moves to the other end of the bar.
My hands grip the steering wheel tightly, making my fingers inside my gloves tense up.
I can feel my blood start to boil, and my mind goes dark.
I wait…
He comes out of the bar shortly after she denies him. His disappointment is short-lived when he reaches into his pocket and grabs his phone. The smug bastard plasters a cocky smile on his face. He’s acting like he didn’t just try to touch what isn’t his.
My eyes trail him as he continues walking down the empty sidewalk.
Shit . The cold air hits my face as I step out of my car.
My shoes splash in the nearby puddles, the once brick streets long gone, erased with asphalt.
He continues to move at what I assume to be his normal pace.
Why the fuck does he think he could touch her?
My mind is dark, and all I can feel is anger and hate.
I follow behind him, far enough that he can’t hear my steps against the wet concrete.
“Hey, baby,” the fucker says, with his phone plastered to the side of his face.
“Yeah, I’m just leaving work now. Don’t worry, I’ll be home soon.
” I wonder if his wife, or whoever the fuck “baby” is to him at home, knows he’s been trying to sleep with the bartender at his local bar.
Like hell you will. He hangs up and slides his phone into the large front pocket of his dark brown jacket.
I pick up my pace, now very close behind his slender form.
If he turns around now, he would see the outline of my dick in my pants.
“You work around here?” I ask from behind him with my hands in the pockets of my jacket. He stops.
“What was that?” He asks without turning around.
“I heard you on the phone. You told someone you were on your way home from work. Was it your wife?”
“Why the fuck is it any of your business?”
“You normally tell your wife you’re at work while you’re assaulting women in bars? ”
“Listen, asshole…” He turns around with one hand in his pocket and the other now clutching his phone.
His large, dark brown eyes look me up and down.
His expression is almost humorous, with his mouth open in shock as he notices my size.
The fucker has to look up at me and it makes this all the more exciting.
Within seconds, I reach my arm out and grab his ink-covered throat. His wide eyes now look like they would burst out of his sockets. I would fucking pay to see the jellied texture explode on his smug face. The image in my head paints a large smile on my face.
“You didn’t answer my question.” I drag his limp body to a nearby alley between two buildings, and I slam him against the brick siding.
I can hear him trying to catch his breath.
“Are you ready to tell me who you were talking to?” The blue hue on his lips matches the lights on the sign of the bar across the street.
“I’m waiting,” I tilt my head so that I can get a good look at him before I decide if he lives or dies, “but I’m losing my patience.” He nods his head in a panic, and I loosen my grip.
“The bartender came onto me ,” he says in between his disgusting choking sounds.
“Did she?” I tighten my grip. “Is that what you’re going to tell whoever you were talking to on the phone?
You know, from my perspective, it looked like she didn’t want anything to do with you.
We could ask her if you’d like? Or maybe we could see what the person on your phone has to say about all of this?
” I grab the phone he still has clutched in his clammy hands.
Disgusting . His eyes become swollen with tears.
That is all the response I need. With one hand, I tap on the screen with my thumb, still gripping his throat with the other.
I turn the screen towards him, allowing me to use his face to open up his phone.
“Maybe she’d like to see what kind of man you are. ”
His camera is through a ridiculously long list of apps on his phone. “Oh, there you are.” I select the icon, hit the record option, and turn it in his direction.
The echoes of his head hitting the brick wall radiate through the alley.
Hitting his head against the brick in front of me is pure justification for what he did.
His eyes go heavy, and his neck goes limp in my hand.
“It’s a pity. She has to deal with men like you.
Men who stare and try to touch her.” I slam his head into the brick once again.
The sound of his skull breaking reverberates through the small area.
I let go of his throat, and his body slides down the brick wall, leaving a trail of blood made by the crack in the back of his head.
I hit the stop record button on his phone and stare at his body slowly leaning further down the brick wall.
My eyes move from the body in front of me to the recording.
Listening to the sounds of his cranium ramming into the side of the building coincides with the echo of his body falling onto the concrete beneath him.
I throw it on his limp form when I’m done listening to the melodic sounds.
“What the fuck am I going to do with you now?” I question, crouching down, looking down at the lifeless body lying at my feet.
The handle on my switchblade feels cool in my hands as I reach into the side pocket of my pants.
This knife has been my sense of security since the city is notorious for pushy assholes.
Who knew I would be using it to make my mark?
Moving the knife between my fingers, I look down at his limp body.
“What to do with you…” I ponder, picking my front teeth with the blade.
“Oh, I know…” his hand is small in comparison to mine.
The sharp edge of the blade gent ly moves over each finger, allowing me to examine each of his fingertips.
The blade on my knife is sharp enough to make a clean cut through the tips and remove his fingerprints.
Pushing the knife through his skin is the easy part.
It takes some force, sawing through each finger, reminding me of Christmas dinner when I was a child.
Slicing my knife through butter was a satisfying notion, knowing it would be spread across the freshly baked bread sitting in front of me.
The thought of the pure taste made me salivate until I made the first satisfying bite.
Cutting through the tendons is more of a task.
The smooth slice stops once the metal hits the tissue.
I add pressure to the blade and cut through the fatty layers.
The sound of the knife scraping against the hard pavement resounds through the alley.
I find myself sitting on the wet pathway, removing the man’s appendages behind the large dark green dumpster, once again hidden in the shadows.
I store his severed fingers in the pocket of my jacket as I look over my work with full approval.
His limp body continues to fall slowly down the slippery brick building.
His body sits comfortably against the dark green dumpster.
In this position, he looks like a limp rag doll with the plastic fingers nibbled off by the family dog.
Next, I remove the hair tie that is holding his long, dark brown, and now bloody hair.
With his blood-caked hair plastered to the side of his face, he’ll no longer need this.
I place it in my pocket next to the ten unattached fingers.
His hair falls, now covering his shoulders.
His eyes are barely open and vacant. With his empty stare, he looks towards the wall of the other building that stands just a few feet away.
“I couldn’t stand the way you stared at her,” I whisper close to the dead man in front of me.
Moving my knife in between my fingers, I lean in closer, my nose almost touching his.
My knife goes into his eye socket so easily.
I move it around, creating a tiny slit, making the removal easier.
Using my blade, I carefully remove the other eye.
His dark brown orbs come out so easily, reminding me of removing a soft-boiled egg from the hard shell.
They’re small in my hand and have an awkward shape.
Moving the pad of my thumb over the dark pupil.
“You know, now that I think about it, I don’t think she appreciated it either.
” His useless eyes go into the other pocket of my jacket.
I kick his boot and walk in the direction of the empty road.