Fragrant smoke clouds the air, and I touch my cock, gritting my teeth at the pain. After each kill, the need to fuck is stronger, but it’s only gotten worse since Camryn.
I can’t stop thinking about her, drawing her face over and over. I picture her like the last time I saw her, standing in the light of Jace’s open doorway right after Jace beat the shit out of some man who hurt his woman. Seeing her, in that red dress, covered in my jacket, her long black hair a mess, hanging limply over her shoulder and between her breasts, did something to me. There were dried tears on her cheek. She watched from that doorway not in disgust, but worry. She had no idea how hard my cock got wanting to kill Keith and then fuck her while he bled out on the ground. The impulse was almost too much to control, and I told her to go back inside before she saw my erection, and I pushed her against the side of her brother’s house and lifted that red dress.
I drag in another mouthful of smoke and blow it to the sky, fantasizing about the moment I lift her dress and push my dick inside her. Fuck her while she wears my jacket, smelling like me. Fuck her while I held a knife to her throat, giving her just a taste of the damage I could inflict on her. I would have, could have stifled her cries, capturing them in my mouth while she milkedmy cock. Once I was done, I would have sent her back inside to her brother, my cum dripping down her leg, hidden by her gown.
That image quickly dissipates when I remember who she is. It is why I can’t fuck her. She’s not like the women in the sex club. My depravity can’t be visible to her.
Once I was more in control, I headed back inside, avoiding the curiosity, the worry in her eyes. She can’t worry about me. The less she knows about me the better because I’m the walking dead. My life has a pattern and I need to remember who I am. A man who needs to kill to function. A man with fetishes that could kill her. A man who belongs to the darkness.
∗ The french words for ‘The owl.’
∗ Alma de Cristo, santifícame
Cuerpo de Cristo, sálvame
Sangre de Cristo, embriágame
Agua del costado de Cristo, lávame
Pasión de Cristo, confórtame
¡Oh, buen Jesús!, óyeme
Y dentro de tus llagas, escóndeme
No permitas que me aparte de Ti
Del enemigo, defiéndeme
En la hora de mi muerte, llámame
Y mándame ir a Ti
Para, con tus santos te alabe
Por los siglos de los siglos, amén
Pasión de Cristo, confórtame
¡Oh, buen Jesús!, óyeme
Y dentro de tus llagas, escóndeme
No permitas que me aparte de Ti
Del enemigo, defiéndeme
En la hora de mi muerte, llámame
Y mándame ir a Ti
Para, con tus santos te alabe
Por los siglos de los siglos, amén
Chapter 14
Dragging my ass out of bed, I stare down at my fingers, noting places where I missed his blood under my fingernails. Heading to the bathroom, I scrub, needing to remove it before I start tattooing later today. I feel all of my forty-four years this morning.
