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27
COLE
The feeling is always the same at the beginning.
I’ve felt it since I was a boy. My mother used to raise rabbits in our backyard, tending to them as if she had shat them out of her cunt instead of me. When I was seven, I realized that a rabbit’s spine is as easy to break as a toothpick, and suddenly I’d found a way to make sure my mother knew who her priority was.
There’s always a tingle at the base of my spine when I find my next target. Once I know who it’s going to be, I feel an ache in my balls until I’ve followed through.
Women with pets are an easy kill to justify, and are my usual targets. How the fuck can you love a pest more than a man?
I know they mistreat their boyfriends and husbands. All of them are depraved sluts on the inside; that’s the way our society has taught them to be. They all collect little creatures that demand no respect from them, no actual hard work or validation. They require a beast that will never challenge them or require loyalty of the mind and body.
Cambria is a more difficult target in that she is a runner. She runs from responsibility. She ran away from our life together, she ran to the police when she discovered Tatiana’s shrine, and she ran away to California when her thug boyfriend decided to put his foot down.
The chase is fun, but it does get exhausting.
I need to get to the killing.
I don’t know what I ever saw in her. Her flat ass, her limp blonde hair, and her small tits were never enough for me. I used her for the entire time we were together. I used her as a fuck toy, as a maid, as a plaything.
She was like a pet, and sometimes pets get put down for their own good.
I’m sitting in my car outside of her apartment, and I can see directly inside through the bedroom window. One hand is gripping my phone as I text her, while the other is wrapped firmly around my aching, throbbing cock.
My pants are around my ankles, and I’m sitting indisposed in the driver’s side as I masturbate violently with a pair of her panties that I’d stolen from her before we were even dating. It doesn’t even feel that good.
I’d say it hurts, but that’s part of the appeal. I need to remind myself that she hurt me. I need it to hurt.
Cambria was a bad girlfriend. She was constantly leaving me alone in the house when she would go to work or have drinks with her friends, and she knew that leaving me alone with my innermost thoughts was bound to have consequences. She scolded me constantly as if she was taking on the role of being my mother, which only reinforced my contempt and hatred for her.
Sometimes when we had sex, I would imagine that I would kill her whenever I choked her. She begged for the choking like a common whore, but she complained whenever it was too rough. That took so much of the allure out of it for me
She became boring, insisting that I touch her before I fuck her, getting angry with me when I would masturbate next to her in bed.
She hated to be spanked by me, though I know she must love it when her fucking meathead boyfriend does it.
That’s all that ever matters, isn’t it? Men with better looks always get away with shit. Women change their standards for attractive men, even if they don’t want to breed with them. All they want is a good fuck.
And then there’s Cambria, who wouldn’t even let me record us during sex.
Fucking prude.
Until some guy with tattoos comes along, I guess. Then she’s working in a strip club, for fucksake.
I wasn’t ever able to see her dance, unfortunately. I would have felt the highest level of satisfaction seeing her objectify herself in front of overweight, sweaty, old married men who would likely cream their boxers before she even got her bra off. It’s a deserved fate for her since she wants to be a fucking tease so bad.
Next to me on the passenger’s side is a meat cleaver that I stole from my first job at a slaughterhouse. I’ve used it for every murder I’ve committed, even the ones who were more of a challenge to break down. I could have opted for a chainsaw for efficiency, but that’s too impersonal. It’s too quick. There’s no gravity in it.
Watching Cambria’s reaction as she sees me through her window sends that tingle into my spine again. It’s the fear in her eyes that gets me. That’s what always gets me. It doesn’t matter how much I hate them if there’s no fear in their eyes.
The first one was messy. I had no idea I was going to kill her, but she gave me no choice. I caught her looking through another man’s Facebook profile while I was home, and no matter how many times I asked nicely, she wouldn’t confess to what she was doing.
She thought I was an idiot who was going to support her fat ass while she fucked other guys all day. Too bad for her. She could have had a really nice life if she had just been honest.
The second was tricky, but I had been there before. She was a nurse that had treated me for a work injury earlier that day. She had been making eyes at me the entire time, touching my arm and flirting with me. But when I actually tried to take her on a date, she declined with scorn in her eyes.
I found her walking out to her car later that night and smashed an empty vodka bottle over her head.
