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I followed the sound, always so ensnared from the first breathtaking note.
I wander for what feels like miles. At first, I did so quietly, hoping to remain quiet and unseen, then I’d pick up the pace. I’d trot down the hall with a heart pounding in anticipation.
She was supposed to look up and smile sweetly at me. Invite me inside so I could sit and listen, like a private concert just for me.
…instead there was blood. Everywhere.
Seeping into the floors. Spreading far and wide ’til it reached my feet.
And tears. Sobbing.
I didn’t give any thought to what I did. I stepped into the puddle of blood, and I was never the same…
The psychiatrists that would later treat me would claim it’s what altered my behaviors for the duration of my adolescence into adulthood. I would say it is an accurate assessment.
At any given point in time, I range from fully detached and far removed to deeply obsessed.
I can feel it taking over me. Even more powerful than my bloodlust. Urges I don’t know what to do with or how to process.
I didn’t know then. I don’t know now.
Lyra returns home. I’m pulled from my dark headspace by the beep of my tracker app. I look up and see the light blink on in her bedroom. She doesn’t immediately close the curtains. Only after she takes off her earrings and pulls open her dresser drawer does she remember to pull them shut.
I resort to the cameras I’ve installed in her room and the breath stalls in my lungs. She’s taken off the blood-red velvet crop top she was wearing and roams her private space topless. Clueless that as she grabs her toiletry items and moves into her bathroom, I’m watching.
The sound of streaming water echoes through my phone, though the angle from which the camera films only catches a distant shot of her.
I bite down hard on my jaw and shut out the dark impulse begging to be freed.
I’m not sure how much longer I can go on.
How much more I can resist before introducing my little lamb to the monster inside the man…
13Kaden
Bad Guy - Billie Eilish
After her shower, Lyra emerges in her bedroom in a towel. Steam clouds around her and her dark complexion glistens with beads of water.
If only the camera could zoom in further. If only it could capture each bead as it trickles down the cleft of her cleavage.
It should feel wrong that I’m watching her. Invading her privacy and trust in this way. On a fundamental human basis, I can acknowledge that itiswrong. I’m sure it’s something she’d consider a violation.
However, right and wrong has never mattered to me. At least in the traditional sense.
Much of human belief lacks nuance. Their morals are stringent and impractical. So much so, they often prove themselves to be hypocrites in due time, stating they believe one thing and later doing something that directly contradicts their said belief.
I skip all of that.
I have no true moral code fleshed out. I have no care for anyone else but myself and what I want in the moment.
Everyone in my life is either to be used for my own selfish means, disregarded and ignored entirely, or disposed of if I see fit.
Good, evil, right, wrong—it’s all subjective. All meaningless drivel.
Lyra may believe it is a violation that I’m watching the towel fall from her svelte, delectable, naked body, butIwould argue it’s in her favor I’ve taken such an interest in her. If I hadn’t, she’d already be dead…
Two weeks going strong. She’s not only managed to hold my interest, she’s managed togrowmy interest.
