I AM HERE TO KILL YOU

by Chris Westlake

  Maybe she saw more than I thought?

  My lips curl as I move to the counter with the dress still in my hand. I avoid the assistant's eyes. The hairs on my arms prickle with excitement.

  I'm short of breath as I hurry out of the shop with the bag in my hand. I want to get home. And I know what I'm going to do when I get there.

  I'm going to strip off all of my clothes and throw them in a pile on the floor. I'm going to lie naked, on the bed, and I'm going to watch myself in the mirror as my fingers explore my body. And when I orgasm - harder and more powerful than I ever have before - I'm not going to think of my loving, loyal and protective husband.

  No, I'm going to think of the young, handsome guy in the shop and his approving look as I held the beautiful size 10 red dress close to my body.

  Tuesday 23rd July 2019

  Sheena

  I've always loved being the centre of attention. Who says men are the stronger sex? I gain power from their weakness, from the vice-like grip I have over them.

  The door swings open and the heads turn. Their smiles broaden, their dicks probably twitch inside their jeans, hidden away under the round, wooden tables.

  Daniel knew. He was able to see through the words I spoke, through the lies. He discovered my unspoken fantasies. He got me to use a part of my imagination I never even knew I had. He'd pull a strand of hair from my ear and start whispering to me.

  "Imagine you walk down a metal spiral staircase, down to the basement. You're straight from work, in your knee length pencil skirt. Sickeningly prim and proper and professional. Your heels click against the steps, so everyone in the shop is aware of you, knows you're coming..."

  "What sort of shop is it?"

  "The dingiest sub-basement sex shop in town. Sawdust lies on the concrete floor. The shelves are stacked with hideous videos. Women moan on the screens up on the walls. Only men dare to go in this shop..."

  "Oh God. Won't I be out of place? A woman, wearing a smart pencil skirt?"

  "Of course you will, sweetheart. You look like you've accidentally walked into the wrong shop on the wrong street. But they see through your pretence. They sniff it out from beneath your wet panties. The men turn to you, straining in their trousers. The owner of the shop bolts the door..."

  Daniel described how the men treated me like a whore, how they used and abused me. I'd absorb the words, take in their meaning, and caress myself until my body shuddered and I screamed obscenities at the top of my voice.

  Daniel knew, though. Daniel knew that I was the one in control, that really the men were the weak ones, the ones who - obliviously - were under my spell.

  Their eyes widen now as they glimpse the skirt that has ridden high up my thigh.

  "Put your tongues away," I say, smirking.

  The five of them shut their mouths. Geraint. Dave. Ray. Rob. Bernard. My hands drop to my hips. One knee thrusts forward.

  I've grown close over the months, particularly with Dave and Geraint. They are the two that have no direct link to the group, but indirectly they have so many contacts. I tended to open up more when it was just the three of us. I chose my opportunities with the other three. Originally, I gained Dave and Geraint's trust by showing no talk was off bounds; it was impossible to offend me. Plenty of the talk revolved around Geraint's wife. Clearly, despite pretences to the contrary, the sappy guy adored her. He doted on her. The pub was merely his retreat from reality. The guy was doubtless unrecognisable inside his own home.

  "She was going nuts at me on Saturday afternoon-"

  "What happened?"

  "Patience is a virtue, Dave. Patience is a virtue. She stood in the kitchen holding the freshly washed bed sheets. She asked if I could go upstairs and make the bed. At first - naturally, like - I thought, what did your last servant die of? Have your legs fallen off, darling? But then I sniffed opportunity. You know these women. They don't like any half-arsed efforts, do they? Everything has to be done properly-"

  "Weren't you just putting sheets on the duvet, Geraint?"

  Geraint's look silenced Dave.

  "So, as I was saying, I smelt an opportunity. I quickly put the bed sheets on and then dived into bed for a quick nap before she noticed anything-"

  "Do you need approval from your wife to take an afternoon nap?" I asked, smiling.

  "I just want an easy life, Sheena. We both know who wears the trousers in our house. Anyway, two hours later I'm still snoring, and she storms into the room shouting and screaming-"

  "Oh you poor man," I said.

  Over time, of course, they felt comfortable sharing more and more. And it was only natural that I shared with them, too.

  "I'm glad Ray and Bernard aren't here tonight," I said. "Something has been playing on my mind."

  Two wooden chairs scraped closer to the table. "What is it, Sheena?" Dave asked. "You know that whatever you say doesn't leave this room..."

  My squinting face indicated that I wasn't sure. This encouraged them even more.

  "You won't tell Ray and Bernard?" I asked. "Or Rob? I know Ray is one of your best friends..."

  "What you tell us is in confidence, Sheena. It goes no further."

  "Okay then," I said, raising my head. "I appreciate that. It's just that, obviously their wives are in the group. I don't want to upset them-"

  "Quite understandable, Sheena. You're just thinking of them."

  "I'm not comfortable with some of the things the women are saying in the group. It just isn't right. For example, one of the women said she slept with her husband's brother. And you know what the women said? They supported her. They said she was the victim, that he must have pushed her into it. I'm just not sure what these women are planning..."

  Both men blew air from their cheeks. They shook their heads.

  "There is more," I said.

  "Go on," Dave said.

  I picked up my glass. Downed my drink. "I really shouldn't. I really don't want to create a divide between you..."

  "Between who?"

  I glance around. Nobody is listening. "Between you two and Ray and Bernard."

  Geraint rubbed his hands together. "You're just giving us the heads-up, Sheena. And, like I said, nothing leaves this room. We won't say anything to them. It won't cause a rift."

  "If you insist. All I'm saying is that there is no way Kat and Apinya don't tell them things we discuss in the group-"

  "Of course they do. They're married..."

  "Exactly. Ray and Bernard know things. And, of course, the same applies the other way around..."

  "The other way around?"

  "Ray and Bernard tell Kat and Apinya things you discuss in the pub, too..."

  "You think?"

  "Why wouldn't they? Like you said, they're married. All I'm saying is, be careful what you say around them. And keep your eye out..."

  They both shook their lowered heads at the enormity of this information.

  "Of course," I said. "We can trust each other with everything..."

  Geraint is the first to welcome me into the pub now.

  "Can I get you a drink, Sheena?" he asks.

  I can tell by the slowness of his movements, by the way he drags his words that, whilst he'd love me to stay, to grace them with my intoxicating presence, he'd prefer me to do so without him spending any money. He'd relish one of the other men volunteering to buy me a drink. None of the other men move. None of the other men say anything.

  "I'm not staying," I say.

  I look at each man in turn, from left to right, from right to left.

  "Can I have a quick word?" I nod to the door. "In private, if you don't mind...?"

  Katherine

  My husband rests his hot, glistening cheek against my naked chest. My open hands cup the back of my head, the long greasy hair tangling within my fingers. The orange streetlights outside allow me to just about make out the white of the ceiling amidst the darkness of our bedroom.

  "Oh my God," Ray says. "That was amazing. What came over you?"
<
br />   Aren't I always amazing? I remove my right hand, start stroking my husband's head like he is an outstretched dog. His words are drowned out somewhat by my heaving cleavage. Should I tell him that what came over me was the thought of fucking another man? Would that add an extra thrill to proceedings?

  I decide to leave that line of communication.

  "You just drive me crazy sometimes, Ray," I say.

  He twists his head. I feel compelled to pull a stray hair from his eyebrow. I can see his golden filling, right at the back of his mouth. I could ask the same question of him. Sex no longer appears like a chore to him, something that he needs to do to keep me happy. Ray has noticed a change in me, too, and not just a physical one. He has noticed that I'm more outgoing, more confident, more social. My husband gives the impression that the world passes him by, but really he quietly takes it all in, like a hawk. He has upped his game because he knows he needs to work harder to keep me satisfied. I am no longer so easily contented.

  "I forgot to tell you, I bumped into Rose."

  What reminded him of her? I bet he hadn't forgotten.

  "Oh yes. How was she?"

  "Good. All things considered, of course. Seems like she's fighting back. I did always think she was a tough old bird."

  "You did?"

  Rose has always appeared so unhealthy she could drop dead at any moment.

  "Yes. Underneath that haggard exterior is a strong woman."

  "Sounds like you fancy her, Ray."

  His head moves closer, like he is trying to work out if I'm joking. My smile tells him I am. God, there are plenty of other women I could worry about before Rose. One of them is blonde.

  "Strange thing is, she told me she met your parents. I never knew that, or I must have forgotten-"

  "What?"

  "Rose met your parents."

  "No she didn't. Why would you say that? They were already dead when she joined the town."

  My voice must be high-pitched, for Ray shuffles around under the duvet. He always pays extra attention when he is concerned about me. Sometimes his concern can be suffocating. Thank God we never had a daughter.

  "That's what I thought. But she'd lived in the town a few months before we met her at the fete that time. She met them in church. Apparently."

  "Don't you believe her?"

  "It's not that. Guess I was shocked, that's all. I just didn't know. "Shocked?"

  "Yes."

  "Don't you think it is a bit crazy, Ray? We've known her all this time and she never mentioned she met my-"

  "Think about it, Kat. It kind of makes sense, in a backwards way. She didn't want to bring up old memories. She didn't want that to be what linked you..."

  I twirl his chest hairs around my middle finger. He returns his cheek to my chest. He likes it there, and not for the obvious reason - he feels protected. Talk about role reversal. Can he feel my heart beating? It feels like a fist is punching me.

  "This is all beginning to add up, Ray. First, she lies about her husband. Then her husband is found dead. Now we find out she has kept this secret-"

  "What are you saying, Kat?"

  My husband looks up at me again. His warm breath, tainted with my own feminine scent, blows in my direction.

  "We need to be careful of Rose." I take a deep breath. "I'm not sure I trust her anymore."

  Thursday 25th July 2019

  Apinya

  Sheena has a saying. It is something along the lines that people tend to walk around with their eyes shut and even those with their eyes open only see what they want to see.

  That's the thing! The majority of the town walk around with their eyes shut. Open those eyes! They believe everything they are told without asking any questions. Because their damn eyes are shut, they don't see the lies. I feel sorry for them. But the women in the group? We're different. We have our eyes open. We see the truth. We think for ourselves. We're not sheep.

  But my affair with Rob? That's partly why it's so exciting! That's partly why it's so exhilarating! Not even the women in the group know about this. The group is not supposed to have secrets. We trust each other with absolutely everything. And we don't - apart from this one thing. This is my dirty, wonderful little secret I share only with Sheena. Nobody else can know about the affair. Nobody else can know what is about to happen.

  We arranged the time and the place the last time we met. We're shrewder than the rest of the world. We no longer text. We deleted our old texts. Rob - bless him - didn't ask any questions; he just assumed it was to keep any evidence away from Bernard. My hand cupped his crotch as his finger tapped away at the phone - he found it exciting, too.

  As my feet tiptoe across the dry, yellowing grass, I remember the time Bernard took me to Stratford one weekend to watch a play. I dressed in expensive clothes and we sat in the gallery. I recall looking down at the rest of the audience and smiling, thinking just look how far I've come! I didn't understand much of the play - but who does? As I edge closer to where I'd agreed to meet my lover, I'm reminded of that play I watched holding my husband's kind hand - Romeo and Juliet - and I'm struck by the thought of how that love story ended.

  I rotate. Look around. How fucking dare he leave me waiting? He was supposed to be here first. That was my plan. That was how I pictured it in my mind. My breath quickens. Does this feel right?

  I pull my two arms to my face, stifling my scream. My whole body stiffens, unable to move.

  The hands at my waist are large and strong. The noise rattles between my ears. It becomes louder, more deafening.

  Opening my eyes, I peek through the gap in my arms. His teeth are bared. His lips are open. The laughter quietens.

  "Thought I'd surprise you," Rob says, grinning.

  "You idiot," I say, laughing. "Jumping out from behind a bush? You nearly gave me a heart attack. You could have been anybody!"

  His open, puckered lips accept my kiss. My eyes wander to the bruise on his temple, red and shiny like a cricket ball. He took that for me. Who said romance is dead? My fingers entwine with his and our linked hands swing in the air. We haven't discussed where we're going; we just instinctively go there.

  Can he read my mind? I hope not.

  His body lies flat next to mine on the hard, bumpy grass. My eyes fix on the white moon. Why is it sometimes visible even before the light has faded? I twist to my side, cupping the back of my head in my upturned hand. Although his arms and chest are lean and well-muscled, his soft belly rises. He drinks too much beer, I think.

  I am fascinated as I watch him roll a cigarette. There is something beautiful about the way he does it, with his long, mud-ridden fingers working in tangent. I love that he is always so calm, always so content. I may give the impression I'm fancy free, but I'm riddled with doubts. This guy? He is the real deal. Such a silly, gullible boy. It doesn't matter that his life is a cesspit, that it is heading nowhere, that he may possibly be about to die. Who cares!

  "How was your day?" he asks.

  He's not one for small talk. Besides, how can he ask about my life? Oh, I did this and that with my husband. Did you know I was married? Yes. And you still fucked me? Naughty boy! He doesn't really need to ask though, does he? Of course, I knew he was following me before Sheena told me. She thinks she knows everything, but she doesn't really. Not quite. The question is - who was following who?

  "Same as yesterday. Same as tomorrow."

  His flared nostrils suggest he's impressed with my candour, my witty ways.

  "But it wasn't too bad," I say. "It's not like anybody died, is it?"

  His brow hangs over his eyes. What did I mean? He thumbs my cheek, like he is trying to line my face with paint. "That's what I like about you, Apinya. You're always so cheerful about everything. The glass is never half-empty with you. Oh, and I like your arse, too. I really like your arse."

  He tickles my midriff, just like my dad did when I was a child. My legs kick in a bicycle motion. I laugh uncontrollably.

  "Stop it!"


  His fingers straighten. He plants his head back down on the ground. The energy drains from his body.

  "Do you love me?" I ask.

  His head jerks to the side, but then it quickly twists back again. "You know I do," he says. "I told you I did."

  "Tell me again. Tell me now. I want to hear it."

  His smile is strained. "You're a bit demanding, aren't you?"

  "Tell me."

  "I love a controlling lady."

  "Now."

  His eyes focus on the sky. "I love you," he says.

  My heart sinks. He couldn't even look at me when he said the words. I've sacrificed so much for this man - put my marriage at risk - and he doesn't really love me? Everything that has happened and everything that will happen - how was it possibly worth it?

  Turning, he hovers over me, purring like a helicopter, placing his lips just inches from mine. Stretching out my arm, I grab hold of the back of his head, pulling the bastard closer to me. Pushing my head up a few inches from the ground, I poke my tongue out, slip it inside his mouth. My two hands press against his chest. His eyes widen at the strength of my wiry arms. Pushing him down onto his back, I straddle him, my bare knees grazing against the spiky, rough grass. I can feel him digging into me, pushing me upwards. His arms become straight lines. He tries to cup my breasts. I slap them away.

  "You need to earn those," I say.

  The white of his eyes tells me he is more than prepared to work hard for them.

  "Take off your clothes," I say. "I want to ride you. You need to make me cum before I'll do anything for you."

  What an offer! Unbuttoning his jeans, he wriggles out of them. He folds his tee-shirt into a neat pile on top of the jeans. I'm surprised he is so conscientious - I assumed Mum folded his clothes for him. His glaring eyes fix on me. They demand answers.

  "I told you," I say. "You're not getting anything from me until you've made me cum. And that includes my clothes. I'm not taking off anything yet. Not until you've shown me you're a man. Not a boy."