by T. L Smith
I turn over and set my alarm for the next morning, knowing I need to get up early and go for a run. I like to run; it helps clear my head of all my thoughts. Believe me, I think way too much for a girl my age. I should be doing the fun things in life like partying, dancing and dating. I lay in bed thinking of things that my mind shouldn’t dwell on, cases in class that we are currently working on. I wonder how someone can become so sick and twisted and want to take someone else’s life? I wonder how they sleep at night and not have nightmares of what they have done?
I turn to my side and look at my cell, a pang of loneliness hits me. No one ever texts or calls me. Maybe tomorrow I’ll start to make an effort. Maybe.
The capacity for such emotions as joy, happiness, fear, and shyness are already developed at birth. The specific type of nurturing a child receives shapes how these emotions are developed.
The cool night air sweeps over my skin as I walk towards the music. It makes my nipples peak in my skinny little shirt, showing enough cleavage to make most men go hard. My boy shorts have half my ass hanging out and my riding boots complement my outfit. I see men lingering on the front lawn looking at me with desire in their eyes as they take me in while I sashay my hips to the entry door. I hear their catcalls of approval as I fix and arrange my breasts in front of them for their viewing pleasure.
The smell hits me first as I enter – alcohol, smoke and men. Just what I’m after, just what I need. I set my eyes on my first target, a man that I plan to bend to every desire that I have flowing through my sadistic brain right now. I need to be fucked. I need this. I need the need to be gone from my body. I set my eyes on the man that I plan to use to sedate the desires that are coursing through me at this very moment.
He’s tall and lean, not overly muscled, but definitely has looks going for him. Right now, he’s eye fucking me while some skank hangs off of his arm. I call him to me with my finger and he comes willingly, shrugging the skank off while making his way to me.
Once he reaches me, I instantly smell the liquor oozing from his pores. He’s trashed. I just hope his cock is up for the job; otherwise, I’m on the lookout again. I start to walk and don’t turn around to see if he’s following, because I know he is. They always do.
I walk to the nearest bathroom and don’t shut the door as I enter. He does. I look at myself in the reflection on the wall and strong blue eyes are staring back at me. Mine. I turn around when I feel his breath on my neck. I push him back because he’s not in control of this situation. I am. I point to his pants and tell him to drop them. He does without as much as a bat of my eyelashes.
“Sit,” I say pointing to the toilet and he does, without hesitation. Good boy!
Unzipping his jeans, I take in the size of his cock; not bad. It will do me just right. He takes a condom out and starts placing it on. He struggles in his drunken state and I lean down with my mouth to help him. My lips circle the top of his cock and I push the condom down with my teeth. He groans when my mouth touches his shaft and I stand up and drop my shorts to the floor. I have no underwear on, knowing what my plans were for tonight, easy access and less time wasted taking clothes off means more time for getting my release.
He’s hard and trying to reach out to me. I slap his hands away and stand tall, still with my shirt on. I walk over to him and smile my most seductive smile before I straddle his lap. He looks pleased with what he sees. I tease my pussy over his dick to get myself wet while he groans and tries reaching for me again. He gets the same response as before, I slap his hands away. He groans again, either from pleasure or frustration I’m not sure, but I don’t really care. I pull my breasts free and place them at his mouth. He begins to suck and bite greedily as he latches on. I am instantly wet. I grab his cock with my hands and position him at my entrance. As soon as I have him there I bury his cock inside me to the hilt as I throw my head back from the ecstasy and the feeling of power coursing through me.
I ride his cock like I’m running a marathon. He has given up trying to touch me because each time he does I slap his hands away. I don’t want him to think he has control because he doesn’t. This is all mine for the taking. He’s just a lucky passenger along for the ride.
I come hard all over his cock. I don’t know if he’s come or not because honestly, I couldn’t give a flying fuck. I stand up and use one of the hand towels to wipe myself down and then pull my shorts up. He looks up at me in a daze as I push my tits back into my top. I throw the towel over his exposed cock before I pull the door open. I’m instantly met with the skank from earlier that was hanging off of him, and she doesn’t look happy.
“What the fuck are you doing?” she asks, obviously knowing the answer to her stupid question.
“Fucking,” I reply honestly and she’s not impressed. But someone behind her is, and he’s laughing so loud my attention is drawn from skank girl to him. He looks at me with a smile on his face while he continues to laugh and I smile back for some strange reason.
“You just fucked my fiancé you stupid slut.” I avert my eyes from laughing man and straighten my shoulders as I come face to face with her.
“Maybe if you serviced your man right he wouldn’t be dipping into other ponds, bitch.” Cue laughing man again. The bitch turns and gives a death glare at laughing man then turns to me with a raised hand. She isn’t fast enough though and I catch her hand mid-slap. I squeeze her hand so hard she yells out in pain.
I step closer to her and I smell her overwhelming perfume as I whisper in her ear, “Do you want to play with me, pretty girl? I’m pretty sure I could make you come ten times harder than footy boy in there could.” She flushes at my comment and turns her head away from me. She doesn’t say anything else while standing there, so I decide to leave. It’s time for me to have some more fun tonight.
As I walk out to the dance floor, I see a girl who looks vaguely familiar. She smiles and I walk over to her. With a drink in one hand I stand in front of her swaying my hips. She joins along easily and soon we are bumping and grinding on the dance floor. Women aren’t usually my thing, but sometimes I do like to play. I really prefer the hardness of a cock, but a woman’s tongue is something that can make you scream.
One of my legs is positioned between hers as we dance. She’s rubbing herself on me, taking great joy in the friction. I stop moving when I feel eyes on me. It doesn’t deter my drunken friend though as she takes it to another level and palms my breasts. We now have an audience building. Men stop to watch and some palm their cocks with their hands.
But I can still feel eyes on me.
I turn looking for the source of those eyes and I’m met with laughing man’s face looking directly at me with the stare from earlier. One I can’t quite work out, but one I intend to decipher as I pull myself from the blonde who’s fondling my breast.
I make my way over to him, keeping him in my line of vision. His eyes penetrate me and rake over my body from top to bottom. Just as I begin to close the distance between us, my arm gets pulled and I’m jolted backward. I turn away from those eyes and stare at a girl who should not be placing her hands on my body at all.
It’s the girlfriend or fiancée, whichever one I don’t really care. She goes to throw a punch to my face and she has an audience. I duck her punch and stand behind her. I kick her knees in and watch as she topples to the floor. People start laughing around us and I turn looking for those eyes, noticing he’s gone and so has my mood.
During the second half of a child's first year, the prefrontal cortex, the seat of forethought and logic, forms synapses at such a rate that it consumes twice as much energy as an adult’s brain.
I want to bang my head on this desk or slit my wrists. Either one I’m contemplating at the moment. How can one class be so boring? Is it really necessary? We are studying criminology, not math problems. All I can see is my professor, who is dribbling shit at the front of the classroom, to which no one is paying any attention. Some are on their cells and others are flirting with each other.
Me, well I’m sitting at the front of the class by myself contemplating suicide.
Five minutes left till we can leave and the professor introduces a detective that can help us with our case studies. I don’t look up and instead continue to study my book. I’m trying to work out how to solve a math problem when someone steps in front of my desk. I slowly rake my eyes upwards and I’m met with a man in a clean-cut black suit with no jacket and a badge attached to his pants. I move my eyes up further and looking back at me is the man that was at my apartment a few nights ago. He’s standing in front of me with a weird look on his face. A look I can’t figure out. I don’t know whether to avert my eyes or just take him in. He looks at me one last time before he winks and walks back to the front of the class and our professor introduces him.
“Detective Black is here to help answer any questions you might have for your case study.” My eyes gaze up at his name and a shiver takes hold of my body. I don’t know why a complete stranger has such an effect on me and to be honest I don’t want to know why.
Hands are raised automatically as soon as our professor steps back and Detective Black takes charge. You can tell by looking at him that he’s a man of authority. It oozes out of him. You can feel the air shift when he’s near you. Your back straightens like you have to be on your best behavior. I listen to his voice while each person takes their turn asking numerous questions and scenarios as to what would happen and how it could happen. I get so lost just listening and I just sink into my chair.
My mind is in overdrive with the numerous questions from the students about murderers¸ rapists and even car accidents.
How do they do it?
What is the motive?
How do you determine if it’s an accident or deliberate?
My mind starts to wonder…
“Who is my special girl?” she asks me gazing at me with her wide hazel eyes that match mine.
“I am, Momma,” I answer and look around for Daddy.
“And what does Momma’s special girl do when Momma says hide?” I don’t want to answer her. I hate hiding, especially when I have to hide for a long time.
“Kristy, what do you do?” Her hand wraps around my arm tighter and a squeal breaks loose from my mouth.
“I stay until you come get me,” I reluctantly reply while keeping my head down.
“Good girl. Now let’s go and climb the highest tree we can find and see if we can fly,” she says jumping up and down clapping her hands. Sometimes I think my momma is the best mom ever.
I snap back from my daydream to notice everyone is leaving. I have no idea why I remembered that day. It was the day I ended up in the hospital with a broken leg from jumping from the highest tree. When my father came to the hospital, he was not impressed. I recall him yelling and screaming at my mother. Two days after that day I was sent to my grandmother’s house and never saw either of my parents again.
I pull my bag up and place my old laptop in it. I hope to make a fast escape so I can have lunch before I have to go back to my dorm to study. As I stand, I notice Detective Black is still in here and his eyes are boring into mine. I try to ignore it and continue packing my things up. As I turn to go, my name leaves his mouth and it stops me dead in my tracks. I can’t face him. I don’t know why, I just can’t.
“Was I boring you?” I can hear his footsteps edging closer to me. I look down at my worn Converse and take a heavy breath, trying to think of a plausible reason as to why my mind had wondered.
“No, not at all, everything you said today will help me tremendously,” I lie… straight up lie. Oh God, I’m going to hell.
“See, for some reason I have trouble believing that answer, but you can rectify today’s lack of participation by taking me to lunch,” his voice is getting closer and I know if I turn around he will be directly behind me.
“That’s not appropriate, Detective Black,” I say the first thing that jumps into mind. Shut up, think before you speak.
“Oh, but it is. You see, I could tell your professor that you were sleeping in class and he would fail you on your assignment simply because you were not participating in some of the things we discussed today. If you were, you would’ve noticed it was directed to the case you are working on right now. So, I think we should discuss that and at the same time grab something to eat. Do you disagree, Miss Wilde?” His breath is nearly on my neck. I haven’t moved and I haven’t faced him. My hands are fiddling with my bag strap trying to come up with a good reason to get out of this and not fail the class. I can’t afford to fail because I’m on scholarship. I rack my brain and I can’t think of anything. I’m stuck, forced to endure lunch with another human being who is bribing me. Just my luck!
“Okay,” I mumble, just above a whisper.
“I didn’t hear you correctly, Miss Wilde.” He’s taunting me, I know he is. I get the courage to turn to face him and when I do I’m correct, he is directly behind me. So close that if I step one foot closer I will be on him. I pull my bag to my front and take a step back; I don’t want him in my space like this. It’s overwhelming. God, he is overwhelming. I can smell him; his breath, his cologne, and his strong scent invading my senses, making me think of what it would be like to be touched or even held by a man. It’s all just so overwhelming.
I try to think of an excuse that will get me out of it and nothing comes to mind. I’m drawing up a complete blank. God is not on my side today. I look up to his eyes before I answer him and I can see the amusement in them. He knows I’m struggling and he also knows he will get his way.
“Yes.”
The average number of thoughts that humans are believed to experience each day is 70,000.
My job helps me deal. It helps keep away the bad memories. I think it helps piece me back together. It makes me strong. I’m a protector. I help protect those who need it without asking for it. I didn’t have anyone to do that for me and because of that, the things I can do, the things that people squirm in their seats about, are the things I love to do. I know I’m not normal and I know taking a life, good or bad, is not sane. But who are they to judge? I don’t love, I’ve never had love. My father was a bad man and for that he got punished.
The job I currently do I would be doing anyway if Tyke hadn’t found me. Actually, when he found me I was sitting in a pool of blood from my first victim. A man that tried dragging an innocent girl into an alley to do bad things to her. She was screaming and no one stopped to help her. I was a block away and I heard her screaming. Society is bad, so I stepped in.
Maybe I shouldn’t have?
Maybe I should have?
Who knows, but taking that man’s life from him was the best rush I’ve ever experienced. He let the girl go when I entered the alley in nothing but a short dress and heels, and a cigarette in my mouth. His dick was hard and hung from his pants. He was revolting.
I only just recently visited a pawn shop where I went to buy myself a gun for protection. However, I walked out with shooting stars; two beautiful shiny stars that shined so bright I knew I had to have them. A skull was engraved in the center and it was a perfect fit for my black soul. You see, I have bad ideas and I want to act on them, and I want to make someone pay for what they get off so easily for within the law. It isn’t right that a rapist or pedophile can walk free with just a slap on the wrist.
I had no idea at the time what my plan was, but I knew I couldn’t sit back and do nothing.
“You made me let go of a sweet thing so I can have a go in your sweet thing didn’t you, baby?”
I recall his first words to me like it was yesterday.
His dick was in his hand and he started palming it.
I squeezed my palms shut and dug my nails into my skin. I needed to believe this was real, that this man was standing in front of me and that I could do something about it. I could feel my skin break, blood staining my palms.
“You like to take what’s not yours?” I asked him, releasing the death grip on my bleeding palms. I could h
ear the trickle of blood as each droplet hit the cement below me.
“You are all whores. When you scream no, it just means you want it more.” He was stepping closer. I was half expecting to smell alcohol on him, but he was sober which surprised me.
“So you take?” I asked, knowing it wasn’t a question but a statement.
He was stepping closer, still with his cock in his hand. I didn’t know what I planned to do; I just knew he wasn’t walking out of this alley alive.
He reached for me in a quick movement and that had me pinned to the wall. I wasn’t afraid. I knew that I’d hurt him. Though it was a guessing game as to who would get hurt first.
“You’re a little too old for me. I like them young, but you’ll do till I can find what I want.” His free hand palmed under my dress. While he was occupied I reached into my bra and pulled out my star. His eyes were rolling back into his head, no doubt thinking about the pleasure that was to come. Only it wouldn’t be him receiving pleasure. He never saw me coming. I stabbed him in his neck and straight into his jugular vein. He had gasped twice before he collapsed in front of me onto the ground. Blood was spurting from his neck. I stood there, so bewitched by what was happening in front of me that I never saw that there was someone watching me.
I remember watching Tyke walk into my direct line of sight and look down at the guy who was holding his neck, now dead. His eyes darted to mine and I was shocked when one side of his mouth lifted up in a smirk.
“I have a job for you,” he said and handed me a card. He never said what or who he was. He winked at me before he left and never looked back.
