You don’t remember her name; you think it started with a B. Keeping them straight is getting harder. Was she the newlywed? The nurse? Neither. She was the student whose hair smelled like apples. Before police called off the search, you caught her distraught—but still hopeful—parents on the evening news. Her mom called her a fighter. You could certainly attest to that. You wore long sleeves for three weeks that summer to hide the nicks she’d clawed into your arms. You retaliated by tearing her soft belly with your teeth. The metallic taste of her blood surprised you.
Remember the waitress? When you read she had an identical twin, you considered taking her too. You couldn’t stop fantasizing about essentially having the same girl twice. Wouldn’t it have been a kick to see that perfect face again—all full of color, without the bulging eyes and purple bite mark marring her cheek? You knew it was too risky, though.
But now you’re getting sloppy. Returning to a previous post is dangerous. Maybe someone saw you hanging around that day but didn’t think anything of it. Surely a second time would raise alarm.
You didn’t choose to be this way, just like you didn’t choose how tall you’d be. You only wish to satiate yourself. But they never simply let you do what you need to do.
Sheila had been fine with a little kink … until that night you pulled the scarf too tightly around her neck. Her striking you in desperation turned you on even more. She called you an animal, a sadist. Wouldn’t let you touch her for weeks afterward. Giving her the ring placated her.
As you’re leaving, you notice a leggy blonde pushing a stroller. You can already imagine fresh bruises on her fair skin.
#This week's Trifecta Writing Challenge: The entry must be 33-333 words and include the word "animal" as defined below:
a human being considered chiefly as physical or nonrational; also : this nature
Word count: 333