Page 28 of The Ripper

GRIMM

When I said that the day when I could text her whenever I wanted was not near, I didn’t expect to find Arella desperately crying her eyes out on her balcony after my month-long absence. I didn’t expect to find out that she’d started chain smoking, nor that the woman who brought serenity to my highly turbulent, slightly miserable mess of a life would be so broken.

I didn’t expect her response either.

I thought she was going to block my number as soon as it popped on her screen, that she would file a complaint with the police and get a fucking restraining order or a gun license.

I thought she would do anything other than what she actually did.

Take it as a thank you for the takeout, was what she texted me after I told her she exposed her beautiful body to my eyes.

While I had caught short glimpses of what she kept hidden behind her clothes over the years, it was never as clear as the show she put on for me. That robe seemed to fall off her shoulders in slow fucking motion, and my eyes lingered on every jaw-dropping curve until my mouth watered.

Perfection.

Every inch of her was fucking perfection.

I suppressed the primal need that had taken over me the moment she displayed those full, round breasts that I now had uncounted fantasies with. The mere memory of that image made me greedily lick my lips as I imagined her taste in my mouth, the texture of her skin against my tongue, the sounds she would make as I claimed her inch by fucking inch.

I refrained from telling her that I was on my fucking knees for her, that I was hers to do with as she pleased, that she could’ve walked all over me and still I would have worshiped at her altar for all eternity.

~ You’re pathetic. Here comes Grimm, the poet.

I suppressed the urge to storm into her house and see her naked body up close.

~ I still think we should have done it, but you never listen to me.

~ You’re not exactly giving helpful advice.

~ It’s not too late, we can do it tonight when she’s asleep.

~ No.

We can install cameras around her place.

I smacked the side of my head to shake off the ideas, because every little suggestion seemed more and more appealing to me.

Soon.

Soon I would have her.

And soon came faster than anticipated, because later that evening — too late for a woman walking alone on the street in this fucked-up side of town — she left her building wearing that same white dress she was wearing on the plane.

She probably did it unconsciously, because she couldn’t have figured out who I was from a few text messages, could she? Either way, I liked to think that she dressed up for me.

~ I frankly think you’re delusional, but I’m just a voice, what do I know?

As I took in the sight of her walking in front of me, almost as if she was putting on a show — one I thoroughly enjoyed — I wondered if she remembered me, and that thought poured gasoline on the embers and started a fire so strong it would consume everything in its path back to the one who had stirred it.

She never looked back, not even for a second, which brought a shit-eating grin to my face, because that meant she wasn’t afraid of me or, even better, maybe she felt safe knowing that I was a few steps behind her.

~ At least, not scared yet.

I didn’t know why I liked the idea of her being scared of me, if only for a second. Maybe I just wanted to feed on the look of panic in her eyes before assuring her that I would never hurt her. Maybe I wanted to see her flinch, so I could soothe the fright away.

But someone stole the pleasure of being the one she feared from me, because as I followed her through the park, right when I was about to pick up the pace and call out her name, a man stepped out from between the trees and pointed a gun at her.

Pointed a fucking gun at my Snezhinka.

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