Page 3 of The Ripper

~ Lucky you have me.

~ You’re a thorn in my side.

~ I’m what makes you interesting, you moron.

I rarely felt things, and when I did, they were usually emotions that would make me sick to my stomach, that would make my hand curl into tight fists, which is why I couldn’t understand what was happening in my body and my brain when I first saw her.

It wasn’t logical, really, since what attracted me to her was the fact that she stumbled on her feet and fell to her knees a few feet away from me, the contents of her bag spilling out onto the grass. I remained unmoved, pushing the sunglasses up on my nose as I watched her gather the various things that fell out.

Something shifted in me when she quickly grabbed the butterfly knife and threw it in her purse, looking around to see if anyone noticed she was carrying a blade around with her. Weirdly enough, she didn’t see me, because I was lurking in the shadows, inconspicuously leaning against a tree.

Why would a college student have a butterfly knife? Did she ever use it? Did she even know how to use it?

~ Why, you want her to use it on you?

~ Maybe.

Maybe indeed.

I clicked my tongue as I watched her stand up, following her steps as I brought a cigarette up to my mouth and lit it, then frowned when she stopped next to my sister, also known as the reason for my presence on campus.

Granted, Willow was only my half-sister. My birth mother, Olivia Moore, gave me away without even looking at me after finding out what sort of monster my father was, and she got married around the time I shot my first gun. I was eight years old.

I had no idea why I looked for the woman who gave me life, considering that she only agreed to keep the pregnancy after my father – never dad – swore that she never had to see either of us ever again.

Maybe I was just curious about what she looked like, maybe I wanted to confront her about abandoning me, but I never interacted with her, as there was a promise to be kept.

And so, imagine my fucking surprise when I found out she was happily married and had another child. One whom she adored, because Willow was born out of love, not out of threat.

Maybe I should have resented her for receiving all the motherly love I never did, but one look at Willow and all the hate I was prepared to feel towards her evaporated into thin air. From that moment on, I decided to stay hidden in the shadows, always keeping an eye on her. She was blood, and it wasn’t her fault that I was given away, so I couldn’t treat her differently just because I didn’t know her, right?

Truth be told, maybe I just liked the feeling.

The sense that I was helping someone for a change, that I was doing something good on top of all the bad, or maybe I was just selfish.

~ You are definitely selfish.

I hit the side of my head with the bridge of my palm to shut him up. It didn’t work, though. It never did.

I checked on Willow once a month, making sure she was safe and healthy, dropping a few hundred dollars in her bank account here and there without raising suspicion, and generally looking after her well-being.

~ Look at you, being all kind and shit.

Boston was shit, to be honest, but whatever, as long as I knew she was alright, I could go back to Chicago, back to murder and chaos.

Cue the intriguing blonde with a knife in her purse, who was now talking to my sister and somehow making Harvard less shitty.

I was supposed to make sure Willow got to her dorm safely, then leave, but this time I found myself lingering a little longer.

~ You’re not making any sense.

~ Then maybe you should just shut up.

It happened sometimes.

My brain would fixate on someone out of fucking nowhere, man or woman, for no reason whatsoever, trying to understand what made them who they were, picking them apart until there were no secrets left, and then it would get bored and move on.

Granted, I had always had a predisposition to obsess over things and people when they spiked my interest – which didn’t happen very often – but this time, my God, this time the air seemed to turn toxic around me as I took her in. It felt like a slope into sin to look at her.

---