Page 36 of Moth to a Flame

Maybe.

Except I won’t kill Regan.

I’ll kill for her.

That being obsessed and then some isn’t all that bad.

You’d do that? For me?

Anything for you.

Like fucking up Clayton.

He’s about to beg and I’m about to enjoy this.

“Please.” He drags in one of his last breaths. “Please.”

My eyes lift to scan his shitty apartment. The old wood boards are chipped. The plaster on the walls is crumbling. Blue, green, and brown mold is scattered along the ceiling and one corner of his living room.

“It smells like spoiled milk in here.” When I look back at him, his skin has turned ashen.

I’m not an expert on murdering people. I’ve only killed one man before, but it seems to me that I’m running out of time.

Don’t want him missing out on me scooping out his second eyeball.

“Come to think of it, I’m actually doing you a favor.” He heaves when I raise my knife again. I think it’s an attempt to scream. “The mold would’ve killed you slowly. Instead, here I am, merciful as all fuck.”

“Chchhhhhht.” Blood splutters. He’s foaming at the mouth.

“You’re absolutely right.” The blade slides beneath the corner of his eye, slicing through the optic nerves. I drop the knife, bending to pick up my spoon. “A merciful man wouldn’t make you go through this. Although…”

Bloop.The other eyeball lands next to its sibling.

Bringing my lips to Clayton’s ear, I ignore the stench of his blood and his vomit.

“I could’ve prolonged it.”

He’s short and lanky. It’s no trouble at all to bring him to his hands and knees while I’m still holding on to his hair.

“Lucky for you, I was only after the eyes. Goodbye.”

Dash, dash, dash.Blood splashes on the tarp as I bash his forehead in. His suffering will go unnoticed. No one will hear him losing his life so violently, seeing he lives on the first floor.

Before I clean up this mess, I trade my filthy gloves for a clean pair.

Being vindicated feels good. That, too, isn’t so bad, either.

Nothing in me screamsDecapitate Regan, or she’ll end up running from you.

I’m normal. Justified. Fulfilled.

Almost.

A knock on the door has my head whipping back.

A neighbor?

Nah.

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