Page 18 of Date Night

I wonder why she'd chose some place like this to rent? Was she having money issues? I could make sure she lived in a better place if she'd only come to me. I'm sure I can take care of her. I don't care if I have to get three jobs to be able to get her what she wants I'll do it if it means that I could see her smile.

The thought is quickly countered by another in my mind.

It's true that I want to see her smile, but I also want to see her cry.

I want to watch the whites of her eyes fill with tears as they stream down her face. Want to watch the different shades of pink her cheeks turn as I hurt her. I want to see her lips quiver with fear. I want it all.

"No! You fucking maniac. Not this one."

It feels like I'm fighting a completely different person on the inside, like I'm two seperate people. One that just wants to love Starla, and the other that wants to destroy her entire existance.

I almost miss the sound of her car pulling up in the drive way. Quickly I dart to the back closet where I know she won't look.

I hear her walk in the house, her legs are dragging. She must be tired.

Just as I assumed she goes into the bathroom I assume to get ready for bed. My mind is still racing a million miles a minute trying to figure out what she was doing out so late.

I want to know who the asshole is that she was with.

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from growling out. She might not have been with anyone. I don't think she was still working but then again I could be wrong.

Starla is a hard worker. I know that much about her.

I want to hear her. I miss the sound of her voice.

Slowly, I tap on the inside wall of the closet.

It gets the response I'm after.

"If there's someone out there you better cut it out!" I hear her yell out and the sound tickles my insides. I nearly laugh whenshe threatens to call the cops. Like that has ever deterred me from doing anything before.

I need to see her. Now. I can't hold back anymore.

Quietly, I walk out of the closet and see her standing with her back to me in front of her bed.

Perfect.

I pull my weapon of choice up and stretch it out. Taking small silent steps in her direction, then another and another until I'm right behind her.

I hear her gasp at the last moment finally realizing that she's not alone.

She struggles under me, the plastic wrap stretched tight over her face, her fingers clawing weakly at my wrists. The way she fights, it excites me, but I ignore that. I have to.

Her body jerks, twisting, her legs kicking at nothing.

I don't let go.

Her movements slow. The fight drains from her limbs, her fingers twitching once, twice… then still.

I wait.

Her lips are parted beneath the plastic, her chest rising in short, stilted gasps before finally—finally—her body surrenders.

I tear the wrap away, letting her suck in air even though she doesn’t know it. Even though she’s somewhere far beneath the surface, floating between life and something close to death.

I exhale, my own heartbeat steady, slow.

She’s perfect like this.

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