Page 85 of My Girl
Now that he and his wife, Miranda, have moved into the Galloway House, there’s been some repairs and renovations. A gray front door. Cheerful blue shutters. Yellow desert flowers in a pot on the front porch. Even the rats are gone. A new life for newlyweds. A real family.
Couples like them always settle into a big house and breed like rats until they’ve created an infestation for themselves. I don’t have any children, but my own infatuation with the house seems to be like that. A disease I can’t be cured of.
Living a normal life like Michael Hall seems different. Boring. Calm.
I’ve never had a calm life.
As Michael disappears into the casino to start his shift, a dark-haired woman with a small nose leans against the bar. She beams at me with watery eyes; she must be drunk already. The desperate air around her draws me in. She wants attention. An easy target.
I haven’t killed anyone since the Galloways. Taking advantage of women doesn’t count. What I do is violent, but Idon’tkill them. There’s just something enticing about overpowering a woman, especially when you can make her feel small. Insignificant. A toy to be discarded. Something to play with until I’m bored.
Sometimes, it gets boring fucking them like this. Sometimes, I even date them first to see how far they’ll go.
Tonight, I’m hasty. I’ve got a new piercing, and I want to see how it feels inside of her.
“Hey, gorgeous,” I say with a wink. “What’s your name?”
“Samantha,” she says. I wave to the bartender, ordering us a round of drinks. “And you are?”
Tonight, I want to be someone normal. Someone with a family. A wife. Unborn children. Someone who can live in that house and have my perfect future wrapped up before me. Someone I’ll never be.
“Michael Hall,” I say.
“Thanks for the drink, Mikey-boy,” she says. She laughs at the nickname. My blood curdles.
What a joke,I imagine Mrs. Galloway saying.A stupid girl for a stupid boy.
I blink slowly, getting that dumb cunt’s voice out of my head. Samantha straightens, noticing my change in demeanor.
“You’re beautiful,” I say, giving her my best charm.
She blushes, turning away slightly. “You’re just saying that.”
I am, but I give her the practiced smile I’ve learned over the last few years. Pretending to be normal, like him.
“You have no idea how incredible you are,” I say. “Let me show you.”
Within an hour, we’re heading back to her hotel room, and that itch burns inside of me. It started when I made my brother look at that dead rat and put the rope around his neck. It’s the same crawling sensation that swelled up inside of me when I looked at Mrs. Galloway bent over that rock.
I don’t have to hurt her. This drunk girl.Samantha.
I can get past it.
I don’t have to kill her.
She pulls at my shirt, and I shove her against the bed. She gasps—both turned on and taken aback by my charm switching off. I flip her around, bending her over the bed. I pull her hair until her neck is taut for slaughter.
I picture an ax above that slender neck.
“Jesus Christ,” she says. “You’re going to hurt me.”
I ignore her, pulling down her pants. She wiggles and pushes against my cock to convince herself that I’mthatneedy for her. That my aggression is part of our foreplay.
I want to kill her so badly.
“Hey,” she pants. “I’m not on birth control. Do you have a condom?”
I press the head of my cock against her, my new Prince Albert piercing tugging at her opening. The ring represents Mrs. Galloway’s death. Soon, I’ll add more. One for each kill in that house.
