Happiness & Homicide: The Reckoning

I feel my blood pooling in the lower half of my veins. I'm almost uneasy about what happened at work the other night. I could have been caught, but worst of all the ritual was broken. I mean, it was satisfying and all, but there is something missing. I close my eyes and watch her blood pool behind my closed lids. I need to breathe. They can't tie this back to me, but there's always that 1/10th of a chance that I'll be caught; it's the same with every crime. I'm angry at myself for being so careless. I know better. All yesterday while standing there packing I stared at the faint reddish tint on the concrete. I waited until the store closed to scrub it all off. The night crew doesn't come in on Friday, so I was good to go, I clocked out at my scheduled time and then went back and cleaned. The tapes didn't start until midnight when the new system booted up, so I was free and clear to do what I needed and get the fuck out of there. I wanted to rub it in her face, savour the kill like always, but she even ruined that. Her death served no purpose. I lay on the top of my piano counting all the ribs in the human rib cage.
I need a real thrill, a real kill. The hunger that often hijacks my thoughts is knawing at the back of my mind, clawing its way up my stomach. I have no choice. While most people are a slave to the wage, I'm a slave to the desire. And what a beautiful desire it is. The pooling blood suddenly is free-flowing, almost anxious. Something within me whispers. I see her. Dark hair, olive skin. Rose coloured lips and dark lashes. Yes, she's the one. I sink my teeth into her right breast and taste her, taste the life she's able to give. I can't. Not yet. I'm not ready to give her up. My fantasy, my fem fetale.  I feel the cold consuming me and I shiver. My eyes snap open. I'm still on top of the piano. I've never had a woman do this to me before. The thought is unsettling but deeply arousing. I wonder what it all means. Does it mean anything at all?
I flip off the piano and straighten up. I can't let her distract me. I glance at the time at my phone and see that I'm going to be late for work. Goddamn it. Can't keep a low profile if the boss notices I'm late. I rush down the stairs and see Nick parked in front of the telly watching some kind of programme on bear fucking. "Hey Wil, this year the pandas have had more se-" "Not interested. Keys." "Keys?" "Car, now!" "Where are you going?" "To fuck your aunt again." His face sours. "I can't tell if you're joking or just being an asshole. I hope you're joking, I've told you to leave my aunt alone!" "You never said which aunt. You have two more I haven't fucked the dentures out of." "LET IT BE!" "Then give me the keys!" "Only if you tell me where you're going!" I lose my temper and fling myself onto him, smacking his head into the arm of the sofa. "OUCH!" "Just imagine what sex with me is like!" I snatch the keys out of his pocket. "You could have asked." "I did, you decided to be a wise ass." I get off him but give him a slap for good measure. "That really hurt!" "Your aunt didn't have any complaints. If you think that hurt imagine what I did to her vagi-" Nick screams. "I'll be home later. I'm going to work."

...
"I really tried, you know. You just kept telling me that I wasn't enough. You had to put me down every chance that you had. It's time to pay the piper." The gag cuts deep into the flesh of her cheeks, leaving her unable to voice any half-hearted apologies. I find it's better to not give them the chance to speak in times like these because all you will hear are self-serving lies. She makes guttural animal noises at me, struggling against her restraints. I lean down over her and drink in her scent. "It's too late for any of that. If you were really sorry, you'd have modified your behaviour, or better yet, never have behaved in that way in the first place. This isn't me holding you to a higher standard than others and a different set for myself; this is a question of etiquette." I lick her neck, tasting the fear oozing through her pores. "You maximised my suffering, so it's only fair that I do the same for you. All you really had to do was extend the same olive branch to me." I chuckle. "There I go again with almost a biblical mysticism." I pull down the waist of her leggings, her struggling against me and the cords that hold her down. "You might enjoy this more if you don't fight it."
I climb on top of her and ease myself into her. Her muted screams become the conductor of my melody. The more she tries to rebel the harder I go. I come inside her and lay on top of her, listening to the mingling of our heartbeats. "You don't need to think about DNA. They'll never find you and I'll be free to do this as many times as I desire." I kiss her sternum before sticking my fingers into her vagina. I stuck off the pale, milky substance. "We taste so good together. Maybe in another life, we can be something. I'd let you taste it but that's too good a reward for you." Her mouth is chaffed from her trying to get through the restraint, her eyes bloodshot from crying and attempting to scream. "Blame me all you want, but this is really your fault, you know." 
I begin to hum "Rocket Man" as I began to stab her in the chest. I've been waiting for this sort of release for so long. There's just something magical about this song, I don't know if it's the vocals, the melody or the story it tells, but it's perfection. All of my rage and sorrows inflicted with every blow. I feel myself decompressing. I'm emptying out of the emotions and thoughts that threaten to tear me apart. I feel time stirring in my views as her life begins to stain me. I almost forget to exhale I'm so focused on her. This isn't enough. I need to feel it. I need to feed on it. I throw the knife to the side and start gnawing on the wounds on her neck like a rabid animal. I feel the salty, metallic taste of life with an undertone of hidden sweetness, almost a lavender taste. I straighten up, exhaling, the blood dripping from my teeth. Jesus Christ this is just what I needed. I take a deep breath and dive back in, her thrashings slop and she falls limp but I just keep going. I rip her top off, biting every inch of exposed flesh. I circle her areolas with my fingers before attacking. She never knew that hit her. I tried to be nice. I tried to let things go, but she just wanted to keep on pushing it. 
I stand up and look over her, the moonlight peering through the blinde slots of the tall windows. She doesn't even look human anymore. The moonlight illuminates her mangled face as I look over it. Shadows of my teeth marks and marks from my blade create almost a moonlike surface across her once youthful face. Pity, I really did warn her. I wipe my mouth on my sleeve. I need to clean this up, dump her and get home. I peek out the window to ensure Nick's car is still parked out front. His sad excuse for a car is there, crying to be crushed into a metallic disk. Good. I should get rid of that piece of shit and get him something else. It would do me some good as well. An older model car tends to stand out these days. I make a mental note to do that as I wrap the body in sheets of plastic. I'm going to need to dissolve her. Thankfully, I came prepared.
I turn and collect the box that I'd bought into the room not long before I brought her here. She was so easy to capture. Weak and stupid. Just like most of them. I could smell her arousal, my mouth watered at it. I roll over a large plastic drum before opening the box. This is the worst part of what I do; the smell is disgusting. I don't care for it at all. I pull out three large containers of hydrofluoric acid. I'll slice her up before I pour the acid into the drum. I pull on a fresh pair of gloves for the job. I can't afford a slip-up. My Sawzall has a fresh blade and is almost as hungry for action as I am. Some people find this part of the job unsavoury, more horrific than that actual murder, but I don't share those sentiments. It's just taking out the trash.
Arms are the first thing to go. I snap on a pair of goggles and a shower cap before placing the blade to the shoulder joint. I take a deep breath and turn on the blade. It doesn't slide through her flesh like you'd think. The teeth of the blade are sharp and jagged, leaving unclean marks in the tissue. It doesn't slow when it hits bone which takes mere seconds. In and out again. I do the same with the left arm, then place them into the barrel. Time to add the next ingredient. I pour in some of the acid and the flesh begins to bubble. I glance into the barrel to ensure the job is being done. I can't handle the smell. I need my respirator. I dig around in the box for a minute, finding it tucked in under a change of clothes. I must have been a scout in a previous life. I strap it on with slight difficulty because of my goggles and return to work. I remove her legs right below the hip joint and put them into the barrel. I pour more acid in and sit for a minute. God, I could use a cigarette right about now, but I'll have to wait until I'm finished with all this. Now she'll fit in the barrel and I won't have to cut the torso open, resulting in a bigger mess and creating a bigger biohazard; you never want to cut the torso if you can help it, the bacteria of the gut is something you don't want to be playing with, professional or not. I allow the limbs to stew for a good 15 minutes before I cut her head off and remove the blade from the saw. I stare at her lifeless face, one eyeball is almost gouged out. Sometimes I do let my animalistic urges get the better of me. I put her head and the blade into the barrel and pour in the second jug of acid. My head swims as I look deep into the almost raspberry coloured sludge. 

.....
It's amazing the secrets we hide. Little molecules of decent nestled into the fibres of our beings. Nobody knows what's lurking; sometimes the things never come to the surface, even in death. The mystery of it all is enough to get me hard. Traffic is light this time of the morning. 2.30 am, almost all of London is asleep except for early morning deliveries and club rats. It's when I like the city most of all. I can breathe in all the stories, the lives and deaths of the millions who've been here before me. Out of all my favourite intoxicants, London is by far the best and most potent of them all. 
At times I feel I'm nothing more than a marionette to these desires, believing that I am nothing more than a tool to create death. I'm not a man who believes in God, but there are times when I muse that there are things bigger than me, that I am a mere cog despite my intellect and will. Claiming that I have no control over these acts of carnage is a copout and a lie. I love what I do, the way it makes me feel. It's so pure and moving. I don't believe that my acts of homicide are that of mercy, though they might be in some ways. I don't believe that I'm freeing souls from the chaos and filth that is life, that is humanity. I do this to consume. I do this for myself. Some force within me, whether it be a biological imperative or a reaction to my upbringing, calls out for me to consume the life of others; to break them down, completely obliterate them so that I can feel the control that I ache to possess. The thoughts lull me to sleep as I curl up into a ball, buried deep under the duvet and several blankets. Winter is coming.