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this is my favorite part. The abject terror that takes over their faces. That’s how I know they’re finally seeing me, realizing what I truly am.
I’ve spent the past sixteen years murdering men who deserve it, and I’m not about to get sloppy now.
Five boys raped Megan Foster, but only one of them did it while stone-cold sober.
I can’t imagine feeling anything but relief at saying goodbye to my father.
to avoid attracting attention to myself in a town as small as this one, I have to sit on my hands for months at a stretch, wait until sufficient time has passed between deaths. Watch them keep hurting people without consequence, until the time is right.
I used to suspect Jasper might be like me. There’s a coldness in his eyes sometimes, a ruthless focus I recognize. But after spending so much time with him, I’ve come to the conclusion it’s all words with him—cruel comments, gallows humor.
He’s attracted to my cruelty.
“I’m kind of over dating boys at the moment.”
Something tells me Carly will be happy to hear that haha
I save certain methods for when it’s personal, which it so rarely is these days. Most of my victims are like Tyler: men to whom I have only the most tenuous connections. Murdering someone in my social or professional circle requires much more care, precaution.
Their obsession with protecting the university’s reputation has allowed plenty of misdeeds (my own included) to go unpunished, while the administration keeps waving their hands, pretending everything is fine.
my most useful accomplice is the negligence of law enforcement. Samina Pierce, however, seems anything but negligent.
“You ever feel so anxious it’s like your stomach is trying to eat itself?” I nod. Yes. Every day.
I remember every man I’ve killed, in vivid detail. His name, his crimes. His last words, if I allowed him to have any.
For an excruciatingly long moment, Samina says nothing. Then she leans forward, propping her elbows on the desk. “You can stop bullshitting me.” My mouth goes dry, and my whole body stiffens. She can’t possibly know what I am, what I’ve done, but whatever she sees when she looks at me, it’s more than I want her to.
Even in his final moments, I doubt he learned his lesson. But I didn’t kill him to teach him a lesson; I killed him to carve him out of this world like a tumor. And I’d do it again.
This is clearly an everyday occurrence in his world: girls fawning over him, flirting shamelessly. He’ll bask in her attention like a snake sunning itself on a rock, but he clearly doesn’t give a shit about her.
“You’ll be performing half-naked in front of a bunch of strangers soon,” Bash says, already reaching for another fry. “Better watch the junk food.”
Wow was that supposed to be cute ? This guy is a lowkey Ahole
I need to kill again. The urge seems to come harder and faster every time now, the desire building in me like a scream.
Reading was my most reliable escape in childhood, the one way I could get away from my father while still trapped in the same space with him.
“What about you? Ever been married?” I shake my head. “Good for you.” Mina’s lips quirk up in a sly smile,
Lmao
“Men like him don’t want a relationship, they want a fan club. The more members the better.”
But then Jasper turns—a casual twist of his neck, subtle enough his companion doesn’t see it—and looks me right in the eye. He knew I was there the whole time.
I almost think Wes is going to kiss me. But he doesn’t. And that makes me like him even more. The rest of the drive into Gorman, our hands stay intertwined.
Awww
I’m not sure what’s more nauseating: Kinnear’s pretentious writing style, or the way he shamelessly regurgitates my ideas and those of our colleagues.
I don’t even have to feign excitement at the idea of finally getting to see Kinnear’s enviable home library. It’s the only attractive thing about him.
Lucky for both of us: too many of those insufferable events and I’d have lost my cool and killed him long ago.
They never see the murder in my eyes.
I’m terrified of what will happen when I tell her. But I’m even more terrified that nothing will happen, that she’ll ignore me and carry on like normal.
“I don’t blame you, the boy is gorgeous.” Rafael takes a sip of wine. “Although I’d be a little afraid he was going to murder me in my sleep.”
Unlikely. If men like that could learn the error of their ways, I wouldn’t have to teach so many of them a lesson.
Before I can stop myself, I’m picturing her in my own warmly lit house, bare feet curled up underneath her on the worn leather sofa, a cup of tea in her hands. In my bed, curls splayed over the pillow, skin looking burnished against the plain white sheets.
Oh ok so the tension I was reading between them is founded . She’s attracted to her. EDIT: LOL, so on first read I thought what a coincidence both central characters are bi, but later I find out they are the same person.
She clearly didn’t remember inviting me into bed with her, or how close we came to kissing. So I’m not going to bring it up either, even though it’s all I can think about.
“I told him I was bi.” I almost drop the dye bottle. So I haven’t been imagining things. Allison likes girls, which means there’s still a chance she could—
I don’t plan to say it, it just spills out. “I’m bi too.” It’s the first time I’ve ever called myself that. The first time I’ve labeled my sexuality out loud at all.
little do they know: killing a man is so much more satisfying than fucking a man could ever be.
Lmao
“I could help,” Jasper says. I scoff and shove at him, though I can’t bring myself to push him away entirely. “I’m serious! I used to bleach my ex’s hair for her.”
Lol this man must really have it for ya if he's willing to offer helping dye your hair
“Seems like a waste—all this time spent looking into guys like him and Elkin. As if anyone really gives a damn that they’re dead.”
he seemed so unsympathetic about the deaths, I had imaged that he might later team up with Scarlet for a kill. Boy was I wrong.
Sometimes I wish that Jasper were like me, that I could share my true nature with him. I try not to dwell on it, but occasionally the fantasy still creeps in: how much easier it would be to kill with his help, his powerful hands holding men down while I finish them off.
We fuck until the water runs cold, and the whole time I’m imagining that the red sluicing over us is blood.
eww.. but really I am not surprised this is her fantasy. something tells me this guy jasper might be in to that too
I have to break it off with him, but I’m afraid of what he’ll do—and even more afraid of what I might do to him in response.
Two girls walk down the sidewalk in my direction, huddled close together against the cold. One of them—the prettier one—has shocking blue hair that licks back on the breeze like a flame. Real or a Halloween-store wig, I can’t tell.
Aw it's Allison and Carly EDIT LOL I was so sure their characters would cross paths that night. Boy was I wrong.
But then I find myself enjoying it a little, almost wanting his eyes on me.
As soon as his eyes meet Allison’s, she grabs me tighter, grinding against me so hard it almost hurts. I stiffen. Is that all this is? I’m just a convenient prop to try and get his attention?
“Are you a theater major too? I don’t think I’ve seen you around.” He has seen me around, plenty of times. He just didn’t notice me when I wasn’t half-naked.
Most of the volumes are so pristine, it’s clear Kinnear has never read them. He wants people to admire them, and by extension to admire him. A man like Kinnear doesn’t deserve a library like this.
How fucking dare he. He thinks he’s going to get the fellowship—the fellowship I deserve, the fellowship that should be mine in the first place, that would be mine if he weren’t “Cambridge chums” with the goddamn curator—and he’ll do me the favor of helping me with my work if I fly across the Atlantic to suck his cock. He disgusts me. I’m so tired of pretending he doesn’t.
Wes’s hands press down harder on my shoulders, drawing me in. He’s going to kiss me. Oh my God, he’s going to kiss me, and part of me wants him to, but another part, a stronger one, wants to get as far away from him as possible.
I sit back against his pelvis and smile at him—merciless, predatory. My real smile.
Kinnear has never looked at me like this—really looked at me. In all the years I’ve known him, eye contact was always a brief stopover on the way to ogling my tits, my ass. Reducing me to parts. This wild-eyed fear is the closest thing to respect he’s ever paid me.
