The Boyfriend

by Freida McFadden

And I’m terrified that the moment I get her alone, I will wrap my fingers around her pretty, white neck and squeeze the life out of her.

“I have to tell you, Sydney, now that we’re actually meeting in person, I genuinely feel like you are the perfect woman.”

“If I closed my eyes and imagined the perfect girl, it would be you.”

I wonder what it’s like to cut into a person with a scalpel. To feel their skin separate under my hand. To see their insides. I can’t wait to find out.

I reach out and take her hand in mine. She looks very pleased by this turn of events. Much more so, I suspect, than if I sliced through her jugular with a knife.

I wonder what Daisy’s blood would look like spilling out of her throat.