Taking a quick glance over my shoulder, I slipped the key in the lock and opened the door. Christy’s voice bellowed over the music as she sang her heart out. How could she be so excited to ruin a marriage? That was something I never understood. Why were women so callous when it came to other women’s happiness?
My heart accelerated as I took the first step to find her. Adrenaline coursed through my bloodstream, giving me a lighter-than-air feeling—invincible. I stopped at the top of the stairs. Her bedroom was straight ahead, door wide open. Her long mirror was angled in the corner of the room, so she hadn’t seen me in the reflection yet.
I gently placed my bag on the top step and watched her brush her hair. She was only wearing a skimpy, tasteless red bra and matching thong. Her body was toned and slender; it was her weapon. The thing she used to get her own way, especially with men.
I boldly walked forward. In the mirror, I saw her eyes widen. She shouted out in surprise and spun around. Clutching her hand over her breasts she gaped at me. “C-Colin? What are you…?” She shook her head. “What are you doing here?”
I smiled and stepped into the room, closing the door behind me. “I’m very glad you asked, Christy. As you know, you’ve been a very naughty girl.”
She gulped and took a step back. “What do you mean? What are you doing? H-How did you even get in?”
“Shh. Now is not the time for you to be asking questions. I’d like to ask you one, if I may?” I didn’t wait for her reply. “Why are you sleeping with a married man?”
“What?” she whispered. “Greg? How do you know?”
“Have you met his wife?” She shook her head. “No, I didn’t think so. Do you think she deserves the humiliation of her husband sleeping around?” Her mouth fell open and she backed up farther, her back hitting the wall. “That was a question, Christy.”
“No,” she answered.
“I didn’t think so. How do you think she would feel if she knew what you were planning tonight?”
She trembled and a tear rolled down her cheek. “I-I don’t… How do you know where I live?”
“I think that is enough talking.” I didn’t want to waste my time on her any longer. Without another word, I pulled the knife out of my pocket, and she screamed.
“No! What the fuck are you doing? Jesus, I’m sorry, okay? Please, Colin, what are you doing?” She held her hands up in front of her, body arched back protectively. “Think about this.”
“Enough,” I snapped. She flinched and whimpered back into the wall. I hated crying and begging. Mother hated crying and begging.
“Please don’t do this, please. Please. I’ll do anything you want, Colin, I swear.” Anything I wanted. She was even offering sex when that was the very thing that had gotten her into trouble. Dirty. I growled as the anger inside reached the boiling point. With one quick whip of my arm, the knife slashed across her skin-deep beautiful face.
She shrieked and stared at me in horror. Her hands shook violently as she tried to touch her face. The screams had left a ringing in my ears. “Good-bye, Christy,” I said and plunged the knife into her gut. As I pulled back, releasing her body trapped between the wall and me, she fell to the floor with a soft thud.
“No,” she muttered, pressing her shaking hand over the knife wound. “Help me. Please?” she begged, gasping for breath.
“Christy, death is your punishment. There has to be a punishment or lessons will never be learned and society will never improve.”
She gagged, coughing up blood, and threw herself forward in an attempt to crawl away. I turned as she shuffled past me, her fingernails clawing into the carpet. “Help me,” she said, her voice squeaked, giving way.
Sighing, I stepped forward and nudged her onto her back with my foot. Her breathing was heavy and ragged. “Let me go. Please?” Her eyes filled with tears.
“Christy,” I whispered and held the knife up. “It’s time to say good night.” She screamed as I brought he knife down with such force it cracked through her ribs. Her body turned limp and her eyes rolled backward. Letting out a deep breath, I closed my eyes. I have control.
I moved quickly, putting her body into a bag and cleaning up the mess. It had been a long time since I had scrubbed blood off the floor and walls. The body lay by the top of the stairs while I poured bleach over the carpet. I wasn’t even sure why I was cleaning up. I only knew I couldn’t leave it a bloody mess.
Once her room was looking better, I went to the bathroom sink and scrubbed my hands. Dirty. I was dirty. I felt dirty. Pumping the hand wash again, I scrubbed my hands for the third time. They were visibly clean, but I knew they weren’t good enough. You’ll never be good enough. I rubbed my hands together harder, washing furiously and gritting my teeth.