Serial Obsessor—by Alicia Bates
There she is.
I hate when she’s late.
Venti Peppermint Tuxedo, non-fat, and no whipped cream.
I get it ready for her, making sure it is the perfect temperature.
Not too hot. I don’t want her to scald that perfect tongue.
Licking perfect lips.
On a perfect face.
I make sure that when I present the coffee to her, her hand has to touch mine.
Her fingers gently, barely caress mine, a touch so light.
I look her in the eye and then I know this is the day.
She takes it.
Doesn’t look at me.
I adore the way she mindlessly sips her coffee while reading her book.
When she’s done, she tucks her book into her bag and tosses her coffee cup into the trash bin.
This is my moment with her, for her to be mine.
I follow her.
To her house.
I glide right up behind her as she unlocks the door of her house which is only one block from the café.
A citrus aroma flows from her skin and hair into my nose, my mind, my soul.
She stops when she feels my body resting against hers, so much warmth between us.
The keys drop.
Hold her tight.
I hold her so close while we place ourselves inside her house, seeking her bedroom.
I lay her down on her soft bed on the blue comforter which is placed messily at the bottom.
She is not moving and this is good because I need her to be still.
Need my knife.
I raise her blouse and touch her warm, soft, fair skin.
I can see her chest move up and down as she slowly breathes.
The blade of the knife presses against her belly, not quite piercing through.
Slide the knife up.
Find her heart.
Slip the knife in.
Feeling the knife slowly force its way through her heart gratifies me, released.
Blood seeps out and rests on her skin and the blue comforter.
Sliding the knife slowly out of her stilled heart I watch as she lays still, perfection.