The latter, definitely.
The smug smile he wore in his mugshot told me everything I needed to know about him. He likes the fight, the terror. And if I don't start showing it soon, or end this altogether, it's going to get a lot worse for me.
His fingers become more insistent, and if I don't do this now, he's going to succeed in ripping my dress off. I have to finish this and get on to step two of my plan.
See? Step one and step two. I plotted carefully. I'm basically a pro.
I put the knife in my dress pocket at my side, using my thumb to ease the plastic cover off the sharp, deadly weapon, slowly easing it back out with a shaking hand.
I can't stab him. It won't be fast or clean enough. He'll get a flood of dopamine, adrenaline, and cortisol, and I'll have to fight him off. Even with a stab wound, I can't be sure I'm capable of overpowering him when he's hopped up on all thosefight for your lifehormones.
It has to be the throat, and it has to be fast.
With one solid, sudden shove, I push him away from me.
Just enough to get a look at his furious, exhilarated face as he reacts, reaching for me again and calling me a fucking bitch.
Before he can get a good grip on my body again, I swipe the shiny metal across the front of his throat, cutting a line and praying that it's sharp enough, that I got deep enough, that it really happens as quickly as my research told me it would.
Oh, Jesus Christ.
As warm liquid splatters across my dress, his eyes widen at the realization of what just happened.
Whatever he tries to say, tries to call me, the words come up garbled as blood bubbles out of his mouth.
I'm going to throw up.
Stanley coughs up blood, the sound wet and horrid, as I feel a splatter hit my chest.
Don't puke. Don't puke. Don't puke.
With the last of his strength, he tries to staunch the blood, the flow of it seeping between the fingers clutching his neck as he falls towards me.
At the last second, I dodge him as he crumples towards the wall, using his free hand to hold himself up.
But it's useless, and his hand falls almost immediately, his shoulder falling into the wall before he crumples completely, still gargling and choking on the red liquid both escaping his body and flooding his airway.
Okay, calm down. We knew this was a possibility.
But holy fuck, I had no idea just how much blood there would be.
As it starts to cool on my dress, I have to press a hand to my mouth to keep from throwing up all over the ground and ruining any chance I have of getting away with this.
As Stanley's choking breaths slow and finally stop, I fight against the anxiety growing inside me.
There's a lot of blood, and it's going to be incredibly difficult to wash it all off. Not to mention that I have to take his wallet and any cash he has to make it look like a robbery gone wrong.
I roll his body, the squelch of blood sickening, the scent of pennies adding to the already abhorrent smell of the dumpster that would have hidden his crimes but instead hides mine. With deliberate quickness, I find his wallet, shoving it into my pocket to dispose of later.
I dig through his other pockets, looking for anything expensive to take, coming up empty.
Okay. Step one finished.
As long as I keep focused on what I have to do next, I won't have time to dwell on what I just did.
Right around the corner, I ease into the back door of the abandoned laundromat I've become familiar with.
Every other business on this street that's still open is just a cover for the litany of sins its owners commit. Money laundering, gun sales, drugs. But this one has been closed for years since its owners were put away for cleaning more than just clothes.
