“He is not a Prophet, you fool. Jedediah is a sick fucking monster, using God for an excuse to do disgusting things to children. I was a goddamn child when he took my virginity, as I sobbed. Every time he touched me, I wanted to die. I will never stop, not until all of you are dead. Nobody ever protected me,but I will end this. No more hurt. No more pain for the innocent. This is not a church, but a fucking cult. And its destruction is mine.”
More than once on my run, I’ve spotted bizarre shit. I’ve seen them outside chanting religious nonsense. I didn’t know it was a cult, but I’m not surprised either.
She rises to her feet and turns to me. Placing her bloody hands on her hips, she glares at me with striking blue eyes that warn me not to approach her. This woman looks like a dangerous, blood-thirsty animal, and fuck, I want more of it. She’s dressed in black pants and a matching sleeveless T-shirt, with the wordheathenscrawled across it. Her anger is palpable, even from the fifteen-foot distance between us. I don’t know her name, but suddenly I want to know everything about her. How did she end up here? How many people has she killed? What did they do to her? Fuuuck, she’s my new obsession.
I was never officially diagnosed with OCD, but I started showing symptoms when I was twelve. It’s not in a ‘I can’t touch doorknobs’ kind of way, but when I like something, I like it in excess. I don’t run for exercise, but because I’m almost addicted to it. If there’s something that interests me, it becomes the only thing I can think about. I become obsessed with things I take interest in.
That thing has never been a person.
Until now.
Pulling out my phone, I snap a picture of her, and she rolls her eyes as I step closer to her.
“Have fun jerking off to my picture, dickhead.”
My lips pull up into a smirk. She’s fucking gorgeous and has a smart mouth.
“Oh, I will, Little Heathen. I fucking will.”
She turns her back to me, and I’m tempted to take her back to the shop, but I decide to let her go. For now.
I move slowly, allowing her to get ahead so she thinks she’s alone. Once I see where she’s living, she will never be on her own again.
My Little Heathen doesn’t know it yet, but she’s mine.
To watch.
To protect.
To ravish.
To keep.
To worship.
My brothers would say it’s my OCD at work, but it’s not. This is so much more than that. The way she looks.
The way she moves.
The delectable sound of her voice.
Every fucking thing about her calls to me. Other men might stay away from a woman that’s a serial killer, but not me.
We are the same, Little Heathen.
I should let her go and pretend I never laid eyes on her, but I can’t do that. I’m a goddamn psychopath. If she runs, I’ll do what I do best.
Hunt her.
I follow behind her as she checks her surroundings, left to right, but she doesn’t bother looking behind her.
Naughty Little Heathen.
She runs through the forest, jumping over fallen tree branches, never missing a step.
This woman moves with the grace of a gazelle as I speed up into a sprint, trying not to lose her while also attempting to be quiet so she doesn’t know she’s being followed. She darts to the left, then right, before halting in front of a small body of water that I didn’t know existed. I watch with curiosity as she pulls open a backpack hidden behind a large gray rock.
Is my girl homeless?
