Just like the woman I reached out to, our lives were ruined. All the goals I once thought I’d have?
Gone.
Tarnished.
Nothing but a wishful memory.
He slides down onto the floor, dragging the bar stool with him which shatters the silence. A sick smile spreads across my face; at least he’s contributing to the mess I made. Makes it a bit easier when there’s signs of struggle.
I’ve turned this entire ground floor into a wreck, smashed the window to get in, emptied a few drawers.
You’d take one look at this place and think a damn raccoon on steroids has had a field day in here. But those little trash pandas are a bit tame to be compared to when my darkness takes over.
I think I steer towards a polar bear.
Blending in with my exterior surroundings, looking cute enough to approach. But how does the saying go? Fuck around and find out?
Yeah, that’s more like me.
It’s nothing personal between him and I, per se.He’snever physically done anything to me. We don’t even run in the same circles—not that I’d want to. But he’s a part ofthem.
Each with something sick and deluded imprinted in their DNA. They don’t see what they’ve done as wrong, and they don’t get punished for it either. They have the resources to do as they please.
I might never be able to clear the world of them entirely, but working through a list of them is better than nothing.
He crawls along the floor, desperately trying to reach his phone that’s just a few feet away from him.
I didn’t put too much in his drink; having him completely unconscious takes away the fun.
Besides, six years ago, I wasn’t given much either.
Whether that was my perpetrator’s intentions or not, I was lucid enough to know what was happening to me.
He grips the phone, his hand waving side to side as he tries to unlock it. His useless struggle forces a huff past my lips, and I take a step closer, the glass beneath my feet crunching as it mixes with the amber liquid.
Crouching down to my knees, I let the gun dangle from my grip, the steel groaning beneath my leather-gloved hand.
His breathing is shallow, the adrenaline from his fear fighting against the drugs slowing his nervous system, the spike in his heart rate as he tries to comprehend what’s happening to him.
“You haven’t even asked me what I want. Usually they assume I’m a burglar,” I taunt, tilting my head as he leans on his side, staring up at me.
The lines around his eyes are pinched together; he wants to close them, to let the toxins in his system lull him under.
He’s fighting the inevitable.
“Y-You’ve no idea who I fucking am. I-I’m calling—”
“Police? Yeah, thought you might say that. They’ll help you, won’t they? Your buddies on your payroll. They’ll have someone over here in a heartbeat. The response time is what, seven, eight minutes? I bet they get here in two when they hear it’s you.”
He frowns, one finger hitting the nine, but he’s too engrossed in me to hit the next one.
“I’m not here to take anything from you… Well,” I chuckle, waving my gun in the air, “not any of this shit. Although I’ve pocketed a couple items to keep up the facade. See, I’ve got quite the piggy bank of my own thanks to killing men like you… Anyways, your wife has already split some of the funds you had squirreled away. She sends her coldest regards by the way.”
He narrows his eyes on me, finger managing to hit the one.
He can’t see who hides under the mask, only my eyes. My smile is evidently clear through the balaclava. Eyes crinkled at the sides, the dilated pupils letting him know just how fucked he is.
“I-I d-don’t—”
