End of the hall.
A princess crown stuck to it crooked.
Sparkles catching the light like tiny knives
Glitter. Pink. A puffy cartoon sticker that says “PRIVATE” in bubble letters.
Bait.
I shouldn’t touch the handle.
I do anyway.
It’s locked.
The only locked door in the house.
My pulse does something stupid.
My dick does worse.
I kneel. Tools out.
Heart pounding like this is still a mission and not a full psychotic break dressed in tactical gear.
The lock clicks.
I push the door open and immediately register the mistake.
The place smells like sugar, sin, and something I want to lick off her thighs.
Center of the room is a bed. Circular. Covered in plush pink sheets.
Full canopy. Ribbons. Lace. String lights.
A teenage fantasy corrupted by an adult with dangerous ideas.
I imagine tossing her on the bed, yanking off that pink bra she’d admired. The one I bought. Along with the panties.
The set in my jacket pocket.
There’s a vanity in the corner.
Mirror surrounded by lights.
Makeup scattered across the surface.
Pink lipstick. Half-used.
I pick it up.
Imagine it smeared across her mouth after I kiss her.
I twist it up. Swipe my tongue across the tip. Taste it. Her lips.
I catch my reflection.
Look out of place.
