Page 8 of About the Green

What a creep?

You came here specifically looking for underage women, young women. It's just fucking gross, and it's not the first time I've seen him there.

What's his name?

Fisher was his name.

Was. Right.

Because he is gone now.

Never to be seen again.

It didn't take much to lure him out of the club.

I keep my little razor blade behind my teeth, so that no one will notice that it's there. It's a little difficult to talk and smile sometimes, especially if my tongue piercing gets caught in the sides or the middle of the razor. Then I've got to do some very careful maneuvering, which I'm used to at this point. The little wax paper sleeve has come in handy more times than I can count.

The first slice is always so, so good.

The breaking of flesh underneath my blade—satisfying. I don't know if it's more satisfying when they're shocked or when they realize that they've been hurt.

Sometimes they don't, which I think is fascinating.

Fisher, here, didn't realize that I had already cut him, and all it took was one kiss. I had easily gotten the blade out under the guise of removing my lipgloss, so it wouldn't get all over him.

Oh, Fisher, you piece of shit.

Anyways, thankfully, there's already a system in place to get rid of unwanted bodies, especially when the crime family is doing things that they are trying to keep under wraps. I can't really go into details on that, but I will say it's a rather quick process. Now I'm ready to go home and get clean because, oh my god, I can still feel his clammy middle-aged pervert man-hands on me.

This is expensive merchandise—cost him his life.

I can't believe he thought that I was ever going to give him any play.

I mean, look at me, look at him.

I feel like I'm being underutilized in Louisiana anyways. We had so much fun back then. I was taking down like two or three guys per week when Racquelle was really in the mood to start creating damage to make her name. That's where I really got a chance to shine, because it's no easier than blinking to lure men out to hear what they have to say. They spill everything to women that they think will make them happy, especially when they feel like they've gotten lucky by even being with you. Which they are, and there's no lie there.

However, since she actually claimed her role, I haven't been able to do anything important besides this, but that's neither here nor there.

I've got a tail.

The tail is the important part, and I need to focus on the fact that someone is still following me. Even after taking an extremely roundabout way, and you know what, gas is not cheap.

Ahh, and the last thing I need is to have to stop and refill my tank, so I take myself home because whoever this is, I am going to deal with it.

I finally just take the route to my house and park my car. Getting out, I wait to see if they're getting out. I look and see who's there, and I honestly can't tell. They end up stopping a full street down.

If I weren't looking for them, I probably would not have found them.

But I am, and I have.

Going around the backside of my apartment complex, I sneak up on the vehicle to see exactly who's here, and I shouldn't be shocked by whose annoying, grumpy face is sitting in the driver's seat.

I creep up to the driver side and bang on the window. "What do you think you're doing?" I yell.

It's pretty late at night, but I'm not worried about anyone coming out to find me at this point.

This fucking creeper.