Lovers' Descent

Alright, this is it, the point of no return. Molly thought to herself. You’ve planned this for weeks, now he’s right here in front of you. You just have to-

“You got a nice place here, baby girl. It’s a good thing you live alone, even your neighbors are gonna be hearing you moan by the time I’m done breaking you in.”

… Ugh.

The short man in front of her drunkenly struggling to get his ripped jeans off was a scrawny lowlife bottom of the ladder gangster that no one would miss. Although he was here thinking he got lucky and landed both a desperate drunk girl and a warm place to sleep, the truth was quite the opposite. Molly was sober, was absolutely not going to have sex with him, and even though he was going to stay the night, he wouldn’t be sleeping. After almost a minute of struggling, he was still leaning against the kitchen island on one arm while trying to get the first pant leg off over his obviously stolen oversized designer shoe.

What a fucking idiot. Just have to keep up the act for a bit longer.

“Yeah, I bought this place myself, big boy. It might be a bit small for a house, but it’s a labor of love. Let me grab a bottle of water real quick, I’m pretty thirsty.”

She was met with a dismissive grunt of confirmation as he focused on his sisyphean task. His back was turned to her, showing off several poorly drawn tattoos. They included a naked woman riding a nuke, a large hand holding up a middle finger, and worst of all, a snake slithering through a skull that looked like it’d been done by a five year old. There’s no way this guy has actually seen any of these, right? Molly thought as she headed into the kitchen.

“While you’re in there, why don’t ya get me a beer and somethin’ to eat?”

Molly had to literally bite her lip and take a deep breath to keep from saying something bitchy right back. If she had any doubts of going through with her plan before, they were quickly disappearing by the second.

Insufferable as he was when I met him at the bar, he’s so much worse while drunk. I mean, for fuck’s sake, does he even want sex, or just dinner?

“Don’t worry, I’ve got something prepared just for you,” she replied.

Molly’s heart rate spiked as the weight of what she was about to do set in. She looked to the wooden block where she kept her kitchen knives. Excitement and anxiety began to clash inside of her, making her heartbeat almost audible. A lump in her throat made it impossible to swallow, and her stomach felt like a wash cloth being wrung out. Her favorite chef’s knife felt weightless as she picked it up and gripped it tightly. Nervous and filled with adrenaline, her hand quivered as she quietly stepped right behind him, holding her breath. She’d dreamed of getting this opportunity for years. This was it, there was no backing down now.

“Almost done getting undressed, handsome?” Molly asked, doing her best to keep her voice steady. Being flirtatious was not something that came naturally to a woman like her, but luckily she didn’t need to do so for much longer.

“Uh, yeah, obviously. Be patient, bitch,” he snapped.

It took serious restraint for Molly to not just snap back like she normally would; she only had once chance at this, and needed his guard to be as lowered as possible.

At last, he wrestled the second pant leg off and tossed the jeans aside. “Alright, get on your knees, you whore. Where’s my beer?”

The moment he steadied himself, planting his still shoed foot back on the ground proudly and getting ready to turn around, Molly steeled herself and acted. In one swift movement she grabbed his chin with one hand, reached around him with the other, placed the edge of the blade against his throat right below the jawline, and pulled with moderate force, letting the knife do the work the same way her grandpa had taught her how to slaughter pigs when she was young. It was an easy task, considering the man was a couple inches shorter than her and thin as a rail.

The blade slid easily through his esophagus, and blood immediately began to ooze out like a garden hose at half power as she completely severed the jugular vein. Molly was amazed at how easy it was, with even less resistance than any farm animal she’d killed in the past. After all those summers as a kid spent at her grandparent’s ranch, she would have never thought that helping out on the farm would prepare her to do something like this. It definitely helped that this piece of human garbage was worth less than livestock to her. Once finished, she quickly retreated to observe the outcome of her act of violence from a safe distance.

The man barely reacted at first. He reached up to his throat to wipe away the blood that was rapidly cascading down his neck and chest. After processing his bloody hand, he turned to look at Molly with a dawning horror on his face. She just stood there, holding the knife awkwardly aloft, watching him bleed out with a look of wide-eyed wonder. Choking words stopped before they could form, his attempts at speaking only sending small spatters of blood towards the fledgling murderer. As a few drops hit her face, she shuddered with an unfamiliar full body spasm emanating from her gut.

Her victim tried taking a step towards her, but within seconds of her cut he stumbled and fell forward onto the white marble flooring as the shock and weakness from rapid blood loss set in. He rolled over and clutched at his throat, wide eyes looking up confused and pleading at his killer. His chest rose and fell desperately with each breath he took, but no air was entering through his mouth. Instead, the gaping hole she’d made in his neck was taking in equal parts air and blood, slowly drowning him and worsening the choking coughs.

During this reprieve of his forced silence, Molly took the opportunity to get out the words that had been living in her mind for months, speaking in a trembling but ice cold tone with none of the false amiability from before.

“This is for Lauren. You probably don’t remember her, being the scumbag that you are, but you ruined my best friend’s life. Now, you get to die a pathetic death like the animal you are, which is still more than you deserve.”

It only took about forty-five seconds for him to stop moving, but to Molly it felt like an eternity. Little by little, the color drained from his face, shifting from an intoxicated tomato red to a ghostly pallor. Once he was fully still, it was almost another full minute before she finally remembered to take a breath. Then, she started to chuckle awkwardly.

“Hah… haha…. Oh my god, holy shit. Holy fucking shit!”

Molly crouched down next to his head, shakily poking at the gaping incision with her free hand. Unable to contain the feeling welling up inside her, she rolled onto her back in the pool of blood, knife clutched tightly to her chest. A sensation between an orgasm and an anxiety attack spread through her from her stomach, overwhelming her already adrenaline-addled brain. For over a minute she squirmed on the floor, until finally she relaxed, sprawled out and panting heavily in the red puddle.

Once her breathing steadied, she sat back up and gazed at the motionless figure before her. The pounding in her chest refused to subside, but the initial wave of painful ecstasy had passed.

With a small grunt, she stood up and started laughing again softly, the broad grin on her face almost hurting the usually unused muscles. This was it. This was the feeling she had dreamt of. And it was intoxicating.

The knife clattered as she tossed it on the counter, and she began to observe her surroundings more closely. “Whew. Okay. What a mess. Ummm.” The lake of blood forming around her feet made her suddenly realize how drenched she was. Her shirt was definitely ruined, and her jet black hair was dripping with the thick crimson liquid. “Right, cleanup. Fuck, I didn’t realize it’d be this bad…”

After wringing out her hair as best she could, she walked to the hallway closet in a daze, grabbing a trash bag and the new mega pack of paper towels she’d bought just for this. Setting them down near the man, she pondered for a moment how to get the bulk of the blood cleaned up. She knew it would be a lot, but didn’t think it’d be this much. Surely some of it was still inside of him? After considering her options, she walked to the kitchen and grabbed a plastic pitcher.

Returning to her victim, she opened a new roll of towels and unraveled several sheets, wadding them up like she would to clean a glass of spilt milk. She soaked up as much blood as she could, then wringed the red mass of paper into the pitcher. Still smiling, she continued this for a few minutes until the pitcher was full, then carefully took it to the bathroom to dump into the toilet.

When she flushed, she noticed the blood left by her fingers on the lever, and it finally hit her that she’d only succeeded in making a bigger mess than she was cleaning up by tracking blood all over the house. She turned around and stared at her bloody footprints leading to the toilet, then looked down at her red hands before collapsing on the floor, shaking.

I did it. I really killed him.

Thinking the words sent another full body shiver through her from her gut, and although this time it was closer to anxious pain than twisted pleasure, she couldn’t help but revel in the feeling. It had been years since she felt anything besides depression and emotional agony, with vivid intrusive thoughts piloting her perpetual bad mood. Killing someone other than herself so she could feel something besides constant anguish was one of the most frequent of these unwelcome ideations. It slowly evolved into a fantasy, and eventually an obsession. She wondered for a long time if she was willing to go that far just to stave off the pain. Now, she knew for sure.

Suddenly, she burst into tears, ugly sobbing into her bloodstained hands as she leaned on the edge of the tub. Long buried memories of the worst days of her life sprang back into her mind, but unlike years ago, a strange sense of catharsis came with them. The accompanying pain was different too, like a wound being rinsed with alcohol.

Something that was already cracked inside her had broken beyond repair that night, yet at the same time, something else felt inexplicably complete.