I love you.
I want you.
I would never leave you.
I would never hurt you.
I would never be them.
I would never be him.
Oh my! The audacity these men have is quite something, don’t you think?
I hear these lines every single day, every season, every sunset, every sunrise—tasting their lies like its milk, tasting yours like its poison. I'm addicted to your words and your charms, the way your whispers eat my soul, the way your touch skins my flesh. It's as if you've forgotten my capability, as if the so-called innocence in my womanhood buries the infection in my eardrums, the eruption of screams in my skull. I've heard it all before, darling; the empty promises, the false reassurance, the indefinite proposals—and you certainly won't be the last. Every victim has confessed in relaying these lies to many other women only if, of course, you get them to beg at your feet. They lie on their backs struggling to breathe, they get on their knees before me weak, high strung, defeated like thirsty little pets. Their turned on by my open legs, the moans, the gasps, the subtle wetness between my thighs, and yet, speechless by their own blood.
Now, now, don't stop reading now. Have I made you uncomfortable? Are you beginning to twist in your chair, clear your dry throat, shuffle in the sheets? There's no reason to be anxious, my dear. Lean back, relax, drink some beer, wine even. Why don’t you just pour yourself an old fashion glass of whiskey, your favorite brandy? There's no harm in seeking a bit of comfort. I'm just getting started.
I call men I've dated, fucked, and devoured—my victims. And there are many if I had to be frank. You're not the only one I've fallen for, the only man that has sucked on my breasts and finger fucked my holes. You're not the only one who has despised my vulgarity and my mental instability. I've been in many cars, many houses, many beds…I've heard many insults, comments, and promises. I've been abused, assaulted, manipulated, deceived, gaslighted, weakened, threatened, pressured, belittled, disrespected, practically bleeding from the waist down for their own benefit. I've sucked many small cocks before yours—only to find out how unreliable and ugly these fucks are. My intelligence means nothing unless it considers the patriarchy they believe justifies their actions, and my voice is not for speaking unless it accommodates their masculine needs. It's quite absurd to think that these men will have daughters. Your child will grow up to bring home a man like you. What would you have to say to her? What would you have to say to him?
I'm not here to justify my own actions or defend myself for my sins. I've doing what I can to give back to the community, you see, to save other women from men who seek arrogance and somehow gain access to what they believe is rightfully theirs as if we're their property. I'm really doing a service; to protect a young woman's innocence, to build her own legacy without being distracted by a man who loves to lie their way into a relationship, a marriage, only to be controlling at best.
And you, well, you are the most prominent character in this story. You were, let's just say, the best of the best, one of my favorite victims of them all. And you knew that, didn't you? You knew I admired your dominance, your willingness to convince and use my chastity against me. You knew your charm would affect my walls and bonds, essentially, make me crawl on all fours before you. You had your hold on me, teased me, pushing me down on my knees to beg you to stay, to love me. You knew I wouldn't leave you, you knew I wouldn't be able to let go no matter how far you pushed, no matter the torture, the threats, or the agony you intentionally created. I was loyal, to you and only to you, and you knew no other woman could be that for you. You've been labeled a piece of shit all your life…and somehow, I found the light in your fucked up, erratic, egotistical being. You learned the ways of seduction, manipulation, and deceit, covered narcissism with your tongue, masked tricks with your cock. Until one day, I saw right through you. Until one day, you choked out all the love and care and appreciation I had for you. You never deserved it, and I slipped out of your grasp like a bottle of red wine tipping off the side of the table.
Four years later and you're still doing what you do best. I've watched you for days, at your home, on your walks, at your work, women coming in and out of your apartment freshly fucked with smeared red lipstick, giving you fake, unsatisfying smiles. Are you still unable to return the favor because your ego refuses to reveal the lack of skills your tongue actually has? You're literally a waste, and it's such a pity you can't see it.
But now I'm here, watching you, wearing your favorite color red, a backless dress fitted around my curves, for many to see. My lips are painted with thick, statement red, and my heels speak volumes, complimenting my legs through the slit of my dress, hair drifting down to the side to expose my neck for the predators, the drooling fucks. You were too busy attempting to fit in with the crowd when I entered the hotel, to hide your insecurities through your ego and synthetic kindness—which is why you didn't notice me. You were too busy joking and dealing with business, undressing women with your eyes from the bar, picking and choosing who's going to have the privilege of lying naked in bed with you, as if your small, uncircumcised cock is worth worshiping.
Oops, was that too much? Did that make you even more distressed?
You have a woman in bed with you right now, sleeping soundly as you scroll through my words, attempting to be somewhat discreet, to hide the fact that I affect you in more ways than one, even in places you wouldn't expect. You try not to focus on your woman's heavy breaths, on her rising naked breasts, hoping she wouldn't wake or stir in her sleep and notice the tenseness in your body, the colossal disturbance in your bones.
I told you I've been watching you, haven't I?
I told you that I'm here.
Take a look around, baby. Do you see anything in the darkness of your room?
Do you sense another presence, hear another breath?
Your eyes widen to the thought of me haunting you, watching you, next to you. You quickly look around the room, wondering if you'll see a woman with devilish eyes and a demon's hot breath. But you see nothing, notice nothing unfamiliar. The drapes are still, the windows are shut, and the chair across the room from you is empty, vacant as if it hasn’t been touch when an impression is actually left on the seat, a detail you would never care to see. You're paranoid now, I see, nervously gazing in all corners of the hotel room, finding nothing but dusty shelves and clean air. You wonder if you should turn on the lamp switch on the nightstand, but you look at the woman that lies next to you and dare not to wake her up. She must be an innocent soul if you came during missionary. Surely, fucking women from behind is now a bore, and you'd rather be on your knees than be a gentleman and eat her out first. I hope to speak with her on occasion and convince her not to lick a man's balls for hours on end, no more than you can say "fuck" after each stroke.
You decide to get up and go to the bathroom, walking across the room in the dark without much of a thought to my threats or warnings. You then stand in front of the mirror, turning on the faucet to wash your face. I admire your physique for a moment. You have been working out again, so I can presume your ass has gotten surprisingly tighter.
I stand up from the edge of the bathtub and watch you from behind while you splash water on your face.
When you look up, you notice a dark figure.
Your eyes adjust.
You jump back, startled...shook.
And turn on the light.
"Miss me?" I smile.
Before you can react, I take the knife I've had in my hand, grip the handle, and hold it against your throat from behind, grabbing a fistful of your short curly locks so I can expose that delicate, soft vein bulging out of your neck.
"I see you've been reading what I wrote you," I say, your phone displaying these words along the screen.
You swallow, your Adam's apple tasting the sharp metal of my blade, "What the...look…you…you don't have to do this. I'll…what do you want? I'll…I'll give you any–"
"Aw, honey. Are you scared?" I chuckle, nicking a piece of your flesh as I do. I lick my lips once a trickle of blood travels down your strained throat, gapping in arousal as I eye the fluid through the mirror. "I thought you were a man. Besides, your blood matches my dress."
You look at me like my sanity is corrupt, "What the…I…look, I'm sor–"
"Don’t you dare apologize," I say through gritted teeth. "It's a little too late for a fucking apology. You can beg all you want to. In fact, baby, I wouldn't mind that at all, but nothing you say is going to spare you. Look at us." We look at each other through the mirror, your light brown eyes staring at mine, eying at the knife pressing closely to your skin. I grip your hair harder, rougher, nails digging in your scalp, bringing my lips to your ear, "I am more myself than I have ever been, and I want you to remember this. Remember who truly holds the power. Remember me. Because I swear to God, I will haunt you from this day forward. I will be there when you wake up and face the Devil. Now, could you do me a favor, sweetie?"
"You don't–" you plead.
"Say hi to the others for me," I whisper. "My other exes are waiting for you."
I swiftly plunge the edge of the knife deep into your flesh without hesitation, slicing open your throat. Dark, delicious blood gushes out of your neck in a wondrous scene as you choke on its creamy contents, blood splashing against the sink, painting the bathroom floor. I step back as your hands press along the wound, spilling out like a sea of the dead while you drop to your knees in front of me. You attempt to breathe your last breath, and I can't help but take pleasure in the sight, wishing I can lick the mouth that once called me a whore. You collapse on the floor with a soft thud, and I admire the thick inundations of blood that drain out of you, devouring the crevices of the tiles in a cinematic climax, craving applause from the audience as you drown in the flood. Your open flesh brings a smile to my façade, tilting my head while I observe your struggle, looking at me as if apologizing for your deceit and overall transgressions. I wait until your body stills, until your pale, desolate eyes look back at mine. Blood covers the bottom of my heels with complete satisfaction, gently touches the dress with need.
It's unfortunate to say that you were once the love of my life. I was actually in love with you.
And now you are nothing; a severed body, a corpse, one for my own collection.
I wipe the taints of your blood off my knife with a towel, and wash your guts off my hands with water. I quietly leave your body behind, open and close the front door before your girlfriend wakes up to find you.
It doesn't take long before I hear a beautiful scream down the hall, and I smile once the doors of the elevator close, watching the numbers go down from twelve to one.
I hope to find you when I get down there in Hell.
Remember now, the Devil never forgets who hurts his daughter.