A Dangerous Affair – Part 2
As the memory of that encounter with his mother faded, Matthew looked at the lifeless body of the young lady that now laid in his bed. Her throat slashed, blood as red as crimson soaked every inch of the mattress. He recoiled in horror, haunted by the realisation that he had killed again. As soon as the fear had come, it left, replaced by a cold and cruel purpose. With surgical precision he began the now familiar task of cleaning up his mess, his mother’s mess. His hands were steady as he dragged the body from the bed, the dead girl’s eyes stared into his own, without really seeing him. He stared back, without really seeing her. He briefly tried to remember her name, but he couldn’t.
She had been so friendly when they met earlier at the club. She looked hispanic, or maybe she was italian, he wasn’t sure. Her olive skin and rich black hair reminded him of home, of his mother. He had made a decision not to take her home, he did not want to hurt her. She had been persistent. Her hands and crawled up his thigh repeatedly, in search of something hard. The light, yet deliberate, stroke of her hand ensured she wasn’t left disappointed. Matthew felt his manhood stir in his pants, standing expectantly; anticipating her touch. She came closer and leaned forward, he could smell her perfume. Lavender. Her chest rose lightly as she whispered to him, making her breasts even more pronounced in the soft blue light of the booth in which the sat. “How about we get out of here?”, she said. “Let go back to your place and get comfortable.”
It had gone well, he was in perfect control of himself and his emotions. The sex was everything he imagined it would be. His hardness found refuge in the soft, velvet embrace of her moistness. She had been remained naked for some time after, teasing him with soft kisses and her tender touch. She had taken his antique hunting knife from the wall, and playfully ran the blade across her naked flesh. The latent violence excited him. His eyes grew wide with excitement. She realised his excitement immediately, “do you like this?”, she asked? “Yes,” he whispered. She laughed, her voice filled the otherwise silent room. The memory of his mother’s laugh came back to him. He felt himself losing control. “Do you love me Matt?”, her voice was playful. She was still joking. But something inside him had snapped. In one fluid motion he grabbed the knife and pulled it across her throat. The blade tore through flesh and muscle. She gasped, her feeble hands trying to stop him. Within seconds, she had stopped moving.
By this point he had finished cleaning the room. The memory of what happened already fading. In his mind, he had killed his mother, stopped her from hurting him; as he had done so many times before. He lifted the body over his shoulder and stepped out into the night. He would begin the next step in his sordid ritual, dismembering the body, limb from limb.
To Be Continued.