Bad Men

She walked across the bar as if nothing around her mattered, the multitude just petals at a Goddess’ feet. Slipping past him like a forgotten, hidden piece of art falling through his hands. Her gaze shifted in his direction and he hid, behind anything but his shame. She greeted the small congress of men there for her disposal. Delicate hands grasping, touching until she reached him. The furor of jealousy exploded inside him without hesitation. Tall, sandy blond hair. Chiseled jawline. His skin tight and tanned. Pecs and biceps and everything a woman wants wrapped in designer jeans and a tailored shiny black shirt. Probably a millionaire too. And her, a mere glimmer in the constellation of women lost in his stone grey eyes. He would have her that night. She reeked of demeaning consent.

How could she? Did she not have a heart? A simple mediocre soul? Did she not care the dozens of times he held the door open for her as she glided into the building? All the times he whispered “hi” as they rode the elevator? He’d managed to keep the rest of them away. They were bad. Bad men. They’d bother her no more. Never again. He kept her vigil in the night. Hidden in the walls. Her door locks arcane, easy to pick. The temperature in her flat always cool. The refrigerator stocked with organic this and that and the hip water the movie stars all drank. He never hurt her. Never even touched her as he listened to her sleep. He loved her. But this one, this surfer dream boy, he’d proved a difficult foe. Caught him unprepared and reached her and now she packed her things and was leaving with him. Almost in his arms. Leaving him forever. Forever.

He felt the crowd around him. Like an octopus attacking him, dragging him to the deep. Like so many times before, but not this time. He would save her. Keep her safe from that bad man. He pulled his knife from his boot. The bone handle broke from the last time he used it. The blade sharp and bloody. He never bothered to clean it afterwards. No one saw him approach the couple in the glimmer and the dark of the club. The spray of blood landed soft and angelic across her face. Like a bubble bursting at her face. He stared at her eyes as he continued to saw at the surfer dream boy’s throat. Would she notice him now?