Almost two weeks since my last kill and I’m getting anxious. You know I’ve had dry spells before but this is different. This is innocence out of necessity. And it is driving me mad.
The law firm that is suing us on behalf of Slutty McDead has hired a private investigator. And he’s not subtle.
He thinks I don’t notice him parked down the block but I notice everything new. This means that I can’t express myself the way I normally do. In fact I can’t express at all. It’s frustrating as hell.
Yesterday I walked into the kitchen after work and my husband was there. The kids were out with their friends so it was just James and me. He was making supper – pasta…something (I wasn’t really paying attention) – without his shirt on. He hasn’t done that in months.
How I’ve missed that flesh.
That sinewy flesh; tanned and toned and begging for my teeth.
But lately in my fantasies I bite down too hard. I taste blood, I taste the salty sweat of his skin. I touch bone.
I can’t even enjoy a good sex dream without wanting to maim and murder.
I’m better than this. I can rise above. I don’t have to be tempted everywhere I go. I don’t have to kill all the time. No matter what my body is saying.
No matter how much I want to rip that PI’s throat out for disrupting my routine.
I can be better.
I have to.
As always, dear readers,