I start walking across the quad as soon as I see you enter the laundry room. I'm running the plan in my head one last time. Planning is the key. And I know how to play the game without getting caught. It's my area of expertise. Of course I'm a little out of practice, but that don't matter. It's like riding a bike, it ain't something you forget. I know what I got to do now and that gives me a focus that's been lacking for a while.
Sometimes it just don't pay to fight your nature. I learned that the hard way. I tried to be good, I tried to do right and all it got me was a knife to the heart. I've been fighting the urge for so long. Ever since Beecher reminded me I'm capable of anything. Because, I am, I was, and I always will be.
I wanted to strike out, to give into the rage that burns through me, to show everyone just what *exactly* I am capable of. I thought I'd get my chance with Zabitz, but that fucker just up and croaked before I got to whack him. He died before I got the chance to sink my knife into him and twist it in his stomach just like Toby's accusations did to me.
Even still, I asked Sister Pete for help, and that wasn't easy. But she proved once again that she don't give a shit bout me or my problems. Who am I fooling, a twelve step program couldn't keep me clean. So I'm done fighting, and you pal… now you're just the lamb for my slaughter. Course nothing *really* innocent about you. You spread your cheeks and eagerly took what Beecher had to give.
I scan the area one final time before I get to the laundry room. Everyone is huddled around the television watching Miss Sally jiggle her tits. Couldn't ask for a better distraction. Nothing stands a chance against the appeal of those knockers. I allow myself one final glance at my old pod and there's Toby looking out the glass wall probably scoping out his next fuck. And I can't let myself think about *that* or I'll lose my focus all over again. I shake my head and strut toward the door.
O'Reily's already there leaning against the wall outside the laundry room door. With a quick nod to him, I enter carrying a bag of dirty clothes, a basket of detergent and a shank. It's deserted except for you and me.
Kind of poetic when you think about it. This is where it all began and this is where it's gonna end. Cause you see, he gave you something that wasn't his to give. He gave you something that belongs to me. And contrary to how it seems, I don't share.
Ain't really your fault but that don't matter, you have to die just the same. For him. For me. It's the same damn thing. I set my metal basket down more loudly than need be and you jump just a little. I've got your attention now. You and me are about to dance, so I acknowledge your existence which is more than I ever have done before.
You smile at me as I swagger up next to you. You have no idea you're about to meet your maker and I'm the one who's going to send you there. You just think you're about to get lucky again. I lean back against the washer and smile at you and you're grinning back at me like the cat who ate the canary.
It's quite obvious you think I'm gonna stick my dick up your ass just like Toby did, but you couldn't be more wrong. Oh yeah, I'm gonna give you something to remember me by, I'm gonna stick something into you time and again until you moan and shake. I'll leave you breathless and begging but you'll never speak my name.
Or his name.
I pull my shirt off, sniff it and set it on the washer. You're licking your lips and running your eyes up and down my body, clad now only in my gym shorts. You think I'm just showing off, but actually blood's a bitch to get out of clothes. I should know, I've spilled my fair share over the years. I bend over to pick up a sock I dropped on the floor, and your intake of breath at the close up view of my ass says it all. Oh yeah, you like what you see. Who doesn't? I'm smiling at you as I dump the clothes into the washer. You're too busy staring at my chest to see me slip the knife underneath the towel I left sitting on top.
You reach out and run your hand over my tattoo and I want to flinch. I want to pummel your face with my fist, but I reach over and cup the back of your head in my hand instead. Growing bolder you slide your hand across my chest, teasing my nipples with your fingers. Narrowing my eyes at you, I step closer, into your touch but all I want to do is break your god damn neck.
But that's too easy. You need to suffer. You need to *feel* the pain I live with every god damn day now. I *want* someone to feel my pain. We don't have time for foreplay so I kiss you hard and rough and pull you down until we're both kneeling behind the washers, safely out of the view of the hacks. O'Reily's got the door, so no one's coming to your rescue, not until it's too late.
I use my arm to pull your head to mine, my tongue deep in your mouth. I unbutton your pants and thrust my hand down inside. Getting your dick hard is my number one priority cause let's face it once my hand starts working it's magic, you ain't gonna be aware of nothing except how bad you want to get off. I release your mouth and watch your face as my expert stroking has you gasping for breath.
Oh yeah, I've got your attention now, my one hand wrapped around your cock, my other arm wrapped tightly around your neck. It's too easy, you're too willing. I can't help myself, I need to scare you just a bit. I tighten my hold on your neck cutting off your breath as I pull your head forward and whisper in your ear, "So tell me, did you enjoy it?"
You tilt your head up and look at me, fear, arousal, and confusion swirling in your eyes. You have no idea what I'm talking about. Sliding my hand lower to grab your balls even as I press my forearm harder into your neck., I smile and say, "Beecher. Did you enjoy having his dick deep in your ass?"
And congratulations, we have a winner because the only look on your face now is fear. And Christ Almighty, that makes *my* dick hard. You try and talk, but I just shake my head no and release my grip on your throat. "Sssh, ssh, you don't have to answer baby. I know you did. How could you not?"
I move around behind you now, I'm petting your hair to calm you down while my other hand is still stroking your dick. And it's pretty obvious which head of yours does the thinking cause you might be afraid of me, but you're grinding your ass back against my hard dick.
I'm whispering in your ear now, teasing the head of your cock with my thumb and you can't get enough. "Don't worry baby, I've got just what you need. Close your eyes and let me take care of you." And all that fear you felt melts away at the prospect of feeling my dick pounding your ass. You're such a goddamn slut, you really do deserve to die.
As I slip my hand out of your pants, I push you forward until you're on your hands and knees. You go willingly believing I'm about to give you what you need. I'm still stroking your hair and telling you how good I'm gonna make you feel as I reach up and grab the knife off the washer.
Leaning forward, I drape my body over yours. With the knife clenched tightly in my hand I wrap my other arm around your neck again pulling your body flush against mine. In that same second I plunge the knife deep into your side, making sure it slices in under your ribs. I twist it deeper inside and I can feel you mouth and eyes fly open. I have you in a headlock, pressing my arm into your neck so hard, you can't breath, you can't talk. Your blood is flowing now all over my hand and I can feel your rapid heartbeat as I yank the knife out and plunge it in again.
You are squirming, fighting for your life and I should be enjoying it. But I don't. All I can see is Toby standing behind you thrusting his dick up your ass trying to find something inside you that he can only get from *me*. I close my eyes tightly willing the image away, as I stab you again. And again. And again. You've stopped fighting some time ago, but I keep on thrusting my knife.
When I finally notice the blood is getting out of hand, I stop and just let your body slump to the ground. I leave you sprawled on the floor, body twitching and blood oozing from every wound. Wiping the blood off my hand and arms with the towel I set aside, I peer around the corner of the washing machines and O'Reily gives me the all clear sign.
I stand and pull my jeans out of the washer before starting it. I run the knife and my hand under the water making sure all traces of the blood is gone. Before pulling my jeans on, I dump the bloody towel into the washer. I look down and you're gurgling and shaking and I contemplate just one more slice right across your neck, but decide I've already pressed my luck enough.
I quickly pour an entire bottle of bleach into the washer to make sure all traces of the blood are gone. The clothes will be ruined, but I don't give a shit cause they ain't mine. I wipe the knife clean of my prints before dropping it in the bottom of the basket to give to O'Reily. He's gonna get rid of it, but I ain't taking any chances. He may be my dance partner, but that don't mean he's necessarily cha-cha-ing to the same beat as me.
I glance back at you one more time watching the life seep out of you. And it's funny, I don't feel the normal rush. The usual pleasure at my handy work hasn't come because the pain I've been feeling ain't gone. I fear it's never gonna be gone. But at least I won't have to look at you every day now and see Toby giving you what's mine.
So you just lay there and bleed motherfucker cause you…you ain't nothing.