The Coffee Shop Killers, Chapter 1
I’ll Pretend For Now
My eyes scanned him for expressions as we walked in the snow towards his campus. The leftover snow from hours ago crunched under our boots, steam from our mouths trailing us as we walked. I looked up to the clear dark night sky, the stars were bright and showing their true selves.
“Pure bliss,” my lips mouthed. That’s all I saw in his expression as I let him hold my hand as we walked. “Why?” I asked him.
“Why what?”
“Why do you love me, even though you know, I’m a killer.”
He gave me the same answer they all did. Men love nothing more than loving something dangerous, something unknown, something that can hurt them, or even better, is hurting them. Hours before, he was helping me bury the body on the side of the hill next to my apartment, unmarked, forever to remain unknown but to the residents already residing in the cemetery dirt.
“I don’t know. How do you put a name to a feeling?”
“You can try.”
His hand squeezed mine tight for a second. “I just was in love with you the moment I saw you.”
“So, you think I’m beautiful?” Males are so shallow.
“I think you’re,” he paused thinking, looking down. “I think you’re otherworldly. I think you hold some alternate superior reality in your aura or something.” He so eloquently ended his sentiment.
This is why I tolerated Trent. His idiocy was so genuine it felt impossible to ignore. As someone who felt their every move was false, I fed off of him and hoped for more of it in my future.
“Do you love me too?” He asked, a whimpering in his voice.
I stopped him as chunks of snow began to fall around us, street lights illuminating the black winter night. He was tall, dark, handsome, smart, everything any other girl would love to have. Yet, I felt nothing for him, and more often than not, I felt disgusted by his attention. This perceived storybook romance that plays over and over in his head was ridiculous. If he was the protagonist that by default made me the villain. I never saw myself that way. Yet, despite this, I couldn’t stop myself from playing with him.
“Kiss me,” I requested. He leaned forward and pressed his warm cheek into my cold nose and I kissed him on his lips gently. “I love you, Trent.”
Maybe one of these days I’d actually mean it. Until then, he’d still be useful to me. We had more bodies to bury.
— -
