3
Alaric
Idon't get hung up on pussy.
It's one of my rules and a way for me to keep my head clear. I fuck women once, and that's fucking it. Relationships are for the weak. My dick, however, is not.
Yet a few days later, I find myself unable to think about anything but the dark-haired vixen who sucked my cock so clumsily it felt like it was her first time. If I didn't know any better, I'd be convinced she was new at this shit. But the fact that she was so eager to take my money makes me think otherwise. She needed that cash.
Over the past few days, curiosity has started blooming in my mind. I'm wondering what she's going to spend the money on. Probably expensive bags, clothes, whatever the fuck girls like her buy. I do my best to push Monroe out of my head and away from my mind. Yet my thoughts keep circling back to her, imagining her life and wondering what she does when she isn't mixing drinks at Purgatory.
I fight it. I do everything I can to get her out of my head, but Monroe holds on for dear life. Four days after our fucked-up little encounter, I've finally had enough. I'm going to give in. I'm going to find her and make sure she's not being a dumb little bitch with the money I gave her.
Finding her is easy enough. With just a couple of calls, I have her address.
I've made a business of staying in the shadows. My nondescript sedan means I remain unnoticed as I turn onto her street, and I don’t draw any extra attention from passersby. It's dark outside, dark and cool as the evening turns into night.
Monroe lives in a tiny house, one in a row of many on her street. She must share it with someone else, another girl who seems to be better off than Monroe. My little victim lives in the basement with a separate entrance. Her apartment looks fucking tiny. I'm guessing she makes a decent earning at Purgatory and could afford rent at a better place, so why the fuck is she living in this shit hole?
The girl is intriguing. My curiosity has piqued yet again, and I watch her come back home from a shift at Purgatory after midnight. She takes the basement entrance and lights a single bulb in her apartment. I watch her strip from her signature black dress and put on an oversized shirt to sleep in. My hands form fists, and I mutter a curse word under my breath. The girl isn't careful enough. She doesn't even shut the curtains to prevent some fucking creep from watching her change.
She's innocent.
So fucking different than me. I've been living in the darkness for as long as I can fucking remember. But not her, not Monroe. She's a creature that thrives in the light.
I told myself before I got here that I'd lose interest in her. But the opposite is happening now. I'm becoming more and more intrigued by Monroe, and it fucking pisses me off. I bury my nails into the skin of my palm, gritting my teeth. I don't have time for this shit.
And there's something else. Something that's calling me forward, telling me to leave my car and break into her shabby apartment. I want to watch her. I want to examine her.
Monroe is like a kill. I prepare for that the same way. By studying my victim's habits. Except I have no intention of hurting Monroe. Not unless she fucking begs for it.
Even though I know it's a bad idea, I get out of my car. I can't stay the fuck away. Something's pulling me to her, like an invisible string drawing me closer, nearer.
I take the stairs leading down to the basement entrance. There's still a light on inside even though there hasn't been any movement in a while. I grin at the thought. Seems like sugar's afraid of the dark because she leaves a light on at nighttime. Poor naïve little girl. If only she knew real monsters don't need the darkness to ruin her life...
I watch the window to make sure there's no movement, no sound. Once I'm sure she's asleep, I try the front door.
Locked.
But it's not as if that's going to keep me out.
Examining the small entrance, I take notice of a few empty flowerpots. It takes me less than a minute to find the spare key under one of them, and my lips press together into a painful line. Monroe doesn't know the first thing about taking care of herself, and it pisses me the fuck off.
Unlocking the front door, I place the key back where I found it and enter her apartment.
It's small. She's done her best to make the place look better, but there are things even Monroe can't fix, no matter how determined she is. Why the fuck does she live in this cramped and dingy place? Why the fuck doesn't she rent a nicer apartment?
Determined to get to the bottom of this, I start going through her things. Her bedroom door is closed at the end of the hallway. The temptation to go in there is strong, but I'm still resisting it. I'm saving the best for last.
The rest of the tiny apartment is even worse. A shitty, small bathroom with a rusty bathtub. A larger space for a minuscule kitchen with a single barstool at the counter. There's a laptop on the counter. No couch, no TV.
I approach the bedroom door. It's closed, but when I try the handle, I find it unlocked. I'm really fucking pushing it right now. If she wakes up, I'm going to have to hurt her. Yet I can't resist. I can't walk away. I need to see her again.
My fingers wrap around the cold doorknob. I twist it. Push it open.
Her bedroom's taken up by a small bed and a dresser. Light from the streetlight illuminates the small room through the window. Monroe's lying on the bed, covered with a thin, threadbare blanket. She's wearing that oversized shirt she put on earlier and no fucking panties. I can tell because her ass is peeking out. Firm, pale globes of skin draw my gaze and make me grit my fucking teeth.
Monroe's more complicated than I first gave her credit for. This apartment speaks of a story, something she's hiding, something she's doing. And I'm going to figure out what the fuck it is.