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This is a first. Yes, I do address this to ‘girl’ because I Couldn’t be bothered to remember your name. Do I sound despicable yet? Good. That would be for the best.
My line of work isn’t the easiest to describe, maybe ‘eating habits’ would probably be a better description for it, really. Anyway, I’ll explain what happened to you last night.
You were so perfect, sitting there all alone and sad, ripe for the picking. That perfume of desperate hope kills me every time. So, there you were, sitting at the bar, your hands idly dancing around a glass you’ve emptied four, maybe five times the perfect time for me to begin my show.
At first, you did not acknowledge me, pretending to be fascinated by something on your phone. (I think it’s so funny how humans never want to show how desperate they really are.) I ordered some drink and began my game. Of all things, I can tell you two things that people love—being noticed, and a good distraction from their pain.
There is a process to seduction, and people vary slightly, but for the most part it’s all the same. It’s safe for you to assume that I have been doing this for awhile, longer than you can imagine, I am sure. Eye contact is always a great hook, and one of my favorites, ‘the window into the soul’ they say, and I liked what I saw, not that you were the most attractive girl I have ever lured, not even in the top ten, honestly. You stared into my eyes and something dark, and you must have liked it. Girls seem to have a thing for demons.
As I stared into those big, sad, blue, eyes of yours we tossed back and forth some meaningless small talk as I mirror some interest of yours, but mostly just let you talk, but more closely I listen to the story of your skin. I drink in the details, the soft creases around your mouth and eyes, years of sadness and disappointment etched into your face.
What really caught me off guard was this delightful edge you had, a little sarcastic remark here, a dark joke there. Oddly, I enjoyed this time I spent with you, more than I can normally say. As time waned on and I began to be absolutely famished, and by then I knew I possessed you and I knew you were mine, the anticipation was killing me.
By the time we made it back to your pathetic apartment and the door shut behind us, we were already thrashing on your bed. Temptation and suspense are some of my finest honed skills, so I go to great lengths to revel in them myself. You would be surprised how you can get to know a person from the inside, how you can taste the tiniest piece of their soul they’ve exposed.
Here’s where things become strange. I stopped. You were lying there, frozen underneath me. Your eyes transfixed on me in that classic stare of horror and curiosity. Something about the way you tasted was strange, I think maybe that was it. I have never once failed to execute a meal before. confused, aroused, angry, and stricken by some other strange feeling. I probably just lost the mood and put you to sleep instead.
So, now you’ve woken up and found my letter, and you’re trying to remember last night. You are having trouble imagining my face, or the sound of my voice. Not because of how drunk you are but because I’ve taken those memories, all I have left for you is how I felt, the sensation of me. As I think I will hold the sensation of you. You will never come to see me again in your life, and know that’s for the best.
(p.s. It’s probably just because you taste weird. Don’t feel special)