I never wanted her dead.

I loved her. She was more than just a body, more than just some object that I spent the nights with in order to forget the days.

Our relationship- if you could even call it that- wasn’t perfect. Can’t even deny it. It was messed up, a relationship created out of need instead of out of love, trust, or any of those poppycock ideals that society feeds us. But we were both okay with it, that wasn’t the point anyway. My falling in love with her was never part of the plan. Hell, it wasn’t supposed to last longer than a week. They never do. And yet, almost like magnets, we found ourselves drawn to the same hotel room again, and again, and again.

She was my high, the queen of the darkness.

Her voice was like velvet; soft yet ominous, never really quite sure what to expect. Her green eyes were like a doe’s, so wide and innocent with a touch of sadness enough to make a grown man like me want to cry. Her hair curled into ringlets of silk, so delicate and fragile that I swore they would break at the touch.

There is only one thing I regret- I never got her name.

And that’s why I’m not going to tell you that it’s not my fault. Because, like most things, it probably is my fault. But I have to explain this to you. I never wanted it to end like this. Her, dead? No, it wasn’t on my agenda. At least, not directly. I mean…no…it’s not like that. It’s-hold on.

I need to tell you a story.

I lived in a bad neighborhood growing up. It was a dog eat dog world. You couldn’t trust anyone but yourself because no one else gave a damn about you. Most times, no one would even notice if you died.

I was a foolish boy, scrounging for scraps in the dark. I was standing on a crate leaning against the dumpster. I had just picked up what seemed to be the last remains of a tangerine when I felt a hard object be pushed against my back.

“Give me your money,” a low, dusky voice ordered me. I dropped the tangerine, my heart pounding in my ears. This was it. I was going to die.

I reached into my pocket, feeling the handle of my knife. And then the thought occurred to me. I could kill him. No, I corrected myself- I had to kill him.

“I’ll give you the money,” I stuttered, hoping to stall for more time. I grip the knife tightly in my hand. I only had one chance.

And then, in a split second it happened. In one swift motion I pulled the knife out of my pocket and jammed it straight into his eye. He never cried out. He stood there momentarily, the gun still in his hand, before falling backwards onto the ground with a thud. I stared at him, mesmerized by the scene. I had never killed someone before.

I stepped down from the crate and bent down over his body. The gun was still held tightly hand, one of his fingers pushing on the trigger ever so slightly. If I had taken only half a second longer then I would be dead. But I wasn’t dead. I had won. Not that it meant much. It was only a momentary victory. Who knew what would happen tomorrow or the next day or the day after.

Then I heard footsteps. And I thought to myself, I just killed this man so that I could live just a few minutes longer. I reached for the knife, still impaled in the man’s eye.

“I want to offer you a job.” A voice behind me said. I froze, never in my life hearing such a phrase. Who in their right mind would offer me a job? Slowly I turned around, hoping that the bloody knife in my right hand would make the guy think twice about trying to hurt me.

I almost gasped when I saw him. He was wearing a suit, with shiny black leather shoes. He was clean and well-groomed, his black hair short and slicked back. A man of his rank would never step foot in my neighborhood.

“A job.” He repeated. “In your area of expertise.” He nodded over to the body behind me. “I’ll give you money, women, men- whatever you want.” And then I found myself nodding, not knowing and not really caring about what kind of job he was offering me. I just wanted out of there and my naïve teenage self was drawn by the allure of the phrase ‘whatever you want’.

I sat in a seat of a car as he told me my job description. “You,” he told me. “Are the wallflower.”

So you have to see, to understand, that this wasn’t a choice. I didn’t want to kill her. I didn’t even know. I- I just do what I’m told. It’s safer this way. I may be living among the upper class now but it’s still a dog eat dog world. Maybe it isn’t the right thing to do. But, truthfully, I’ve yet to meet a person who does the right thing.

“You just stay by the wall. You do not move. You do not talk to anybody.” He had told me. “You let the people come to you.”

I didn’t want to kill her. Sure, the others I couldn’t even care less about. I admit it. I’m a monster. But not her. She was the angel that kissed me on the doorstep. The goddess that…

Let me tell you about that night.

I was at some elite upper class dinner party. The men were showing off their young beautiful trophy wives. The women were showing off their paychecks with their expensive gowns and jewelry. Common people were the servants, serving us drinks.

I picked up a drink from a passing tray and took a sip. It was going to be a long night. I relaxed slightly, leaning against the wall. There wasn’t any guarantee that I would get some work tonight.

“Dance with me,” I heard the command from a woman who appeared at my shoulder. She was wearing a long blue dress, her bottle blonde hair twisted in some kind of bun. She looked like she was in her early forties or so. I nodded, reaching out my arm.

“It’ll be my pleasure,” I said politely. She scowled before taking my arm. Replacing a smile on her face, she pulls me into the middle of the dance floor. Wrapping her arms around my neck, she leaned closer towards me. She whispered in my ear.

“The girl. In the red dress. Lilith,” I subtly scan the room, trying to spot her. “In the corner.” And there she is, chatting with some older man. She is wearing a bright red dress with a low V-neck. Her light hair is tied back, some escaped curls gently framing her face. She is beautiful, so I am not surprised. Having a young woman steal your husband is not an imaginary threat. It is more than just an affair of the heart. Here, money speaks.

“I want her found in the house.” The song stopped and she removes her arms from around my neck. “No witnesses.” She smirked, mostly to herself. “But other than that… do whatever you want.”

I watched her carefully before approaching her. She had finished talking with the other man and was now walking towards the bar, probably to get a drink. I beat her there. Walking closer to her, I whispered to her.

“May I get the beautiful lady a drink?” She smiled and laughed nervously.

“Alright,” she murmurs shyly.

And so I began my usual charming and subtle flirtation. I could talk a woman into selling me their soul if I had too. This, sadly, is not too far from the truth. I continue to buy her drinks, I dance with her, I call her beautiful, and then I entice her to follow me up the stairs.

Against all odds she follows. They always do.

Her body lay entwined in the light blue sheets, her head facing me. Her slow steady breathing told me that she was sound asleep. I only had a moment to do it. But that’s all I had to do. Afterwards I could leave, forget about her, go and spend the massive paycheck I would receive. I wrapped my hand gently around her neck, careful not to wake her.

And then I snapped her neck.

It was a quick clean death. No blood, no screaming. She was dead, simply and forever. Her head lay limp on the pillow. I stared for a moment, witnessing death in its utmost beauty. And I looked into her eyes. Her green lifeless eyes.

In a split second I knew. It was her. I ran my fingers through her messy locks of hair; I caressed her smooth pale skin. It was her down to the very core, how could I have not noticed it? I had just killed an angel, an innocent delicate angel. A goddess.

And screw it, I almost got myself killed. You can never be found with the body. You’re supposed to get going the moment the dirty deed is done. But I just laid there, next to her, staring into those empty green orbs as silent tears streamed down my face.

I am never going to forgive myself.

And that is why I called the police. I stood there in the rain, shaking, barely able to dial the numbers. You have to believe me now. I’ve told you everything. This is all the proof I have. I loved her, good god did I love her. She was an angel. An angel I marred with my own two hands. Damn it, if I could only turn back time and tell her. Tell her that I loved her. You have to understand. You have to. You see what I’m talking about, right? You know. You know I loved her. You know I didn’t want to kill her.

“911, what is your emergency?” Someone picks up the phone. I gasp, choking on my words.

“I never meant to kill her.”

Thank you for reading. Comments welcome.