Illustration by Eduard Jamolin
Today is a good day.
There is a couple having a picnic meters across me, and I can’t help but remember the day I spent with Nine. I think her name was Annie, but it doesn’t matter now; I’m about to meet someone new! I smile as I survey my surroundings, looking for the blue-eyed angel all parts of me are shaking to see in person. I see a figure wave at me and my body almost explodes with happiness. Ah, this kind of feeling is the best.
The girl approaches me, asks me how I am. I make sure to tell her I am happy because of her presence, and her whole face lights up — I used this line with Nineteen, and it got her too. We make our way to the movies. She chooses a particularly sappy drama film, but this doesn’t bring me down. Luck might be on my side, and she may be the one to last longer than the others — nothing like plain old hope to keep my thoughts in check throughout the day.
She is as emotional as expected — she is crying her way through the whole film. I comfort her, slinging my hand around her shoulder, and I offer her my handkerchief. I start to pat her back, telling her it is okay, telling her that pain comes with love, that I will love her through the pain. She stills, asking me why I am saying I love a girl I have met online, and I have just met in person; I tell her that I know love all too well, and that I recognize it in her. She doubts me. I kiss her. The emotions I put into the kiss make her believe me.
As the credits roll, she interlocks our fingers. Good, I say to myself. This sign of affection makes everything easier for me. We slowly make our way to my car. I am supposed to drive her back to her apartment, but I ask her if she would like to go to my place, and she nods enthusiastically — like a kid given extra candies during trick or treat. I grin. Wait until you see what I have in store for you.
We arrive, and I unlock the door with a sense of urgency. As I turn on the lights and lock the door behind me, she says my name with a sense of longing. The longing I have heard from all twenty-nine. She slams her lips on to mine, and I don’t tell her that I have forgotten her name. We have all of this going for us, and it would only put her in a bad mood. I learned my lesson with Fifteen; I had to make do with her being unconscious because she made such a big fuss about me calling her the wrong name.
I feel the passion from this girl burn through me, and I feel the adrenaline rushing through my veins. Wait, I tell her. This is where the fun comes in. I bring her to my room, and she yells. I inwardly laugh at myself; I have forgotten to put Twenty-Nine’s dead body back in the back room! I played with her last night.
She shakes with fear, and tries to run, but I am faster, and I pull her back. Her head slams on the wall, and she collapses, a pool of blood under her head. I shake my head at the scene; what a waste! The pleasure that sex offers decreases when you do it with a dead person, but it is there nonetheless. I slide my way into her and release all of the pent-up emotions I had from seeing her for the first time, and when I finish I stay still for a while, calculating how to find my next victim.
I dump her inside the back room with all of my other toys, labeling her. Thirty. No need to waste a perfect body! I can still use her for a few days. Something my addiction has taught me is that variety increases the pleasure, so I have all sorts of other toys. They keep me company better than my hand does, and it never fails to fascinate me — how satisfying the dead can be for the living.
I sigh in contentment as I look at my new toy. Thirty.
Today is a good day.