WARNING: Mature content. 18+
Lucy frowned as she fixed her curls in the mirror of her little post-war industrial apartment. The blonde curls were perfect and pristine. She made sure her red lipgloss was too.
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It wasn't easy. To look so perfect. But she pulled it off. She pushed her breasts up a bit, and decided to change to a more dramatic bra, opting for red which could be seen through her black lace shirt. Sexy. Good.
A forced smile lasted all of ten seconds until it looked real, and she focused on he eye makeup.
She took her time getting to the bar, sexy heels making that perfect click on the sidewalk.
She showed her ID at the door briefly. Grinned. Got let in.
The first guy to hit on her had too much muscle. The next was too boring. The third?
He set her skin on fire in the way she loved. It was perfect. He was perfect. For now.
She took the boy home after a few drinks, leading him by the tie as if it were a leash. He would wind up being her toy, they played house, for two weeks.
Then Lucy got bored and annoyed with him.
In the middle of sex. She rode him, slowly, steadily, but it really wasn't doing it for her. Any more rough and he tended to become a whiny baby. She wrapped her slender fingers around his neck without thinking.
She had enough of his complaints.
Lucy had never meant to break his neck. At least not as quickly as she did but he had sat up, and she had reacted without thinking.
She stared at the dead naked man for about five minutes before she moved to get off of him, go shower, and then decided to figure out what to do with him. She got dressed, and got ready to figure it out. She waited for night, dressed the body, waited for rigor to wear off of course, then dumped him in her backseat.
She drive him out to a remote part of the river, poured a bunch of vodka down his throat, and over his body before she threw him in the river, watched him sink, after several minutes. It was remarkably thrilling.
She grinned wildly, and Lucy got back in her car and headed back home.
Three days later she filed a police report.
Of course there were many things she wished she'd done differently, better ways to hide the fact that she'd killed the guy and the fact that certain evidences needed to be rid of, and she couldn't really afford to get caught. No. She had a job to maintain, and there would be a day where, if the body ever washed to shore, that she would be likely the one in charge of the bones. Only-- she wouldn't be, because she'd filed the missing persons' report. So there was that problem...but no one would implicate her, would they?
And maybe she would get the bones because she'd be asked to ID the body. Something like that. If the flesh had sloughed off of him enough. Which, was likely enough. And then there would be conflict of interest, and she'd be expected to have some sort of bad feelings about this.
But she couldn't find herself feeling bad for the dead guy. He'd been an asshole, after all.
But she got bored within a month. Wanted to taste that power again.
The second kill she didn't file a police report. The third she didn't even let him get moved in. The forth? Well, he was a one night stand.
By the fifth, she was so drunk with power she called the most important person in her life, and was so happy to tell him she had found such an outlet and would he like to come see what it was?
Lucy had perfected the ways to get rid of the bodies. The first had still yet to have been found, and she was mindful that she really didn't want to get caught. Jail would not look good on her. She was sure her hair would get frizzy and orange would make her look rather washed out... So why she was dragging him into this...
She wasn't sure. She just felt a need to do so. Maybe she was sick...like so many were, supposedly, for doing things like this....
She wasn't really sure of her plan, but he showed up while she was in the middle of killing number six. She made him help her with the body.
© Ghost, 2014