I am heading home. I cant come back here for a long time if I want to stay a free man. I used to have a lot more control over myself, but I couldn’t resist another kill. I just filled myself to the brim for a week straight, and I just wasn’t ready to call it quits. I made up my mind this morning, and had a plan by mid afternoon.
love the internet. So faceless, so anonymous. There are millions of people hiding behind a computer, thinking nothing has changed after clicking their browser icon. They still think they are in their rooms, or the office, or wherever they were when they first logged on. They arent, though. They are in cyberspace. They are caught in the World Wide Web, spun from silk so thin they dont even notice it. I can be standing next to you within a few keystrokes and a well timed joke, but you think I am miles away.
Chatrooms work best, but these days they are so filled with cops and do-gooders that it’s foolish to just log in and start fishing. You have to find a nice secluded spot before you cast your line. One spot I find works great is a recovery chatroom. Very unpopulated, and the average user would most likely be against any kind of monitoring, which would go against the whole anonymity (which is the spiritual foundation of all their traditions, ever reminding them to place principles before personalities. Bla bla bla). I picked Narcotics Anonymous and found an online meeting for my surrounding area. I sipped my coffee (sleepy hollow decaf) and tried to remember all the silly jargon I picked up from mandatory meetings as a kid. As I watched the text scroll by, I eventually I saw what I was waiting for and leaned forward to pay closer attention.
There were only a dozen people in the chatroom, and the one with the screenname “Tib-Tab90″ seemed pretty upset. She had four months drug free, and she just found out her boyfriend got high and fucked some chick he knew from rehab. The other members rambled on and on with slogans and positive reinforcement till she dropped the talk about getting high or killing herself or dropping out of school and going home, wherever that was. She did mention she was going to “kill the fucking cunt that screwed her man” before she was done, though. That made me laugh hysterically. Maybe I could talk her into actually doing it while I sat and watched. We could make popcorn or something.
She started calming down a bit and began playing her role as a good little cult member by offering some recovery advice to a newcomer. I typed an IM and clicked send.
Now, some of you might be thinking, “OK, so some girl is doing the right thing and dealing with her problems. She’s not using drugs, she’s talking about it, and she wont fall for some sick guy in a chatroom”.
Wrong.
A drug addict with only a hand full of months clean just had her heart broken. The void filled by drugs still existed, and drugs were most likely replaced with the love of her boyfriend, who just put his dick in some whore. Her screenname had the number 90 in it, which could be random, could mean she was a senior citizen who used the term “cunt”, or it meant she was just a poor little freshman born 18 years ago and probably away from home for the first time in her life. She also had anger issues, talking about murder with venom and laughing at my sick twisted responses. She was in a very fragile state, and her taste in men leaned towards drug abusing cheats. So…see where I am going with this?
I told her “fuck that guy. He doesn’t deserve you. And you SHOULD kill that bitch. There’s nothing in the twelve steps about murdering little whores”.
I got the expected response of “LOL, thanks”. Ladies, do yourselves a favor and stop opening the door for strangers. I know you never will, though.
We went back and forth, joking about how to kill the floozy that screwed her man. The more I learned about her personality, the more my interest grew. This one was alive. Full of energy. I could see her aura around the words that appeared across my screen. I almost knew her immediately and it made the conversation seem like it existed between long time friends. It didnt even catch her off guard when I asked her what meeting she was going to tonight.
She said she wasnt sure, but probably one close by. A click of the mouse brought up the meeting schedule for the area surrounding her University, which she foolishly named, and I told her I would be at one of them just a few blocks from her school. I asked her to meet me there and held my breath. This is where things always get difficult.
Remember the alarms I talked about? The ones that go off in the minds of prey when they smell the wolf among them? Watch a nature show and see how the animals all look around, searching in fear but too stupid to get out of there before they get pulled to pieces. People are like that also. They can be pretty perceptive sometimes, but the magical thing about cyberland is that the prey never smell the predator till it is right in their face and grinning.
She was vague for a while, not committing to a place till the sound of danger quieted in her mind, but still responding to my jokes and kind comments. We traded pictures, and I was so surprised when her photo matched almost identically to the image I had of her in my head. If I had made a sketch it would mirror this exactly.

I opted for a pic of me I thought she would find most appealing. I scanned one from a few years back when my style was alot more bold, photoshopped just enough to blur my features and screw any facial recognition programs. I wanted to send it to her phone so I could take it back when she stopped breathing, but she said it was “photo first, then talk” so I took a risk and didn’t care as usual.
The conversation on the phone was fun, her so full of hate at the moment, and me that way since birth. We joked so much about violence and death that I didn’t even have to pretend I was anything other than what I was. Deadly, charming, and soul-less. I think she even liked it. I wish I could say I felt bad about wanting to kill her, but I didnt. I want to kill everyone, even ones as insightful and amusing as her. And man, was she cute.
I walked up at the cigarette break, pretending I got lost. She didnt mind that I was late and seemed relaxed, comfortable. She was probably used to keeping her cool in uncomfortable situations, being a drug addict and all. Cant get nervous when the dope man asks you what you want. At least, not unless you want a beat bag and maybe a pistol in your face. We made small talk for a bit, and before we knew it we were alone. Everyone else went back into the meeting, and she seemed pleased. I stole a kiss right away to make my intentions known, and it was met with a kiss of her own. We kept talking and I was careful not to let my hand stay too long on her knee or her hip as we leaned against the church and talked. Eventually we walked off to the street and she mentioned getting some coffee. I offered to drive and we ended up in my car for an hour without going anywhere. I told her I was hoping to spend some more time with her tonight, and she told me she was hoping for the same thing.
Tib Tab wasn’t hoping for the same thing, though. Not by a long shot. I knew we both enjoyed how her lip ring felt in my mouth as I kissed her, but only one of us enjoyed it when I bit it off. As our mouths filled with blood, she screamed and I sighed. I was careful not to get it on my clothes, but my mouth and chin were covered. I licked it slowly and then smashed my elbow into her long neck, breathing it all into me as her screams turned into wet coughs and chokes. I drug her out from the car by her beautiful legs, having to pull hard when her skirt got caught in the door. I just stood there and watched her choke on her blood, speeding up the process a bit with my hand across her mouth and my knee on her chest. When she stopped breathing, I opened her up to look for what I knew she had. It was everywhere, and now it was mine. I stood and looked at all the blood, wishing I didnt make such a mess but not wasting time on much wishing. The body was moved to my trunk, dripping and leaving a trail across the asphalt as I drug her, and then made its way to what I now referr to as my “glue ball”. Two bodies clinging together in a sticky adheseve sphere isnt much just yet, but the largest rubber band ball had to start somewhere, right? I got high hopes.
I played with the lip ring the entire ride home, leaving it in my mouth and bouncing it around with my tongue. It felt much better attached to her full lips when I was kissing her, but I wasn’t complaining. I got what I needed.
Brutality. MY anti-drug.