'They say you're a killer, is there any truth to that?'

I smirk at her, letting my eyes slowly roam over the curves and planes of her body as she undresses in front of me.

Why don't you find out for yourself?

She returns the expression, and my desire for her grows. She moves to take off her bra and I don't let her finish. In a matter of seconds, I'm on her, lifting her off of the floor and unceremoniosly dropping her on to the bed. Soon we're an entangled mass of limbs, reaching, feeling, reacting, pulling and moving in a rhythm we've created for ourselves. We're both desperately chasing that high and we don't plan on stopping anytime soon. When it's over, I can tell she's satiated and worn out.

A smug look crosses my features.

I am a lady-killer.


I don't recognize the man I see in the mirror. He's aged and you can tell that it is not for the better. I see the creases and lines that are etched on his face, the dull look in his eyes, the unsmiling lips. He has everything the younger version of him could ever hope to have but he's far from contented.

Thirty-three years have passed since I have stepped on to that spotlight.

And it has yet to move away from me.

They say it is permenantly fixed on me no matter what I do.

I hope they're right.

God only knows what'll happen when it's not.

My head throbs, I feel the familiar rush run through my veins. I grip my head between my hands.

The urge comes again.

I struggle to keep it under control but ten years into this thing, anyone can tell I'm fighting a losing battle.


'Bye Daddy, I'll miss you.'

I pull her closer to me, my hold tightening on her ever so slightly. I breathe in the scent of strawberries and vanilla. It's familiarity enveloping me, bring me back to thirteen years ago, before she came into my life, and its primary source.

'Come on, Lila. We need to be at your Uncle Ryan's by two.'

Reluctantly I pull away. I can tell from the pout that she's minutes away from crying. I pat my daughter's head and reassure her that it's fine. I'll be seeing her again this Friday.

I look behind her and my eyes flit over to the woman I know she'll resemble ten years from now. My heart aches at the sight of her, rehersed words I want to say that will never be said, racing through my mind. So instead I settle for telling her to have a safe drive over to her boyfriend's place.

She smiles in response and tells me she'll see me soon.

She knows I mean it.

As I watch the two of them drive away from me, the familiar sensation grips me immediately. My hand clamps over the curtain beside me, my fingers constricting around the fabric. Without much effort, I rip it away from the rod.


'They say you're a lady-killer, is there any truth to that?' She whispers huskily in my ear as we come up for air.

My hand travels down her back to rest on her ass, I give it a squeeze as I smirk at her before stating my reply.

'Why don't you find out for yourself?'


I don't recognize the man in the mirror. I haven't been able to for as long as I can remember.

A sensation grips me but it's hold on me is not as strong as before and I'm able to easily push it away.

I duck my head down, bringing it closer to the sink, splashing water on to my face, clearing my mind in the process.

In a distance I can hear a woman scream.

From where I'm standing, you can't decipher if it's from pleasure or pain.


'Another one?'

'Yeah. They're dropping like flies in this town. They say the motherfucker behind this might be doing this as a serial thing.'

My best friend. Eloquent as always.

'Where did they find the body this time?'

We're both in front of the television in my den now, watching a news segment. Lately, nothing's been on it but reports of missing women later on appearing dead.

'Some cheap ass motel. Mutilated and cut up beyond recognition. No prints, no tracks, no nothing. The douche is like some fucking ghost.'

My heart quickens.

'Did they mention if he had a type?'

'He strikes at random and there seems to be no pattern except for the way he kills them.'

Without hesitation I dial my ex-wife's number.

Someone has to warn her about these sort of things -- I don't trust this Ryan-person to do a good job of it.


'I'm sorry but I can't live like this anymore.'

I should have apologized. I should have made an effort to convince her to stay.

I should have told her it would never happen again.

But she should have known this was the price I had to pay for my fame. She knew what she was agreeing to.

Why did she have to change her mind all of a sudden?

I don't say anything.

I just stare at her and watch her take our one year old daughter and walk out of my house and out of my life.

I barely notice it when I throw an expensive vase against the newly painted walls.

The next thing I know my living room's a mess and I could care less about it.


She's crying and I could care less about it.

The look in her eyes tells me she's had enough but she'll get over herself.

She knew what she was agreeing to.

Why did she have to change her mind all of a sudden?

'Don't cry baby.' I stroke her face, my thumb brushing her tears away. 'It'll be over soon.'

She screams but I don't hear it. Her voice is muffled by a gag. It's better this way.

I hate it when they make noises.

I hate it when they talk.

So I do what has to be done...

I silence them.


I don't recognize the man in the mirror.

He's aged and you can tell that it is not for the better.

I see the creases and lines that are etched on his face, the dull look in his eyes, the unsmiling lips. He has everything the younger version of him could have ever hoped for but he's far from contented.

I haven't been for as long as I can remember.

A sensation grips me but it's hold on me is not as strong as before and I'm able to push it away easily.

I duck my head down, bringing it closer to the sink, splashing water on to my face, clearing my mind in the process.

It's quiet now.

The woman has quieted down now.

I walk out of the bathroom no bigger than one of the closets in my mansion. I'm used to it by now -- you get used to it when you stay in these cheap motels.

The woman on the bed is silent. I can tell she's satiated and worn out, albeit breathing.

But I'm not done yet.

My desire for her grows, but I just content myself by letting my eyes slowly roam over the curves and planes of her broken and cut-up body.

A smug look crosses my features.

I am a lady-killer.