Your standing outside, in the freezing rain, with your black slick raincoat. And your watching. And he knows your watching. Because it’s Sunday night, and it’s like a ritual with you both.
Your puffing on your cigarette, and a small droplet of rain hits the paper, and you throw it down and stomp it out. He turns to you and smiles softly, and you smile back from your back yard. And your more than fucking happy that he’s your neighbor. Because you get to watch. You get to watch every Sunday night.
And the plan runs through your mind once more. Tomorrow is your day, and it’s going to be one that he never forgets. Tomorrow you get to please him the way you’ve always dreamed of. And more.
So you walk back into your house, and you check out the new equipment you bought, and smile as you touch the sharp end of the blade. It’s just right, and you smile, but it’s not a smile of happiness, it’s a smile of what’s to come, a smile of satisfaction.
He’s been your neighbor for two longs years, and he’s had parties galore. And did he ever invite you? No. Did he ever invite you over for dinner? No. So tomorrow will be your payback.
Now all you have to do is wait.
And as the sun rises the next morning, you wake with a smile on your face. Today is the day you get to repay him. And he calls you, tells you he’s happy that he gets to come over and visit with you. And you smile and nod your head as you sit on the porch and stare at his bare back from his bedroom window.
He knows your there, and he turns around and smiles.
He thinks it’s a game. But to you, it’s nothing but unfinished business.
You were in the middle of succeeding before, before his damn cell phone rang. He smiled kindly at you and told you his girlfriend needed him.
But you knew him too well. He never had a girlfriend. It was just her, the slut. The bitch of them all.
Britney.
She had coned her way into his house, and delicately into his bed. But that was over now. She was long gone. And the only woman you saw were nameless faces on Sunday night. When you got to watch from the porch.
It was arousing none-the-least. To see him in action. And when he pulled some girl into his arms and kissed her, he would stand by the window and look at you watching him.
He got some kind of thrill out of it.
And you have everything prepared for tonight. Candles surrounding the bedroom, and the bathroom, which ever he preferred. It didn’t matter to you. You just wanted him. And then some.
And he rings the doorbell like a gentleman, and waits until you answer the door, and when you do he greets you with your favorite flowers, daises.
And you smile, taking the flowers from him and smelling their lovely scent. And you show him where the bedroom is, and he smiles and tells you to put the flowers in a vase, and by the time you returned he should have everything ready
And you humor him, and do as he says. And you think maybe you won’t hurt him as bad as you thought. Deep down the man is a good guy.
But your thoughts change. They always change. And you just decide you won’t make him suffer. It’s the least you could do.
And as you go into your bedroom, he’s there laying on your bed, completely naked. And you smile softly at the sight. You’ve seen from the waist up, but never the waist down. And your cheeks flush, and he laughs softly.
Now you think maybe you will make him suffer, but you haven’t really decided yet. And his soft voice penetrates through you thoughts, and he’s telling you to join him, as his arms open to you.
And you do, and you make the sweetest love ever known. But the job isn’t finished yet. You know what you have to do. So you wait until he falls asleep, walking down the stairs quietly, grabbing the brand new knife you bought for just this occasion.
And as you open the door softly, with the knife behind you back, you sigh at his peaceful body wrapped in those silky white sheets on your bed.
And no matter how much you care for him, or how much you think you love him. You have to do this. You made a decision a long time ago, and it never got finished. So it’s time to get the unfinished business out of the way, once and for all.
So you take that knife, and you jam it into his bare back, and he never moves, and you think you succeeded in not torturing him. But as you roll him over, you see the pool of blood and the gun beside the pillow.
Your scream a blood curling scream as you cover your face with your hands.
That mother fucker killed himself when you went downstairs with a silent sniper.
And your anger comes into play, and you take that knife out of his back and stab his as many times as you can before your arm goes weak.
And you sit down on that bed and cry like a baby.
Because he had finished your unfinished business for you.
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