Jon was the one that got away, almost. If it hadn’t been my first time, it would’ve been much faster and cleaner.
But everyone knows practice makes perfect. I had to hone my craft somehow.
I met Jon on a cold night in November, during that awkward period between autumn and winter. He was wearing a crisp trench coat, like the ones you saw on those snooty Burberry ads.
We met at a Café, but not in the way most people do. The moment I saw him, I knew he was meant to be my first. Perhaps it was the way he looked—condescending and pretentious. Or maybe it was because he looked like my childhood nemesis.
I’m sure Jon was an awesome guy if I ever bothered to get to know him. But I don’t meet people to talk about life. I meet people to feed my delusions of grandeur and crimson.
I probably shouldn’t have brought him home, and on the “first date” no less. I wanted my first to be at my house, where it all began.
Jon was pretty eager to get settled in, so I gave him some ketamine-laced vodka mixed with raspberry syrup and Coke over ice—a special drink I’ve dubbed The Crimson Coma.
It took him about half an hour to slowly pass out on my leather couch. I decided to carry him to my bathroom, and drop him at the same tub where I first discovered my love for crimson.
I was really excited at this point, a different high from those induced by blunts or pills. It felt like a new beginning; a reaffirmation of my courage to finally act on my fantasies.
Jon began mumbling something, so I quickly filled the tub with warm water. Panicking wasn’t going to help me, so I ran to get some belts to tie his hands and legs with.
By the time he opened his eyes and realized what was going on, it was too late.
“You bitch, get me out of this tub!” he screamed.
“You know, no one can hear you. Don’t fight the inevitable. Just let it be.”
“Why are you doing this? Are you crazy or something?” he said in between choked up tears.
“I’m not crazy, I’m just a little unwell.” I chuckled, quoting a line from a Matchbox 20 song.
“You ARE crazy. How can you do this to another human being?”
I couldn’t stand his whining anymore. I stood by his head, grabbed his curly hair and held him down. He fought to get up, and I could hear his elbows hitting the sides of the tub.
Although drowning would’ve been an easier way to go, I didn’t want to give him that luxury. After I felt his body go limp, I went out to get a scalpel and cold steel knife.
Before I could head down the stairs, I heard a loud thump and water splashing.
Shit, I thought. He didn’t drown. I felt so stupid. I sprinted for the bathroom only to see that he was no longer there, that sneaky bastard.
I took solace in the fact that he was still in my house. Now the challenge was to find him. He wanted a game of hide and seek?
“You can’t hide forever, you pussy. You want to play hide and seek? Bring it on!” I shouted as I made my way across the empty hallway.
I held my knife close to me, listening for the faintest sounds. I could hear shallow breathing coming from the guest bedroom. Gotcha.
I swiftly opened the door and met with a rock-solid fist. I felt my nose bridge crack before falling to the ground. Disoriented, I tried to scramble after Jon. He had somehow freed his limbs from being bound earlier.