Unhinged

5

Maurya

There's just something about those eyes. They hold something spectacular something delicious and tangible. I leave him sleeping and grab an Uber to my new home.  Dear old dad set aside a little fund for me when I went away, his guilty, telltale heart beating under the floorboards, compelling him to do something to alleviate it.

It's nice enough, enough to afford to rent a nice old house in the 'burbs, and food for the next week or so. But I'll need a job and soon. During my brief stint of freedom, I've discovered I can make almost anything happen if I keep talking.

I can create whatever I have to go get what I want, and I'm not sure what that makes me: a god, a devil a genius, or just a woman with a nice pair of tits, but it's honestly all the same to me. A lot of issues can be solved with confidence.

Tomorrow morning, I'll start applying for a job. I'm going to lie on my resume and confidently smile and lie my fucking ass off. It's one of the things I'm good at. Something you need for every job but can never put on a resume.

Excel? Never heard of that shit. I technically have a high school diploma but I really have a 6th-grade education and can't really multiply past my 6 tables without a calculator.

But you don't say that. Does it matter that it's not your fault? That the state gave me substandard education even compared to their already horrible educational system?

No.

What matters is what I know—or rather, what I can convince people I know.

I'm getting used to my flip phone again. No camera phone's on the ward, and all. I'm a little frozen in time. I don't quite get the jokes the references, the pop culture digs. Who are the Kardashians? A family of basketball players? Why does everyone have such small phones? Why do they keep touching them? I sigh and lean back on my new couch.

My new home was everything I dreamed of. It comes out of an episode of Desperate Housewives, a home clear off Wisteria lane. I smile and finally relax. My eyes close and at that moment, there's a knock at my door. I hope it isn't a neighbor. I stand, opening the door, knife in my hand, hidden behind the door.

It's the boy with the pretty eyes. I lick my lips and grin.

"Oliver?"

"I'm sorry," he shifts, his sandy brown hair flopping into his eyes. "T-this is odd, isn't it? I—"

I open the door wider. I was just wondering where my next victim would come from. I didn't think he would show. Perfect. A wanderer, with no family, no home, and some of the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen.

His eyes flick down to my body. I wear a large shirt that graces my knees and nothing else. He swallows visible and steps into the house.

"When you gave me your address I didn't know what to think," he mumbled, standing awkwardly in the foyer. He doesn't appear to be as poor as I once thought. I just know more before I decide what to do with him.

I shut the door behind him, quietly locking it.

"Uh...but thank you for the invite Maurya."

His voice is gravelly and nice. The way he looks at me...I smile and extend my hand to the couch. Finally, he seems to notice the knife in my hand. Men never have much caution when it comes to women when do they? They think they'll have the upper hand no matter what. Even as sheltered as I've been, I would never go to a man's house alone, let alone some weirdo I met on a train who talked about eating my eyes.