Miss Angelina [✔]

[4] Desecration

warning; slightly graphic.

There was something so powerful in knowing you are the last person to enjoy a person's body.

The boy had finished and had begun panting like a wild beast after a kill. I had ended with my head beside his, taking in my lost breath. Once his eyes had started to flutter in an attempt to stay awake, I raised myself from him and leaned my head back. I sucked in all the courage that I'd lost in the last few minutes. My sultry attitude that was more than addicted to sex and love had vanished, but the murderous witch inside of me had also stepped into the fog.

While looking down at his face, I realised that if I did not do this now, I would never really be able to do it at all. I grip on to his hands and press my forehead to his, matching up our breathing and enjoying the pure silence of his company. When his eyes refuse to meet with mine, I pull up and end up deeply lost in the deep blue of the duvet, keeping a tight hold on his hands.

I pictured the blue of the kitchen cabinets. Diana, one of my closest friends, was often in said kitchen. We met very early in my work. She had been an estranged employee of the industry that I had been dragged into and took an interest in me almost immediately. I was still a young girl at the time, a little lost and dazed, and far too vicious.

She'd reiterated the conversation to me a few times. She'd been discussing some details with an old associate Michael. He'd spoken of me and sparked something in her. I wasn't sure if it was a protective instinct or just something else entirely.

"I don't believe you've met our dearest Angelina, have you?" He'd said, motioning to a young Angelina. Diana had looked upon her, sitting staring at a wall blankly. Men were walking around her unsteadily, their faces slightly redder than usual. It was almost too apparent that she'd messed something up.

"No - I don't believe I have." She murmured, reshuffling some papers in her lap and sliding them back to him. "Who is she?"

"Quite new. A couple of months, maybe." He'd said, clearing his throat. "She's a bit of a firecracker." Diana had eyed up his face and noticed a red mark across his cheek, very much resembling a hand mark. She chuckled lightly.

"What's her rate?" She said softly, her eyes drifting back to the young girl. She'd gotten up, arms crossed. She was speaking, but if it was loud, she couldn't tell. All she had perceived was that for a young girl, she was entirely too collected.

"Often half a dozen a month. Sometimes more, sometimes less. She's very erratic." Diana had gotten up at this point, straightened her skirt and smiled at the man.

"I see." She had said quietly, almost as if to herself.

"Excuse me." She'd muttered to him, before leaving the room, and starting the first of many conversations she'd have with the young girl.