The greatest part about murdering someone is not getting caught. I may have failed at physically killing you, Mara, but I won in slaughtering your spirit, which is oddly satisfying. The old guy was an accident, but a welcomed one after you selfishly chose him like the gold-digging whore that you are. Why are women all the same? Each one I've killed has used me in one form or another. From my girlfriend when I was a teen whose remains have yet to be found, to the sweet cashier at Victoria's Secret who ghosted me after taking her to an expensive dinner. 

They've all treated me like a meat stick, and you were no different, Mara.

Perhaps that's what hurts the most. From the moment I saw you, something inside me cracked open like a supernova. For the first time, I contemplated building a life with one of my targets instead of killing them, and maybe I subconsciously failed time and time again because deep down, I don't want to kill you. However, you proved to me that I'm only good for some fucking, but apparently not anything serious. 

Well, I'm not a joke, Mara! I'm a human with feelings. I'll tell you who is a joke, though. 

YOU. 

That old man was a joke, too, and I will dance and piss on his grave later tonight before I skip town. Just one final dance. I might even stand in the bushes outside of your window and watch your pathetic self wallow in the misery of his death one last time. I'm glad he's dead. Now I can sleep soundly knowing his wrinkled bag of old man balls aren't slapping your inner thighs with each thrust like some horny dog, with you being the bitch in heat.

I hate you so much, Mara. 

I realize that now.

We could have had something great, but I've held you on a pedestal for too long. You're just ordinary. Nothing special. You're not even worth adding to my collection of trophies. And to think I almost risked it all for you. But I do possess self-restraint, Mara, and I've wised up since killing the old man. All it took was fucking your friend Keira to finally see the light. I purposely bumped into her the other night, hoping she would volunteer details about the aftermath of almost killing you. I figured if anyone would be willing to tell me, it would be her with her desperate self, and since I'm such a charmer, it was easy to lure her back to my apartment where she was more than willing to strip her clothes off after a glass of wine.

I pretended she was you, Mara, and pounded her insides so good she was wailing and begging for more like some cheap prostitute. I think I was trying to bang you out of my system and it worked because I realized I deserve better than you. After I finished, I pulled my dick out of Keira, slid the condom off, and tossed her clothes at her. She was taken aback by how eager I was to dismiss her from my presence, and I think she shed a tear, but I'm not the sentimental type and slammed the door in her face. 

Something tells me she'll take our romp in the bedroom to the grave because what would you think of her if she dared to admit to having sex with me?

Isn't life grand when it works in your favor, Mara? However, you wouldn't know, since I killed your lover.

Today was the old man's funeral, and I know it's cliché for the murderer to "return to the scene of the crime", but I couldn't help it. I needed to see you dissolve into a blubbering mess upon seeing him in the casket. It surprisingly gave me closure watching your pathetic histrionics as people consoled you, and now I can seal this chapter and move somewhere new. 

Like Las Vegas.

Based on statistics, it's the most dangerous place for a single person to date in the United States. Which sounds like an exquisitely perfect playground for me. There are so many places to commit murder and so many places to hide the bodies. Like in the desert. 

But there is one last thing I must do before I leave this shit town.

I need to burn all of my masks.

See, it's easy to get away with murder when the cops are looking for someone who doesn't exist because witnesses describe a face that won't be seen again. It's crazy what you can buy off the deep web, and unfortunately for you, Mara, I discovered a site where you can buy silicone masks that mold to your face and look like real skin. This is why it was so easy to walk past you on the street or open doors for you. These masks made me look like another random person on the street. You even looked me dead in the face once, but didn't recognize me. It almost became a game. Will Mara recognize my eyes today? 

Setting these masks on fire is the final kiss for my adventures with you, and this city. The orange flames flicker and lick the midnight air, and each time I add another mask to the metal burn barrel sparks fly upwards like a cloud of fireflies. I rub my arms, trying to stay warm on this chilly night, and it's a welcoming cold. One that says, this time tomorrow you'll be in Las Vegas, where you sweat your balls off at two in the morning.

I'm looking forward to it.

It's a necessary change of pace, Mara.

A new playground to feed my hunger, and there, prostitution is legal. No one bats an eye when one of them goes missing. It's just what happens when women choose to be whores. So, I think I'm going to love Sin City. 

I toss the last mask into the barrel, add more lighter fluid, and head back into the beach house my parents own. This calls for a celebration, so I pour a glass of the old man's favorite cognac. You know the one, Mara. He always ordered it at Penthouse and would take slow sips while watching you with his perverted eyes. You have daddy issues, and it's why you couldn't see how disgusting it was for a man his age to lust and drool over you while you danced half-naked on a pole. 

We could have had it all, Mara.

After all, I'm rich too and can provide the same luxuries, only better because I'm not some old fuck who needs Viagra, and I can last for hours in the bedroom without slipping a disk or hurting my joints. Unlike that decaying piece of shit you think you're in love with. 

Maybe one day, when you're over his old wrinkled ass, you'll think of me and wonder what I'm doing. Maybe you'll think about that first night we kissed while dancing at Penthouse, and how we drunkenly stumbled back to my place for sex. I wanted so badly to kill you that night. Did you know that? You don't remember because you were wasted, but there was a moment when my hands were wrapped around your neck and all I had to do was squeeze. 

However, there was something about watching you orgasm beneath me that was so innocent. You were completely unaware that a murderer was inside of you, thrusting, and pushing you to the brink of pleasure. I pitied how much of a lost little lamb you were. So desperate to be loved, and I couldn't kill you that night. Plus, I liked feeling your insides too much. You have a very addictive pussy, Mara. I'm going to miss it. Yet, I'm not sure what I enjoyed more. Fucking you or the chase of killing you. Both aroused me equally.

This cognac tastes like shit. I don't understand why he liked it so much. I'll tell you what I do like though: doing half-assed pirouettes in your honor. How could you choose that old man over my good looks that were chiseled by the gods... I catch my reflection in the mirror above the fireplace, smack my cheeks, and blow a kiss.

You are one handsome devil, Kyle Cameron. 

It's time to head to Las Vegas and find someone new to obsess over and kill.