Sasuke

I've never had a man before. Men have as much strength as I do. I'm not thick headed to ignore that, so therefore I steer clear out of their way. My focus is on the women who are unable to defend themselves. Obviously, they deserve it because the frail don't get to survive. They are useless.

As I continue to ponder these thoughts, my fingers impatiently tap away at my table. An itching urge creeps on me and grows stronger to act upon my hatred. A realization hits me. Why am I sitting here, doing absolutely nothing on a Sunday night?

Sundays will not save these powerless females from me.

I decide to go to a bar and buy myself a mug of Budweiser. Some of the men (and women) stare at me when I sit down on the closest end of the counter. The atmosphere is unfortunately loud, with pop background music and chatter all around. The bartender moves to stand on the other end of his work area, refilling a customer's mug. The urge I felt in my house is back again. That means there just has to be a victim around here somewhere. Not just any victim, but my next victim.

I casually glance around, searching quickly. Each person I scan with my eyes is immediately a cross-off on my checklist. I need someone who fits my requirements, someone who appears to need protection and is delicate to the bone.

My eyes stare straight ahead, and that's when I see you.

I frown when I see that your eyes are obscured by a pair of sunglasses, but your face shape is symmetrical and small. Your skin is a milky white and it makes my fingers twitch to mar it with blood. Your long tresses that contains pink highlights are curled into beach waves, flowing effortlessly down to your chest. You are wearing a white collared lace shirt. All in all, you look prim and perfect. Perfect in the sense that you wait for your servants to kiss your hand when you come home after a long day of shopping, or even the perfect housewife who obediently listens to her husband without argument.

Your presence piques my curiosity but just as I'm about to turn my gaze away from you to scan elsewhere, you stare right at me and smile brightly. Your smile is pretty and unique; you radiate innocence and naivety but of course you have straight, white teeth that only the rich could seem to afford. It makes me a bit angry that maybe all you have to do is sit and look pretty for the camera. Your value may be priceless, but ultimately, you seem worthless.

My lips quirk up in return, just for the sake of courtesy. It pains me to smile pleasantly. I have to admit that smiling is not one of my best traits. We continue to make eye contact, and I can feel a spark of a connection between us. I think you can be my next victim, and I'll promise to kill you as painlessly as possible.

But then you open your pretty passion-pink lips and say, "Naruto! Over here!"

My blood runs cold at the mention of his name. I stiffen when I hear a masculine voice behind me say, "Sorry for making you wait, Emi."

Anger surges through me like quickfire, when I realize that you haven't been smiling at me all along, but at the person you're waiting for. How dare you make me seem like a complete fool, smiling for no reason? My fists clench and I resist getting myself kicked out of the bar for breaking an object close to me. I want to throw beer all over your pretty little face and smash the stein on your cranium. I stand up to leave to prevent me from doing anything rash and spy you and Naruto, tangled in each other's arms as you give each other a kiss. I leave the lounge with bitterness spread over my tongue.

I'm furious, and I need an outlet. But furious doesn't even describe the amount of ire that rages through me. It's more of a Dante's inferno, raging eternally with no remorse. It burns, leaving ashy scorch marks on my skin, a constant, current reminder that there will be Hell to pay.

You will pay.

I stand beside the doorway, next to an alleyway that seems to stretch miles upon miles in the darkness that accompanies it. With my back against the wall, my fist meets the bricks quite violently. I exhale with a long breath and close my eyes.

"Hey, um... are you okay?"

My view is taken over by a girl who seems to be in her teens. Although she's dressed in an attire that barely conceals her most intimate parts, her eyes are wide, honest and filled with pure concern for me. This only fuels my anger, as it reminds me of you.

However, I curtly respond, "Yes."

"O-Oh." I continue to stare her down and she bites her bottom lip nervously, as if she wishes to say something else, but not sure if she should.

I brusquely ask, "What do you want?"

"I-I..." she stammers, trailing off. She seems to have decided something in the next few seconds of silence because she squares her shoulders and looks me in the eyes. "I want to sleep with you."

I cock an eyebrow at her and chuckle at her, shaking my head. "Move along, little girl."

"I'm not little!" she protests. "I'm twenty three!"

"Twenty three? Don't lie to me."

She gives an anxious, quick look to her left and right before leaning closer to me. Her voice a hushed whisper, she says with urgence, "I really am... Look, I need to sleep with you and get some money, or else my pimp will kill me. I've seen what he's done to the last girl when she didn't have payment. I can't let that happen to me!"

"So find someone else."

The woman begins to cry then and I narrow my eyes at her. "Stop crying, you're being annoying."

"B-But I'm new to this. I can't find a job, I've lost all my money after some jerk stole it and--"

I sigh, irritated at her complaining and blabbering. I'm already outraged at you, and then this dumb girl comes along to make it even worse... or even better? A thought plays into my head and I'm smirking. My mood has improved just a little from that thought.

"You have no money on you?" I interrupt her incessant driveling.

"No, but I swear I can make you feel good!" She tugs on my shirt and I instantly grab it back.

"Don't touch me until I tell you so. Follow me."

We walk and walk, her mousy footsteps obediently trailing after me. I enter my house and motion for her to come in, eventually leading her to a room downstairs; I lock the door after me.

"A-Are we gonna do it here?" she asks meekly.

Brainless, that's what she is. How can she ask such a thing after a stranger has brought her to his house? She didn't even bother to ask where we were going in the first place.

I don't answer her, and put on my trusty gloves on. "What are you doing?" she continues to pester me.

"Lay on the bed."

She does so, and I use the handcuffs attached to the bedposts to secure her, so she isn't able to run. A trickle of sweat runs down her cheek when she realizes I have a saw in my hand. She becomes frightened and thrashes against her restraints. She's completely helpless, just the way I like it.

"It's okay. Your death won't go to waste, and your pimp can't beat you up." How can she weakly depend on a man, and not depend on herself? Surely, she has other options than to leech on someone. Living on the streets and surviving is better than nothing, and it shows you can endure.

At my words, she begins to scream, piercing my ears in a pleasing way. "Help! Please, someone!"

"No one will hear you. They never do."

"Please don't kill me," she pleads me. Her light blue eyes are begging me, and it instantly reminds me of your prudish image, of you sitting there nice and perfect. The only thing I never managed to see was your eyes. It bothers me and the anger returns when I'm brought back to the situation at the bar. I need to see your eyes, as it portrays everything a person is feeling at that exact moment.

"I'll make it quick..." I step closer to her, my free hand gently touching her eyelashes. "After I get your eyes."

"What?" No!" Quick tears runs down her face, bawling loudly. "Please, anything but that, no, no, no..."

My hand is digging into her tear duct. The eyeball is slippery due to the mucous membrane that surrounds it, but I apply more pressure, more force to get what I want. Slowly but surely, I manage to pull it out, the blue pupil staring up ahead at the ceiling as blood surrounds the sky color. I see the optic nerve thinly holding on, and I violently pull on it. The yells and shrieks has faded, seeing as she fainted from shock and pain.

I hold the eye triumphantly.

"Emi, huh? Don't worry, you'll get yours too."

Ooh, so you already made your entrance! Your POV will be in the next chapter, and all will be explained on why you're called "Emi." But for now, stay tuned~ Please leave your feedback and comments. Thanks for reading! <3 *Sorry for any typos*