This could be a love story, if the definition is twisted hard enough.
I spend the next ninety minutes in simultaneous agony and ecstasy. Being so close yet not close enough to touch or be allowed to. I could just take him into my basement, but I need him to willingly join my plan. All I can do for now is wait, gather the information needed, and make sure I have a solid plan in place the moment I ask him to destroy me.
When class ends, he avoids looking in my direction, but something tells me he’s already noticed me. Am I that lucky? It’s already been five weeks since I started coming to his classes, so I should have my part in his routine by now. But does he regard me as one of his stupid students, or does he see I’m special?
I wonder what he thinks this really is. Maybe he’s afraid, and that would be a good reason to keep his distance. Or maybe he is observing me, just the way I’m doing with him, and waiting for the inevitable meetup. Soon, Professor, soon enough.
As he leaves, I follow him again, like I’ve done more times than I’d like to admit. It’s not like I’m stalking him or anything like that. You cannot stalk something that belongs to you. It’s me taking care of mybelongings.
He leads the way, and I match his tempo. When he slows down, I adjust my pace. My footsteps fall just far enough behindthat no one thinks twice. And if he feels my presence, he never makes that fact known.
He doesn’t change his routine—including the daily stop at that awful place where he drinks something that could only dream of being coffee—nor does he try to get lost in the crowd.
We walk together, yet apart, in silence. By now, I can basically close my eyes and blindly walk behind him, and I’ll still find the way.
While I thought I was a sucker for routines and patterns, Azrael is a total freak. I once spotted him sitting in class for thirty extra seconds, doing absolutely nothing, just so he could leave at six o’clock sharp. The route, including the stop? Thirty-seven minutes. On the dot. I think this Professor of mine might have more mental issues than I do.
I leave him at the entrance of his building. I’m almost tempted to step in and end the agonizing wait. After tonight, I’m more aroused than ever, and that never happens with stupid human beings. But it’s neither the time nor the place for the discussion we are about to have, and fucking should only come as a reward, not an incentive.
So until the moment when I can put an end to this foreplay, I still need to figure out exactly what flavor of madness is hunting his demons.
As for my missions, Alex did a great job in excessively overbooking me. Luckily, all the jobs were within the country, and all were basic enough that I needed little to no preparation. He even managed to get an information extraction job, which kept me locked away with a target in a room for a couple of nights.
Over the course of those two nights, I often questioned if my condition was simply bloodlust or a sign of mental instability. And while the bloodlust is possible—liquid red was always my favorite color—that doesn’t excuse the fact that it’s getting worseby the minute. And the proof was sucker Forty-one. Alex even passively mentioned that one of the cleaners puked when he saw the body. And yes, I was very proud when I heard that.
I could potentially be at the phase where I am approaching a point of no return, when my intrusive thoughts take over and declare a Purge Day. Which is why I need to get my shit together and make Azrael do what he does best with that brain of his and pull me out of this spiral.
But between these moments of obsession, there is the rest of my life.
Just like any Sunday, today is training day. No, not as in going to the gym. I’d rather pluck out my eyes with my own nails, shove them in gas, and light them on fire than sweat beside men who lift for attention and women who pose in front of mirrors, taking an unnatural number of pictures.
I personally prefer practicing in an abandoned basement in the city outskirts, something that can only be the best sport in the world besides hockey—Krav Maga. It is the most effective form of violence known to man: brutal and solely focused on terminating the threat.
My ‘instructor’ doesn’t talk much. He used to. Very dumb move.
He tried to correct my stance and teach me about “defensive intention.” And I showed him exactly what I believe about defense when I turned him into my personal punching bag. He learned that lesson pretty quickly—either when I fractured his rib or after he fainted from the lack of oxygen, not sure—so now he just moves and tries to stay alive while I burn leftover stamina from my jobs.
I like that. The silence, the unspoken understanding that he’s not here to shape me in any shape or form. His only purpose is to exist and let me take advantage of the professionally taught tactics he uses.
Not even ten minutes after I finish today’s training, Alex interrupts my peace, again.
My hands are still burning from the last set, palms raw and knuckles scuffed. I haven’t even wiped the sweat off when the soft buzz in my ear starts. I just roll my eyes, cross the room, and key in the pin to turn on the system on the phone, so I can let Alex bother me.
“It’s 7:02. You’re late,” I say, wiping blood off my lip with the back of my sleeve.
“You didn’t sleep again,” he replies flatly.
Alex has a habit of asking personal questions without actually wanting a reply. Not that he will ever get one. He just likes to be as annoying as possible.
“Mission?” I ask, already pissed by his voice. I should have him send messages from now on.
“A simple job, Vic. Just like the last one.”
It’s true, if there is a word to describe Forty-two, simple is exactly it. I shot him, dead in under three seconds, and the fucker didn’t even know I was there. And now I’m about to do pretty much the same thing. Alex should know better.
“So again, something uninteresting. Alex, you need to start looking for targets that I can slice and torture a bit. Anything but a quick kill.”
Considering the circumstances, I probably need a three-month-long killing spree like I did last year in Poland.