Eight

Zoe is scared of the dark. Swears the shadows move and become demons searching for hosts to corrupt. I love my nights. Makes it easier to get away with mischief.
When we were growing up, I shared her fear but as I got older, I developed a new fear, I can't stand thunder storms but I never told her. She loves watching thunder storms, says they help heal her emotional wounds. I always find a way to be far away from her when there is going to be a storm. I don't ever want her to know. But maybe I need to tell her to make her feel like she knows me intimately. Women want that.
"I was thinking of you. I really did miss that beautiful smile."
She rolls her eyes. "Right!"
"Truly. You know I can't live without you for long. I also want to show you something before the bell rings."
"What's that?"
I fake hesitation. "We... actually... what I mean is I was, um, we need to talk."
"Er... okay." It comes out sounding like a question but she's intrigued.
"I want to talk to you about something... away from the prying ears." My faked nervousness makes her tense.
She frowns, pondering it for a second. "Yeah?"
"Take a walk with me?" I suggest.
A chillingly pragmatic selfish thought crosses my mind. What if I don't bring her back? What if I plunge my knife into her throat time and again as I come?
My breathing accelerates.
How long will she take to die? Sixty seconds? One minute is a long time for a person to know they're dying. It wouldn't take long to dig a grave, would it?
I'd need a hole just deep enough to cover her thin frame. I feel myself getting excited by this. The prospect of it. This isn't good.
She cocks her head. Mystified. "To?"
We're outside in the school grounds now. I gesture to the woods. "We'll be back before you know it."
We walk into the crisp early afternoon air. Deep in the skies the clouds play hide and seek with the sun. A cold chill rolls through me. The wind bites into my bare legs. As we walk down the clear path, it blows almost harshly, the trees and bushes rustle ominously. I fall back a step so that Zoe is in the lead. An excuse to watch her booty. The only reason men allow a woman to walk in front. Ask any guy. The honest type. We always look at the ass. Imagine crude positions.
I follow with patience behind her cautious steps. I know, it's in high alert. Her intuition. It's telling her to go back. If she were wise she would. I'm sure she's wondering where I'm taking her? At this odd hour? And why am I so excited and quiet?
"Those clouds coming in..." She shakes her head, worried. It's still early. Eleven in the morning. "How much further are we going?”
"Up the creek about a mile north," I inform her, cheerful. I'm sure my mood makes her suspicious. She's probably wondering just how much vodka I downed. Class, the first thing that should be in her mind, isn't.
She narrows her eyes in suspicion. "Can I ask where we're going?"
I sigh but don't answer. She is clenching her fleece jacket with white knuckles. The only time Zoe gets like this is when she's scared shitless.
I touch her arm, to silently let her know I am here for her. That she's safe. But I soon realise I'm not just comforting her, I'm reminding myself that she's human too. That some people, like her younger sister would be devastated if Zoe were to go missing. If she were to die. If I were to kill her.
Zoe flinches at my touch and I can't help but swallow. Am I strong enough to resist? The fantasy is like a compulsion now. It's extremely hard to concentrate on the aggressive clouds instead of her. Vulnerable. Entirely at my mercy but sadly I don't think I can spare her any.
Caution, I remind myself.
I don't have to entertain these exciting thoughts anymore than I already am.
"I seriously hope you aren't planning on killing me, this afternoon." She says it as a joke but I know there's a small part of her that's genuinely curious. She knows me too well. Knows I'd never die for anybody but me. I'm sure she doesn't even tell her girlfriends I'd die for or maybe she does. Women girls always want to seem like they got the perfect boyfriend.
I almost smile. Almost. At least she has the guts. "No, not really. "
Of course, I am.
"If not, then stop walking like a maniac. I can't keep up."
Ugh... seriously, Zoe? I scold her inwardly. That is so dumb. Why doesn't she make this easy for me? Why doesn't she demand we go back?
I lower my strides to match her slower, shorter pace. She's fidgeting with her small hands. When I look at her, her gaze is on my lips. Dear God! I hope we'd reach our destination soon before I do something stupid. Like order her to her knees and take her from behind. My favourite position. I've always wanted to do that. With the trees surrounding me, the wind carrying her screams off towards the heavens. It'd be nice. To see her bruised knees from fallen branches and autumn leaves. Her hair pinned tight in my fist. Her eyes blurry. Her ass red and swollen from having slapped it time and again.
After five minutes I halt. Looking down at her, her lips are pursed, one brow is lifted. She's surprised.
She swallows. "A cemetery?"
I nod, however offer no clarification.
"I thought you said you aren't burying me today." She chuckles. Nervous.
I grimace but say nothing. I can feel the nervous tension rolling off of her as we walk side by side between the tombstones. Her hand which I now grasp is trembling in mine, dewed by sweat.
I let go of her.
Her nerves are making me more horny than I need to be.
"This way," I say, grabbing her arm in my impatient hand as she falls back a few paces. My heart gives a leap.
"I'm so not comfortable with all these dead people around me. What the hell are we doing here? Oh my God, is that an open grave?" She says. The folds of panic surrounding her.
Good. She should be scared.
"I told you I'm not intending to kill you today," I chasten her, looking at her with annoyed disapproval. The lie is natural in my lips. "Or any other day. I need you around for quite a while. That's probably going to be someone's grave tomorrow."
"That's not what worries me," she whispers .
Of course not!
"What then?"
Her answer comes as a frightened whisper. "Ghosts."
I stiffen for a second. "Ghosts?" I ask, unable to hide the trace of disbelief in my voice. I can barely manage to stop rolling my eyes. "In the twenty-first century, Zoe?"
She purses her lips again. "Well things happen. You're here!"
Despite my better judgment, I chuckle. "I'm not a ghost."
She leads the way. Excited now. I follow behind her, eager, picking up on her mood. "Well I know that dammit."
I sigh. This girl is in need of serious medical attention. I smile. It would be a day in hell when Zoe doesn't give me a reason to bore my worried gaze into her skull.
"I meant it's possible for ghosts to materialise here. You too came straight out of Heaven. You're an Angel."
I jog to catch up with her. My hair waves past my shoulders in a lazy rhythm. "Can't I be something more masculine. How about Black Panther?"
She rolls her eyes. "You aren't black enough for that."
She's right of course. I'm too fair skinned to be considered black, my hair overlaps to silky. I'm really not black enough.
"You roll your eyes so often that I'm surprised they are still intact."
She rams her fist playfully into my ribs. I wince. It's the same side Papa cracked two of my ribs three weeks ago. To avoid questions I cannot answer, I force a laugh. I hear her sharp intake of breath.
Man, this girl has got it bad.
Eventually I come to a stop a pace away from a line of three tombstones that are all glossy red. They catch our reflections like a mirror.
Zoe frowns, her curiosity piqued. "Michael Carter?" She asks in a shaky voice.
"My father," I say. I'm reluctant now. Maybe coming here wasn't the best choice. She'll know too much. Become more disposable.
I waver, staring at her face.
"Selina Carter?" She asks.
I clear my throat and tighten my jaw. "My mother." I hesitate, gnawing my lips. "My biological mother. My biological parents."
"And Bradley Carter?"
A shiver ripples through my body, feeling the familiar chill settle into my chest. The only person that makes me feel less like a monster is Clara. My sister manages to break the ice that grips my body now.
The silence lengthens.
Reluctant, I glance at her face before running a cold hand through my hair. The welcoming, open face ensures I won't be judged. I take a deep breath. A few seconds pass before I reply, "That was me."
It is like a shot has been fired. Everything is so still. Even our heavy panting from having jogged through tombstones halts.
An array of emotions cross her face — confusion, fear, anger. But mostly confusion.
Our eyes meet and lock, the silence stretches out — and suddenly shifts in its quality. The sexual tension from earlier surges into the atmosphere as she gazes, unwavering into my eyes. I realise I don't need any drugs that will stimulate dopamine transmission, being with Zoe, or rather the idea of her, is enough of an addiction.
I turn away and swallow. I think about Papa to dull my erection.
Her voice breaks my concentration. "Hold up! What? I'm lost. Start from the beginning."
I close my face off. Refusing to betray any emotion. I throw a pointed glance in her direction and raise her wrist, to place her palm on my cheek, just like old times. Just like when we were younger. I've been fucking her since I was fourteen. She's a year older. This is our special gesture. It means relax, I'm here, breathe.
"Depending on the day, my mother was always either drunk or high, my father was a cop, they were knee high in debt. Despite my attempts I still can't forget that night." The ice in my heart enters my veins and I barely acknowledge the faint rumbling sound in my chest as I fight a furious snarl.