Saved (Part 2)

Saved

I was no one.

I was the man you passed by on the street and barely noticed. The man you accidentally bumped into on your way out and mumbled a quick apology to. The man that you didn't give a second glance at when you got on the elevator with him.

The man you would have wished you had paid more attention to.

The first thing I noticed were the bruises on your knuckles. The small mark of blood on the bottom right end of your grey t-shirt. You had tried to hide it with your jacket at first, but the zipper was broken from your earlier altercation and you didn't think anyone would notice such a small stain.

Just like you didn't think anyone had seen what you had done.

If you had been paying attention, however, you would have noticed that I wasn't just anyone. In fact, you would've known that you had seen me before - that you had bumped into me a total of three times already. That the man you were currently standing beside in the elevator was not a stranger, but someone you've actually met quite a few times before.

And the man who just saw you murder another person.

"Cold?"

"Huh?"

I gesture towards your hands, your fingers shaking. One could easily think it's from the weather outside, from the chill that lingers in the autumn air, which is why you're so quick to nod, grateful for the excuse. However, just to be safe, you tuck your hands into the pockets of your jacket, just in case my eyes linger on the scratch marks scattered on them.

Better to be safe than sorry, right?

I don't say anything after that and you don't either, but I could sense the relief from you as the elevator dings to a stop. You exit as fast as humanely possible, your heart rate already accelerating from the adrenaline of almost being caught. You think you've gotten away - that tonight will be another night to add to your growing list of sins. You're so relieved and excited that you don't even both to look back to see if you're being followed, because why would you?

You were careful, right?

I wait until you fall asleep before I enter the room, the lock on the door breaking with a quick flick of a wrist. You don't even twitch at the sound, not even as I let my footsteps stomp across the carpet over to your side and I feel a small pang of disappointment, because some sick part of me wants you to hear me. It wants to feel the fear come off of you in waves just like it did for that woman you hurt.

However, I know what I'm about to do to you will hurt just as badly.

So I open my mouth, I lean forward, let my hair brush against your skin, and then I take my bite.