"I've stared at you enough, haven't I? But you, your body, it makes me want to do all kinds of sinful things to you. Before long, I imagine us going at it like bunnies in the storage room, but I control myself. Good things come with time, after all...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"You'd only care enough to kill somebody you love."
~K.W.
༺═──────────────═༻
I stare at the lock in front of me, keys in my white-knuckled fist. At first, I thought it was the trick of a paranoid mind that fooled me into believing it. The welcome mat is shifted approximately 12 degrees to the left; 12 degrees I did not move. Yes, maybe in my rush to leave, I stumbled on it. I'll give you that.
But now, the lock on the front door has a 2 millimeter scratch on it. Its golden sheen is marred by a clumsy hand.
I replaced the lock just 2 weeks ago. It's not mine. Someone's in there.
With a deep breath, I slowly insert the key into the lock, twist, and open the door.
The house is quiet. No. I hear shuffling, too heavy and ungainly to be a woman's. My heart pounds as I take out my switchblade, searching for the source of the sound.
Why don't I hear Yeontan? There would at least be the crack of nails on the floor or even a bark, but when I strain, I hear nothing. My blood runs cold as I think about all the things the intruder could have done to him.
I'm an understanding guy, but if there is so much as a hair missing on Yeontan, I will skin him alive like a grape until there is nothing left but an unrecognizable, fleshy lump.
The shuffling gets louder. It's headed toward me. I grip my switchblade tighter as I go further in, passing the entryway and travelling up to the kitchen. I'm afraid the intruder can hear my heart pounding out of my chest.
I see more signs of re-organizing; chair at the wrong angle, knives out of the block and sitting on the counter. My eyes widen; my favorite one is missing.
And orange juice. Why is the orange juice sitting out on the counter? That sinister assfuck; it's not enough to invade my privacy, you just have to go and drink my orange juice straight out of the carton.
I progress into the living room, and I see him, turned away from me and rummaging through my TV cabinet, and there's my knife on the coffee table unattended. He takes no notice as I step forward onto the rug, just a few feet away from him. Now's the time, if ever.
With one more step, I yank the man back from the cabinet, arm wrapped around his throat, and kick the back of his knees to make him fall. To my surprise, however, the man lets out only a chuckle once he hits the floor, and I freeze. I know that voice from anywhere.
"No..." I whisper, holding the knife against his throat now. "There's no way."
"Is this how you treat all of your guests?" he asks with a tsk, then swipes his leg out from under me to make me fall on my back. I wince as pain shoots up and down my body, but I don't give him the satisfaction of letting a sound escape my lips.
