never sorry.

I thought to have great fun with this one. She was a college cutie, nervous, insecure, but also cunning and dangerous. She bought it all, my charm, the myth of a lifestyle myth, my lies of published poetry. It all seemed to impress her. Enticed her. I’ll never know why I lied so about those things, and my age, reducing it by ten years. How could she believe I was thirty, only ten years her senior?

And it was fun. That summer, tearing into each other at my wife’s condo in Laguna, prancing naked nights at the beach, surfing the outside, fucking in that bed with sunset refracting in her hair, dancing in her eyes. It was great. She was great. She was always great. and somehow so much fun.

And a great cook, too. In fact, everything she did was fun and fabulous. Not only did she surf, she played tennis, chess, and backgammon. She had a way with the homeless, kind, but not caring, wanting change, but seldom handing it out, maybe coupons, or a meal. She’d never been entitled, but always housed. Everything she did emulated grace and charm.

One would never know of her insecurities, her hidden demons, her silent frailties, but I did. And I knew exactly how I wanted to use them.

÷÷÷÷÷××x00000x×÷÷÷÷÷

It was one of those daddy-daughter nightmares that you read about, but don’t want to know about. You don’t really even want to hear more about it because it’s such a horrible thing. But she told me all about it, every disgusting thing, in great detail.

And that’s how she fell for me. I knew all her secrets, all of her keys to horror, how to turn them, what they did, how to use them. And I did. I used them to my advantage. I controlled her, and she bid my every desire throughout that wonderlust summer. She was so pitifully in love with me, I couldn’t take any more.

No one had ever been so desperately and tragically in love with me. No one had ever cared for or given me so much. And yet she was despicable and wonderful in bed, characteristics which showed as a deceptively coy and clever intellect in public. She claimed to have been once shy and introverted, afraid in public.

But no more. She blamed her newfound confidence on me. Said I had brought her out and into herself. And here, I thought I was just using her. Maybe we both had just blossomed. Found ourselves in each other. Yeah, fallen consummately, fully, and desperately in love. That part of our lives was done, finished, and sneaking away to a bevy of never ending happy tomorrows.

I had promised her only one thing, well, really two things, before we married. First, I would kill her father, but only after humiliating him and making him suffer for his treacherous ways. Secondly, I would soon discover I was a widower. I know these tasks sound ominous and evil, but honestly, they fall into my line of work. I’m a mechanic, a hit man. I don’t usually take on side jobs, but this girl is worth it.

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