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Infatuation

TW: detailed descriptions of gore

"I've always loved a good mystery..."

"Mystery?"

"Yes! A mystery."

"Why? What kinds? So like, mystery novels? Sherlock Holmes and the like?"

"Sure, but real life mysteries are my favorite."

"So, you like true crime then. Please tell me you aren't some Ted Bundy-Jeffery Dahmer fangirl."

"I have more taste then that."

"Phew. So, why are you telling me this?"

"Simple. Have you ever wanted to be in a true crime documentary?"

Blood was sprayed across concrete, painting the dirty grey a vibrantly dark red. Fragments of rib were mixing with vile fleshy pink organs that she couldn't name. It was almost stereotypical, the horrific scene. Cheesy, in a way. Just the way she liked it. The overly heavy metallic smell was clogging her nose, and sour bile ran up her throat.

Infatuation, that has to be the word. The word that caused her desires. Desires to feel a heartbeat in someoned elses throat. Desires to see the perfect broken. To see someone from the inside out.

He was always a braggart, that one. Pretty and cute and pocket sized, but so arrogant. He had a little button nose with pale milky skin and fuzzy warm grey eyes that always looked a bit sleepy and smug. Such features paired well with the richness of blood.

She wishes he were alive, so she could hear the gurgling of blood from those thin blue-hued lips that used to speak the most ego fuelled words. Tears flowing and turning pink as they mixed together in a syrup of platelets and saliva.

But for now she revels in the bloodlust and pride and wonders if this will make the news. Will it be as big as when that model was crushed on stage by a light? The idol of the University that cheated his way to the top. The supposed "Superstar student" that would never shut up.

"You know, you make great company when you're dead."