****Trigger Warning: content Contains Sexaul assualt, Blood, Violence and Lots of Cursing.****
What’s the definition of a bad person? I used to think it was just those who harmed others. Sexual predators, serial killers, murderers. Lately, I’ve regressed. I don’t believe bad people exist anymore. I believe people are just driven to extremes from deep severe pain or anger. Turning minds back to primal times. Kill or be killed. Protect or die trying.
I’m just a woman. One might say I had a promising future. Looks? Check. Street smarts? Check. Book smarts? Check, Check. All that good shit. Check. Check. Check. Who fucking cares? I’m still demoralized. Objectified. I’m either a bitch because I avoid males’ advances (read: sexual harassment), or a bitch because I’m doing far too well next to my male counterparts. And so I must be fucking my way to the top. Forget all my hard work. It means shit.
Picture this: Sweet, fun, outgoing girl, celebrating her birthday, her life, over the weekend, but gets sexually assaulted towards the end of the night. She fought hard, screamed, cried, begged for help. People opened their doors, looked dead at her. And silently, with their heads down, slowly closed their doors on her face.
I couldn’t process it.
Eventually, I was saved by the sound of a group of men, who finally heard my cries and came running down the hallway, scaring the men off with only my cell phone. At the time, I thought this was all they managed to take from me.
That was 12 years ago.
I’ve hated people ever since. Particularly men. Think about it...Twelve years, and I still froze when someone walked behind me. All sense of safety, gone. I was a recluse, trapped in a cave of panic and unwashed blankets. I longed for the days when I felt free. When the world seemed like my playground, and not my prison. Those men took everything from me, and yet I was considered “lucky.” Because these men didn’t get a chance to penetrate me. Whatever. I guess, if you only consider that a woman’s worth is only between her legs. That her most prized possession is her vagina; then yes...I am lucky. But truthfully, I lost my family, my future, my friends. I lost myself.
One night, at a bar with my closest (read: only) friend, I watched a man get handsy with this young woman. She kept trying to get this guy to back off in her best “nice woman” tone, because...well, because the fucking patriarchy. The unwritten law which states that regardless of the situation we are not allowed to get hostile. Because then we are exaggerating, being melodramatic, or we simply can’t take a joke. Fuck that.
I threw the last of my wine back like a shot. Got up and went straight up to that man. Grabbed his fuckin’ testicles and squeezed; just like juicing a lemon. I never heard a man make that sound before. It was like a mixture of animals getting their tails stepped on, but also like a tire screeching. You know when someone is in so much pain, they yell out but at some point, it’s almost as if they can't speak. They can only whisper or whimper. I would be remiss if I said I didn’t enjoy every second of it. I looked him straight in the eyes, balls still in my hands and asked if he heard the lady. If he understood now what she was saying. His eyes are full of fear, anger. Pain. He simply nodded. I let go and he fell to the ground, crawled into the fetal position. Sputtering out so much hate in his defeat.
I chuckled under my breath before turning to the young woman to ask if she was alright. She nodded, thanked me, and proceeded to grab her things and leave. I stood there for a minute, my heart pounding in my ears and my hands tingling and shaking. I felt...so much power in that moment. I felt.
Faintly, I could hear men calling me names, but it was just background noise. Static. All I could focus on was my body, and how for the first time, I wasn’t afraid. I had never felt so powerful, and the more I focused on it, the more I wanted. I was done being scared. I wanted to be feared. I walked over to my friend, her mouth ajar as she looked at me. We both knew it was time to leave.
Like everything else, there’s trial, error, more trials, more errors. But I soon figured out what worked for me and these men. Their fear was always the same. Weakness, helplessness. Heaven forbid their big macho ego be challenged by a woman who refuses to be meek, refuses to worship at the temple of their superiority. Men are..easy. It felt...natural, psychologically mindfucking these pricks, with the occasional tasing or ball grabbing. Now that my eyes were truly open, I seemed to keep walking into scenes from the world’s worst rom-com, because it wasn’t romantic, and it was never funny. It was just...assholes being assholes.
I preyed on them, like a lioness: slow movements, from a distance. I took my time. I made sure that the guy I picked was the right one. And every year, on All Hallows Eve, I’d dress up. I wore an all black, tight leather jumpsuit. (No heels. Because let’s be serious for a second, Heels were definitely designed by a man.) Instead, I opted for my far more comfortable combat boots. I simply wanted to look hot but also be invisible and all black tends to do that. To be clear, all I wanted to do was scare them into changing, being better men, the men their mothers think they are. But they were all disappointments. None of them could see my point of view, of course, they all said they did and were sorry, over and over again. But I knew, if I let them go, they would tell, their friend’s all about the crazy bitch who kidnapped them and torture them. For no reason. They would call themselves victims. So, There weren't that many in the beginning…But now, my list is kind of long…There was Danny, who reminded me of the man who stole my childhood innocence at six. Unfortunately for him, in the process of trying to teach him a very valuable lesson, he called me a psycho bitch... that may have been a reason as to why I blacked out on him and awoke to his blood all over me. I couldn't tell you what I did exactly, His body was mangled and his penis was severed. So, I leave it to you to draw up your own conclusions. After Danny, they all seem to blur together. Asshole number one is no different than say asshole number nine.
You know...there was a...month? Two months?...where I “took off’ and tried to tell myself that what I was doing was wrong. I stifled the impulse to hunt. But then I read about a woman who was raped on a train, and everyone watched and recorded. I mean even women stood by and did nothing to help. And it was at this moment that I realized that what I was doing wasn’t wrong. In fact, it was my obligation now. To all those who become women. Because we deserve to live in a world that’s safe for us just as much as it for YOU. But no one fucking cares about us, so I do what I have to. So, I showed them all what a crazy fucking bitch would do sorry, I mean psycho bitch would do. I never imagined I’d be there. Standing in a room covered with blood—by that, of course, I mean both me and the room were slick with it. I never imagined being a person who takes another’s life. But, you know…Mondays, am I right?
The great thing about living in New York City is that I can go outside like this and no one would even bat a fucking eye. After all, I could be screaming for help in the middle of the street and you know what you fuckers would do? Whip out your phones. Point. Laugh. Instigate. Maybe some of you will tell someone else to call 911. But you won’t. You are all too thirsty for the chance to go viral. It also definitely helps it being Halloween, people would just assume this is fake blood, and I’m putting on a show. So for the last few years, I have preyed on every single disgusting douchebag who claims he’s “a nice guy,” and waited until All Hallows Eve to slit his fucking throat. Not before explaining to him why he’s in this situation in the first place, of course. They all must know why they have been chosen, why they caught my eye, why I caught them.
At the rate, I was going, I was bound to get caught. I mean, I Did everything I could to be smart, I paid only cash for storage places I found and used fake names. I hired a couple of homeless men, who would do just about anything for money, to dispose of the bodies using acid and barrels.
I always knew I was either going to die, or get caught. And here we are, Detective. You caught me. Congratulations. Lock me away with all the other criminals. Go back to ignoring women, who come forward, Dismissing women who don't have enough evidence. Blaming women for what they were or weren't wearing, blaming the amount of alcohol they had. But never once taking into consideration the man’s actions. The man’s sole responsibility for his own fucking actions. This world couldn't be screaming louder about how little it respects women. So, I did your job for you. You call them my victims. I prefer consequences. We pity victims. I am a victim. These men are simply the consequences. I teach responsibility. Better late than never. And they’re all late now. As for me, call me whatever you like. Crazy, a serial killer, a murderer, but to me I am just ice, cold, unforgiving and hard. Just-ice.