The Villain

Few years ago, I had a filling done. The dentist did a great job, except for one thing: he didn’t file down the edge of my tooth. It was not a big deal, it wouldn’t cut me or anything, but I could feel it whenever I ran my tongue across the surface. 

It was then when I realized it: I was a predator. A carnivore. A beast that’d been asleep, a beast that hadn’t realized how sharp her teeth were and what they were meant to be sharp for. Or who.

I hold my coffee cup - its warmth always brings me a false sense of comfort, a soothing feeling that tells me I can always get up and leave. We always have the option of choosing a different life. We can always choose not to be the monster. But do we ever?

I can keep squeezing this warm cup until my hands turn blue, I can try to fool myself all I want, but the truth is evident, almost palpable - this is my life now. There are no options, no choices for me. There’s no turning back. Because when you finally find out what you really are, you can never be something else. Even if you wanted to.

So I look up and watch her - she’s waiting for the flower girl to assemble a shamefully large bouquet, checking her phone, making sure she won’t be late, slightly irritated with the poor girl taking so long to tie few carnations together. By the way, who even buys carnations nowadays? Where I’m coming from, they only use them at funerals. Maybe it’s a sign; I smirk. 

She is going to be number four. My favorite number. I guess that makes her special in a way. Lara. Even her name makes her sound like someone who should be special. Lara is a doctor, a pediatrician. Her husband, Tom, is a math teacher. They met at a mutual friend’s Christmas party. As they chatted away Tom kept inching along until he finally got them to stand under the mistletoe. To this day, Lara still laughs wholeheartedly at the memory. 

No. That would be awful. I’m not that kind of monster. Lara is actually an accountant. She lives alone in a studio apartment, no pets, no plants, no husband. No friends, not any true ones anyway. No relatives. Her father hit the road when she was five and her mother died a year ago. Lara didn’t cry. She isn’t much of a cryer. I wonder if I can make her cry.

We’ve actually met before, but I doubt she remembers me. I was at a bar near my house. I don’t ever go out but after Lilly, I needed to be around people. I felt so hollow, it felt like there was nothing inside me, so I needed to be surrounded by noise and drunk people who bump into you, smile and apologize as if you were one of them. I wanted to feel like a person again. I wanted to believe I could stop. Lilly was the last one, I even promised myself. But then again, there is a whole lot of promises I break these days.

Lara was sitting alone, but kept checking the door. First thing I noticed about her was the way she rested the palm of her hand over the glass. It was odd, different… intriguing. It was so casual - I was hooked. I’m attracted to genuine people, their gestures, their behavior, nothing should feel premeditated. She looked right at me, too. Correction: she looked right through me. Most of them do. No one really assumes the worst when they look at me. People are genetically engineered to give the benefit of the doubt. And this is my biggest advantage. 

It usually takes me weeks to find out who they are, where they live and work, who they sleep or hang out with. With Lara I’m feeling bold for some reason. Every morning I have coffee at the coffee shop on her street. We shop at the same grocery store. One of those days, we will run into each other again, it’s inevitable. And when she asks about me, if she shows any interest in who I am or why it seems like she keeps seeing me around, I’ll come up with the craziest story, the most unbelievable reason, but yet again, she will believe me. They always believe me, because they want to. They don’t really want to consider I may be the worst thing that’ll ever happen to them.

I’ve tried to stop. I even went to therapy. I didn’t share what my hobby was, of course, but I did tell my therapist sometimes I felt like I was capable of awful things. He said intrusive thoughts are completely normal. I almost asked him if it was also completely normal to stalk random people and fantasize about all the terrible things a human being is capable of doing to another human being.

I’ve tried to stop but it’s stronger than me - the urge to hurt people. I even lie to myself they deserve it. Not that it makes it okay but sometimes it does help me sleep at night. Lilly, for instance, would leave her two-year-old with their teenage neighbor for hours so she can go and cheat on her husband. Her lovely husband George and her lovely, lovely baby girl Sammy. They’re better off without her. That’s what I’d like to think anyway. 

And Lara. Lara is the worst so far. They say bullies usually outgrow their habits to torture others. Lara is an exception. It comes so naturally for her to make everyone’s life miserable. Every single day I become more and more convinced she needs a lesson. The lessons I give to people are hard ones… but necessary.

* * * *

As she read the napkin, almost black with ink, the barista dropped the spray bottle she’d brought to clean the table. Her eyes frantically looked for the woman who’d sat here but she was long gone.