Yours Truly 2017 / Cascadia College / Bothell, WA 2017 YT Online Book | Page 56

“So Liz . . .” He casually rubs his neck,
casting a crooked smile in my direction.

“Elizabeth,” I murmur, carefully traversing
the small cracks in the sidewalk.

“. . . Tell me about yourself,” he continues,
not having heard my slight correction.

“What do you want to know?” I cross my
arms. The night is warm, but I’m shaking none
the less.

“I don’t know. What’s your favorite
color?” Every single word he says is followed by
a quick, almost imperceptible flash of his teeth.

“Red.” I steal a glance in his direction.

“Cool. Cool. What do you like to do?”
His sentences are dripping in a carefully crafted
sense of desire.

“Read.” My eyes fall back to my shoes.

Conversation continues in this manner
as we walk. His legs are slightly longer than
mine, but he refuses to shorten his stride. I have
to quicken my pace, and the rapidity of my steps
causes my breath to come in short bursts.

As we approach the park his tempo
slows. He must have noticed my panting. Nice
job, Elizabeth. Very attractive.

“I love this park,” he says. I glance over
at him. A smile creases his face. There’s a faint
wickedness to the uneven curve of his lips. His
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shoulders tense and his knuckles whiten from
the clenching of his fists.

“Even after the murders?” I ask.

“Especially after the murders,” he smirks.
“I think it has more character now.”

My stomach twists. My heartbeat
accelerates. I can feel it thudding against my
ribcage.

We march on into the woods. My heels
scrape against the pavement, mimicking a
dreadful noise found in almost every horror
movie. I gulp. This is awfully fitting. Reaching into
my purse, I desperately grasp for my weapon.

“Has anyone ever told you how pretty
you are?” he asks. His voice is unusually gravelly.
He leans towards me, forcing my back against a
tree. He’s close now. Way too close.

I yank my weapon out, tearing the
leather of my purse in the process. In a flurry of
well-rehearsed motions I thrust my knife into his
chest. He gasps as blood as deep as my lipstick
seeps from his wounds. His eyes are wide and
the grin vanishes from his face, replaced by a
slack-jawed stare.

“Liz . . .” he gurgles, red trickling out
through the small part in his lips.

“It’s Elizabeth.”