Sated
“When did you say she was going to be back?” Donna asked, yawning and stretching before artfully rearranging herself on the sofa to subtly push her breasts up in Harry’s direction.
“She should have been back half an hour ago,” he replied, peeping through the net curtains. “Something’s wrong.” A worried frown wrinkled his brow and Donna’s attempts to draw attention to her body went completely unnoticed. She would have pouted, but she’d spent many hours in front of the mirror crafting the perfect moue and she didn’t like to waste it when it wouldn’t have its desired, devastating effect.
“It’s only half an hour. She’s not that late,” Donna pointed out.
“No, something’s definitely up.” Harry moved away from the window, still too distracted to notice Donna hitching her already short skirt up another inch. “I don’t like this.”
“Why don’t I make us something to eat? She wouldn’t mind us helping ourselves and if she’s running late, we might as well have something to munch on.” Donna giggled. “Before you munch on something else later… I think we’ve reached the stage in our relationship where that would be ok and you’ve been so good to me.” She put her hand on his well-muscled arm and gave it a little squeeze, but Harry shook her off impatiently.
“I don’t think so, Donna. I know we had a deal and all, but I’m beginning to think that it’s not worth it. What I went through last time, just for the opportunity of a quick grope of your tits - which aren’t nearly as great as you think they are.”
“Hey!” Donna couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “I paid a fortune for these and let me assure you, they were worth every penny. Nobody’s complained about them before - men have done a lot more for me than you have just for the chance to look at them.”
“Really?” Harry arched an eyebrow. “Somehow I find that hard to believe.”
“Come on, Harry,” Donna changed her tone, going with coy little girl, which had never failed her yet, “don’t be like that. You’re just stressing because she’s late. She’ll be here soon and then everything will be fine. Let me get you that sandwich. I think I saw some ham in the fridge. I could make you some coffee too.”
“No. I’m done.” Harry began packing up his tools. “I’ve been watching her for months. She never deviates from her routine. Tuesday nights, she does a little bit of shopping and then home in time for Eastenders. She watches it religiously, omnibus and all. There’s no way she’d miss it unless something serious had happened. It’s a sign. This wasn’t meant to be. It’s been fun and all, but not near as much as I’d hoped. When we hooked up, I had visions of you and me making love in the blood of our victims, you holding them down while I carved patterns into their stomachs, me passing you the blade to finish them off. We were supposed to be soul mates, two twin spirits on a journey together. I thought there’d be the most amazing rush doing it in front of someone while they died, knowing that it was me who’d done it. Instead, it’s been me doing all the donkey work after you decided to put in all these rules about what we should do. You know I was uncomfortable with collecting trophies, but you were all ‘I’m not going to sleep with you unless you bring me the heads of five old ladies.’ And then you change the rules every five minutes: ‘I need the knucklebones of three estate agents now - I want to make a rune set.’ A rune set, fu’fucks’ sake. Flake! You’re nothing but a nasty prick tease who won’t get her hands dirty because she doesn’t want to break a nail. You’re not even good enough to be a whore.”
“Who do you think you are?” Donna hissed. “You’d be nothing if you hadn’t met me. Some deadbeat loser, sitting in a bar, wondering how to make his life mean something. I’ve given you purpose and this is how you repay me? Go on, get out. I don’t need you! There’s plenty out there lining up to take your place.
“Good luck with that, sweetheart,” Harry sneered and left.
Donna sank down onto the couch. She couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. How dare he? They were creating history together. It had worked for Salome - she’d seen it in a movie once and people were still talking about her centuries down the line. All she wanted was to be famous - was that too much to ask?
It was all her fault. Donna looked at the photos on the mantelpiece of the woman whose house she was sitting in, smiling surrounded by children and grandchildren. Bitch. Donna wanted to reach into the photos and slap that smug look off her face. How dare she be late?
Donna was hit with a sudden idea and she grabbed pen and paper from the side.
Dear Fat Cunt
You got lucky. We were here but you weren’t, so you get to wake up to another morning. But we know where you live and we’ll be back and when we are, you’ll wish you’d been here because what we’ll do to you when we next see you will make our plans for tonight look like a children’s book.
She propped the note up on top of the TV where it couldn’t be missed and smiled. Of course, she wouldn’t be stupid enough to come after the same woman twice, but she wouldn’t know that and she’d never be able to come home again without questioning if Donna was waiting on the other side of the door.
Donna left with a spring in her step, having salvaged some modicum of entertainment from the evening. She’d been planning on moving on after tonight anyway, so her plans weren’t all that affected by the lack of victim. Harry might have thought he was something special, but it really wasn’t all that hard to bend men to her will and she changed her requests with each partner so that the police (and, more importantly, the press) thought they were dealing with separate killers, whilst her men had no idea that the first victim was the one they were replacing.
Harry didn’t know what he was talking about. Her breasts really were that good.