He was worried; he hadn’t managed to scrub off all the blood from the mantlepiece. It interrupted the subtle off-white color of the brick, a ferocious red that could not be ignored. Now he heard voices outside, hustling, commotion. Then there was the sound of the key in the lock, the creaking noise of the door opening, sounds echoing in the room, agitating his already hyperactive nerves. He had not considered the possibility that it would unfold like this; it was unprecedented. He had wanted to take his time: the blood oozing out of her gut, he would stare at her horrified expression as it dissolved into blankness. Passivity settling into the indentations of her skin near her lips, where she had opened her mouth in terror. Or was it recognition he had glimpsed there? The slight change in her demeanor as her body stiffened, dawning awareness of the collateral damage that was to come, just as she lost awareness of anything at all.
She had seen it coming. More often than not, people could feel the truth breaking through right at the end. He would approach them exuding sociability and charm, his determination to possess them easily mistaken for selfless love. He guided the conversation, the relationship, letting them think it was mutual and that they had any power at all. They never knew he was a god, willing them into a false sense of security, before he forced them into jeopardy, reassembling their organs with his knife. But there was fear in their eyes just before the final move, when the breakthrough came. When they realized his face would be the last thing they witnessed before his dagger sank in, their body convulsing, realizing who he really was. Sometimes they would groan, their mouth opening into an O. That was when he loved them best. He watched the realization dawn upon their faces–no time for resistance, the knife digging deeper into their gut, the blood soaking their shirt and dripping down like tears of angels, purifying everything they touched.
He had been here before. Been the hand of justice for men, oppressed by the women who were never faithful.
“To have and to hold…”
“…from this day forward, for better or for worse…”
A sarcastic scoff escaped his lips.
“…for richer, for poorer…”
They always went for it, the sweat on their skin glistening as they pressed their bodies against him, their breasts pressing against his chest, murmuring, whispering, professing their undying love. The touch of his lips would erode all other sensations, their fear of being caught suppressed in the background as he pleasured them, his hand making its way down to their waist before it went even lower, eliciting moans of satisfaction before he decided on the final move.
That was when it would usually come to him–the repercussions. Women like these were no better than animals, living without any sense of morals or consequences. But neither was he. He let out a laugh.
Moving back, he tiptoed back the way he had come, escaping into the shadows before someone could come in, his smug expression combining with the scent of fresh blood as he slipped away.