His grip shifts only slightly, to better hold her with the knife. Hot breath smells bitter, almost sour as he pants in her ear. His right hand comes down, yanking her arms down with it. Fear driven now, and she beg.
“Please, no,” she whimper, her body stiffening. His rough tongue licks the side of her neck; his right hand grabs her breast and squeezes. “You can have my purse, just please don’t–”
He growls in frustration and jerks the blade up again, harder this time. The smell of sweat, dirt, and filth assaults her nose. She tries to wail, but the sound doesn’t come out, pressing her head back, but his shoulder catches it. Not just a dot now, there is a short, vertical line on her skin that burns hot. Weeping, her hands ball into fists and she begs for release. Fear begins to ebb as despair gently settles in. He pulls the ear rings and necklace, as the knife presses harder against her skin.
But the instant before he releases her, the knife flicks back in a practiced, circular motion. Knees weak, she drops to the ground and her hand comes up to her neck. A long line burns, and her hand comes away sticky wet with blood. She stare up at her attacker, seeing for the first time that he wears not rags, as she assumed, but a expensive suit. Instead of filthy dirt, and disgusting, he is handsome and stylish.
He stares down at her and their eyes lock. Still panting, he watches intently as she collapse to her elbows, holding her bleeding throat. He made sure to catch both arteries, so it won’t be long. Despair rears its ugly head one last time as blackness creeps in at the edge of her vision. Blood, her life. drips from the knife he still holds in his right fist. His eyes are black pools, reflecting nothing but madness, and his lips part into a slight smile.
She’s sprawled full-length now, not even your arms will work. Her hand falls limply next to her ear. Her eyes meet his and a whisper escapes her lips: “Why?”
“ Doesn’t matter. He adds with a chuckle, “You didn’t know I was there until I was a breath away”.