Page 102 of King of Hollywood
I may have called both of my sisters individually to brag that I was no longer single. I maybe—might have—told them to start shopping for Felix for Christmas.
I also may have printed off a notice to put on my office door so that everyone would know I was leaving early and not to disturb me until the following work week. (Looking at you, Harold.)
I’d ask Felix to be mine officially tonight, and I was prepared to be the best boyfriend in the history of all boyfriends. Narcissistic? Maybe. But that was one of the more forgivable of my flaws, if you considered murder a flaw.
Which I didn’t.
I figured if I brought the box inside, then returned it, I’d redeem myself. Never mind the fact that Felix never needed to know what happened to the last one. I was already heading over there for the block party later that day, and I figured I could bring the new box with me and deposit it safely in his fridge when he was awake.
Only…
It never even occurred to me that Felix had needed that package.
That perhaps there was a reason he’d had it delivered today of all days.
And that while I was applying aftershave and singing—rather awfully—to Ella Fitzgerald—getting ready for our date after work—Felix was across the street, during daylight hours, with the curtains drawn, panicking.
The moment I stepped onto my front lawn, blond hair primped to perfection, my skin buttery soft, the lemon-sage scent of my aftershave wafting through the air, I knew…something had happened.
I knew, because there was a car parked in Felix’s driveway.
It wasn’t Barry’s red minivan.
And it wasn’t my Mercedes.
It wasn’t recognizable at all.
He has someone over.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Rage, devastation, frustration—unlike anything I’d ever felt before filled my body. White-hot. Wicked. Angry. When I’d killed in the past, I planned it out. I scouted bars, I found bullies—the same cookie-cutter kind of men that had caused Alberta’s death. For weeks, I stalked them to make sure that they fit my criteria.
When I lured them outside—under false pretenses—when I swiveled around, not the nerdy, defenseless man they’d expected—but a predator—it was all meticulously planned.
Every last, careful detail.
Down to the way I killed them, twisting their necks till they snapped and their eyes rolled back. Satisfying. Easy to clean up. Practiced.
I was a planner.
But there was no plan in my mind. Not at all. As I tore across the street, used the key Felix had given me, and entered his front door. I could hear voices, but my mind was scarily blank.
I knew…I knew this was my fault. I knew that Felix had his “needs”, and I hadn’t thought to ask for boundaries. The dust on his bed had given me hope—though it had made me wonder where exactly he slept, if his bed was so abandoned.
My vision was red, red, red.
My eyes burned as I stalked through the house, quiet as a mouse.
If I’d been in my right mind, I would’ve noticed that I had left the front door open. But I wasn’t. And I didn’t. All I could think about was the fact that I hadn’t told Felix I wanted to be exclusive, even though Winnie had warned me that I needed to.
Why didn’t I tell him I want to be his boyfriend?
I told everyone else.
Hell, I’ve been calling myself his boyfriend since the first time we went out together.
And yet…I had never told him. I had never asked him if exclusivity was something he wanted.
I had given him my heart but I had taken the coward’s way out.
