A/N: This is something out of my Evil!series. It's about Bobby's doppelganger, who is a serial killer. He goes by the alias Vincent Holmes. Let me know if you like this because I have more from this series that I would love to post.
Her long, black hair fanned around her head like a halo, fading into the night red of the desert ground. She panted, smiling up at him, her hand idly rubbing at her clavicle. Her name was Theresa, but that didn't matter. Her eyes were such a light blue, they looked silver and they shone up at him adoringly, catching the starlight when she turned her head.
They had fucked each other raw, but still gently. It was passionate and furious and altogether too familiar. His touches had been feather-light against her skin, setting off ripples of goose bumps and eliciting the slightest gasps from her perfect lips. He had worshiped her body, treating her like a goddess, like she was someone else. It was an exercise in cleansing, eradicating the tainted feelings from his chest. It was an exorcism, chasing away his demons with emotional masochism.
She was too familiar to mar her beautiful face with grotesque bruises. His senses were tricking him, making him believe she tasted the same, smelled the same, felt the same, when really, she only had the most basic physical features in common. He had even called her by the wrong name, letting the familiar roll off his tongue easily, leaving the unfamiliar, correct name far behind. Theresa hadn't even noticed, or at least didn't seem to care. She was too caught up in this bar pickup-turned romantic romp in the desert dust.
He dropped his head to her chest; a couple tears escaped his eyes and dripped into her cleavage. Theresa reached both hands up, tangling them in his hair. She was enjoying him, delighting in having found someone so charming and so sensual in a bar of all places.
"Why are you crying, Vincent?" she asked, her fingers still entwining themselves in his hair. Even her voice was familiar, or so his ears thought. She had no idea she was being used. She was unaware of her fate tonight.
He picked his head up from her chest and met her eyes with his own. They were dark and haunted, murderous urges lurking in their depths. He had switched off his heart, detaching himself from her. Now, he had her familiarity tied up in his memory, using it as kindling for his internal fire. He needed to kill her, needed to degrade her, make her nothing more than an ephemeral memory of a bad dream. It was the only way he could find himself again... the only way to remove the cancer from his heart.
"Because you have to die now," he answered calmly, struggling to keep his lovesick heart from stopping him. Theresa's eyes flashed bright with fear, going wide with fear. Her prince was turning out to be a monster.
"Wh-what?" Her voice cracked as she started to struggle against him, trying to wriggle out from under his body.
He leaned down, closing the distance between their faces, gripping her chin between his thumb and forefinger. He kept his eyes on hers as he whispered, "I'm sorry. It's not your fault."
"No, no, no. I-I'm sorry! Whatever I did, I'm sorry! Just, let-let me go, please?" She begged, pushing against his shoulders, trying to get him off her. She kicked and wiggled, fighting for her life. "I won't tell anyone about this! You can let me go; it's okay!"
"It's not your fault," he repeated. "But yes, it is. You made me love you. You made me stay." He shifted his hand on Theresa's chin, moving it to grip her throat and tilt her head back. "Do you see what you did to me?" he hissed, the anger starting to creep into his voice with every word, every dredged up feeling.
Theresa choked, still trying to free herself. "I didn't do anything! I'm sorry!" she kept insisting, her voice strangled with the extreme angle her head was at.
"You ruined me," he snarled, picking up her head and slamming it into the desert ground. It connected with the red dirt with a sickening thud and Theresa began crying. He ignored her tears; after all, they meant nothing. "You broke me like an animal." He hit her head against the ground again, this time with a disgusting crack as her skull fractured. Theresa's eyes started to get droopy, her struggling slowed and grew weaker.
"I hate you for doing that to me."
He reached back and pulled his pocketknife out of his pocket, flipping the blade open. He slit her throat easily, the blood pooling under her, mixing with her black hair.
"I hate you."