A/N:
I labeled this 'M'! S.B you have gone to the dark side! And I gladly skip merrily into it, mind you.
I wanted to try my hand at something different. I guess this could be called 'dark'. But it seems kind of normal and light to me. It's my first try at it. I wasn't going to factor in any romance, but it made its way there.
This is dedicated to my best bud, Cy. If I know a person who can be more morbid and twisted than me, it is definitely her. I hope you like this, girlie.
Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach. I just turned Rukia into a serial killer. :D
Monster
What the Behavioral Analysts always say is true: sometimes people like her enjoy returning to the scene, to the pandemonium they had caused. They liked to be standing amongst the crowd. They liked to pretend that they too were disturbed, frightened by the event that had taken place. They liked to stand amongst the gathered who stared forward, packed into tight clusters and completely unaware of the killer who stood in their midst.
A lot of what they say is true, she thought, but she didn't do it often and so, she relished in it when she had the chance. The entire neighborhood had to be there. She could see the hairs on their arms and necks rise, small bumps formed on their skin as chills ran through them. It was as if their bodies were reacting to her presence somehow, like they knew what stood amongst them. But their minds were too dense to listen.
They should run. They should hide. They should scatter like the prey that they are. Scatter and run and try to confuse the hunter before she had a chance to drive steel into their little hearts.
She wouldn't hurt them, the members of the crowd. She was quite choosy with her victims and none of them fit her criteria. Those who were unlucky enough to catch her eye and be graced with the cool, metallic feel of her blade always deserved it. Always.
She stood at the very front of the crowd as she lightly dragged her pointer finger across the yellow police tape that separated her from the cement path that led to the house's front door. She noted that she had walked through those very doors a mere two hours ago. They found him rather quickly this time around. A reddish-brown substance was dried beneath her fingernail. She thought herself quite bold. Anyone could see and name her a killer. She could be noticed at any second.
But, Rukia was never a suspect. She never had connections to her victims and no personal contact unless one counted the hours between her introducing herself to them and when they found themselves in a pool of their own blood.
She was small in frame and a little short in stature. Her hair was cut short in a bob-like pixie cut with jagged ends. It was a deep, inky black in color and contrasted with her milky, porcelain skin. Her eyes were a shade of violet that held in them hues of blue. They were large, expressive and kind or cold and stoic depending on the situation. She had a quiet demeanor that would never lead one to think of the things she did.
She was much too innocent looking to be ever labeled a monster.
And she wasn't one. No, she was ridding the world of monsters. Her victims didn't deserve to live. They wouldn't be missed by a single soul, especially those whom they had harmed and if anyone had the gall to show remorse for the sickening bastards' deaths she'd be more than happy to send them on their merry way after them.
She let out a sigh and slid her finger over the plastic tape once more before putting her hand back into the pocket of her jacket. She wondered why no one had noticed. Here was a woman wearing a hoodie, a black one at that, in the middle of August. It was mid–morning and the sun's rays were already baking the Earth in humid heat. She could feel the sweat beading on her forehead. No one seemed to find it strange and for that she was grateful.
She rolled her head from side to side, hearing the muscles in her neck pop and found herself yawning. She was out later than she wanted the night before. She needed sleep, but not before she saw her little friend exit the home in a body bag.
Rukia prided herself in what she did. She was bettering the world by ridding it of these sick-minded people. Rapists and pedophiles that targeted women and children. Murderers that killed for no more reason than pure joy. Even corporate rats that screwed over their employees to make a quick dollar were possible targets. She was not like them. She did what she did in an effort to make the world better.
She didn't get a sick thrill from doing it, though she'd admit that it had become more fun the more times she did it. She wasn't demented and evil like they were. She had a sane head on her shoulders. All her victims must deserve what was coming to them. That was rule and she would never break it.
The door swung open and from within the house came a chorus of voices accompanied by clanking wheels. A small man pulled the gurney from the front. He was thin, lanky and meek looking. He seemed to be having a hard time moving it on his own. She couldn't blame him. The man on the gurney, Yammy Llargo, was a man who was as tall as he was wide. He was a gruff and rude man who had a weakness for the bottle. He was all muscle and not much brain.
Someone of Rukia's size couldn't stand a chance and though she preferred her victims sober and completely aware of pain, she hadn't complained about the aid of alcohol.
He had been passed out on his sofa, mouth wide open, and his head leaning back. The putrid smell of tequila and cigarettes passed from his mouth with every exhale.
She had run her blade across the expanse of his throat without hesitation, feeling it sink into and slide across the tan flesh through muscle and veins and arched her hand upwards and to the right, flinging splatters of crimson across the white wall. They had slid down it slowly like freshly laid paint.
His head had rolled back further without the aid of the severed muscle. She had pondered whether it was worth her time to sever it clean off.
Rukia shook herself back to reality and unconsciously tightened her jacket around her torso. She had yet to change and she could feel blood hardened cotton scratch against her stomach. She brought her hand up to her cheek and wiped at it with her open palm. It had become a nervous habit of hers to always check for any red staining her cheeks.
She noticed then, as she glanced around, that the crowd had begun to dwindle. The thought of a corpse, even one wrapped securely in black vinyl, sent them off running.
In the now smaller grouping, conversation began to ripple. A group of women stood to her right. Over talkative, overcurious, and in everyone's business. Housewives, she presumed.
"He deserved it! Did you hear what he did to those girls?" said one.
"That was never proven. If he had done it, he wouldn't have been living freely." Said another.
Proven innocent by the court or not, Rukia knew the entire case by heart and she knew that he was guilty. She knew that he had attacked those young girls, who were only seventeen. He had chained them up, raped them and tortured them for weeks before he slit their throats. He sliced them up beyond recognition and dental files had to be used to identify them. They were nothing but bloody ribbons and pieces.
"He was horrible!" Yet another argued back.
Rukia chose to tune out from there bickering, but before she did she heard another voice speak up, this one masculine. It was deep yet soft and sweet like warm honey. The kind of voice a woman dreams to hear during the most intimate passions. It met her ears and a shiver ran through her spine
"I'd like to meet the one who did it. I'm grateful. He was a menace. He could've killed any of us." The voice said.
She couldn't help but feel a sense of pride overtake her. People were in awe of what she'd done. They were thankful. She resisted the urge to find the owner of the wonderful voice, to look in its direction and instead lifted the hood of her jacket over her head and walked in the opposite direction with a wide grin on her lips.
oOo
Rukia couldn't say that finding someone to pursue was her favorite part of killing. It could take days and sometimes, months before she found someone. Then, another week or so as she studied them, learned their routine, and chose how she'd end their lives. After she was done with a kill, she wouldn't have the 'urge', if that is what it was, to kill again for at least another month.
She didn't have urges. She didn't kill just anyone. She wasn't a monster like they were. She had just grown accustomed to starting her search and killing on a monthly basis. That's all.
Her killing of Yammy was much too fast and she found herself scoping for a new victim only seven days later.
She sighed, tucked her legs beneath her barstool and spun herself around on it. She quickly regretted it. The alcohol in her system, though minimal, made the swift movement of the chair sickening. She stopped abruptly and turned the chair to face in the direction of the bartender. She placed her elbows on the cool surface of the oak counter and her head in her small palms. She glanced down at the empty shot glass in front of her. Another wouldn't hurt, but the bartender was suddenly absent. He was most likely at the opposite end of the bar, talking up a woman whose ID was fake, and whose breasts didn't know the meaning of the word 'bra'.
She huffed and was tempted to crawl over the counter and steal away a bottle of Jack Daniels for herself. She was having such a hard time finding a suitable target.
The bustle of the club was deafening. She couldn't make out a single conversation; they jumbled together in a mass of noise, no whispered secrets of past wrongs that could lead one to an early grave. The music blared through numerous speakers. The beat of the song thrummed along with the rate of her heart and she could feel her pulse and the beat throughout her body and hear it in her ears.
One of the numerous clocks on the wall read 12:00 A.M. Rukia groaned and closed her violet eyes. All she'd be getting from this unsuccessful night was a headache. Her eyes wandered to the glass bottle on the bar's back counter. Why not forget the little headache and make it a full blown hangover?
"Hey, you alright?"
It took a few seconds for her mind to register the sound that had found its way to her ears. It was so similar to that one voice. This time though, it held a huskiness and a raspy quality in it, perhaps from alcohol or yelling at friends while inside the club. It made it so much nicer.
This was the voice that she'd imagined in her dreams, where it yelled her name out of fear for her, where it whispered it as he trailed kisses down her neck, where it moaned her name in the heat of passion, and where it quivered in fear as she placed a knife at his throat.
Rukia squirmed in her seat as a rush heat flooded her, her thoughts having an effect on her body. She really needed to get home. Now.
"Are you that drunk?"
The voice was speaking again. Dare she look? The voice would have a face, and body, to accompany it. She groaned again and closed her eyes.
Knuckles tapped at the side of her head lightly snapping her from her inner battle. She looked over to her right where he sat.
He had orange hair. Bright orange hair that she thought would be a suitable beacon to direct ships to harbor. It was spiky without the aid of any product. It looked soft and touchable, the kind of hair one can't resist running their hands through. It fell about his ears and tickled the nape of his neck. It also fell in his eyes which she found to be a brilliant amber brown. They held a mischievous and playful glint in them as he spoke to her.
"'Bout time you look at me." He said as he extended a tan hand to softly tug at the stray lock of hair between her eyes.
He was obviously a little tipsy. Otherwise, he wouldn't be flirting with her so openly. Rukia could smell the alcohol on his breath and it was not at all unpleasant.
"What do you want?" she asked him with a petulant tone. He arched an orange eyebrow at her voice. She noticed than, that is brows were furrowed even though he held a small smile.
"Alcohol makes you cranky, huh? You seemed a little lonely so I thought I'd come and introduce myself."
"Oh, really? And yet, you've yet to say your name."
"If you'd let me have your attention faster, I would've told you." He retorted with a smirk on his lips. Rukia removed a hand from beneath her chin and held it out him.
"Kuchiki Rukia." She stated. A smirk of her own found its way to her mouth.
He grasped her small hand in his large one. It was calloused and warm, her hand fit perfectly.
"Kurosaki Ichigo."
"And I'm not drunk. I've barely had anything." Ichigo set his chin in his palm, copying her, before he spoke.
"Well, you were on your way to it. You were eyeing that bottle of Jack like a tiger minds its prey during a hunt."
Rukia's eyes widened at his comparison. She was 'hunting', though not for bottles of whisky. She shook it off and laughed lightly.
"You here alone?" he asked her.
"Yup. You?"
"My girlfriend's around somewhere. She's with some friends of hers."
Figures.
He was pleasant company, she found. His girlfriend, who still remained nameless, had yet to show. They talked about many things, likes and dislikes, politics, whether or not his hair was bleached.
The clock now read 2:00 AM and they sat in a companionable silence.
Rukia found her gaze settling on his, their eyes locking. She averted her stare to his chest. The shirt he was wearing hugged his form, hinting at the ripples of muscle beneath. She wondered what the skin of his abdomen felt like, what it would look like painted with his blood.
Would he be the kind to beg for his life?
"Rukia?"
"Shouldn't you find her? Your girlfriend? It's been awhile. She'll think your straying on her."
"I'd never cheat on her."
Would he bleed out fast or slow?
She smiled.
"That's sweet. You'd better go." She made to stand up but she leaned close to him instead and touched her nose to his. Her body was acting on its own accord. His eyes widened and she grinned wider. "I might just try to seduce you." And she would…
A tint of red came across his features.
"I won't though. You love her, don't you?" She chuckled.
"I guess." He murmured.
Kurosaki Ichigo was a damned saint. There wasn't a single thing about him that angered her. He was about as innocent as one got.
She leaned away from him, slid from the barstool and her feet touched the ground.
"I'm gonna go. See you around." She didn't give him a chance to speak as she walked away. She slipped herself through the crowd as fast as she could.
She was not a monster. She was not like them. She only killed those who deserved it. Then why? Why did she want to watch his innocent blood spill?
oOo
"Rukia! Earth to Rukia! Hello!"
Hinamori Momo honestly adored her coworker. They were of the same height and thus, she never had to crane her neck upwards to speak with her. She was fun and they had similar tastes. She found herself bonded to the raven haired girl after working the night shift at an all hours coffee house.
Rukia leaned against the espresso machine behind her, lost in thought. She fiddled with a frayed string on her blue apron. Momo tapped her foot and crossed her arms over chest.
"RUKIA! Get your head out of the fucking clouds!"
Momo was small like Rukia, petite. Her skin was fair but not as pale as her coworker's. Her eyes were a brownish grey and her long brown hair was tied neatly in a bun that sat atop her head. She was rather sweet looking, but she wouldn't take much from her now slightly scatterbrained friend.
Rukia jumped slightly at Momo's words and gazed over at her. She looked a little miffed. The girl could be violent when she needed to be. She smiled nervously.
Does she go around killing people too?
"What?" Rukia questioned. She hadn't done anything wrong.
"'What?' Are you kidding? Rukia, I've been calling you for a few minutes already. Are you that lost in lala land? Who in hell did you screw over the weekend? Whoever it was is messing with your fucking brain!" Momo hissed.
Rukia blinked at Momo's words. Another thing behaviorists were right about: The one's you least expect are always the killers. Case in point Rukia herself. And maybe Momo.
"I didn't 'screw' anyone." Rukia grumbled. She turned her back to Momo and began set up the espresso machine. It was 4:00 AM and their shift didn't end for three more hours.
"Why are you so mopey? It's a guy. Definitely a guy."
"No, it's not."
"You wanna do what bunnies do.~" Momo sung. "So, who is it? Where'd you find him?"
She was right about one thing. It was a guy that had Rukia daydreaming. Though it wasn't in the way she thought...
"He had a girlfriend." She might as well play along.
"Well, that sucks." Momo said. She turned when the door to the shop chimed signaling someone's arrival.
"Morning! Are you having a deep conversation without me?" asked Matsumoto Rangiku. She walked up to the register and hugged Momo awkwardly over the counter. She tossed her blonde hair over her shoulder and crossed her arms beneath her large breasts. She pouted and gazed at the two women with her blue eyes.
"So, talk to me."
"Rukia is having man trouble." Momo smirked and gestured over shoulder with her thumb at Rukia.
"Momo! I am not!" It was childish of her to deny it, but it went well with her façade. She turned to fire a glare at the two.
Rangiku laughed.
"Aww. How cute. Rukia has a crush."
If crush meant wanting to see him bleed, then yes.
"I don't. He has a girlfriend anyway." Rukia grumbled.
"Who cares?" Rangiku exclaimed. "You can kill her and then kidnap him!"
Rukia's eyes widened in shock and turned back around. There was an interesting idea…
"You can use that chloroform stuff on him to knock him out. Then, you can chain him up in your closet and make him your personal sex slave." She continued.
Rukia hit her forehead to the cabinets before her. Another excellent idea.
She laughed and started to the door that led to the kitchen and the back of the shop.
"I'm going to take out the trash."
"The girlfriend or the actual garbage?" asked Momo.
"Both." Rukia called over her shoulder. The two women she left behind giggled and began another conversation.
oOo
The air outside was cool. It was hard to believe it'd be sweltering in a matter of hours. Rukia opened the lid to the dumpster and hefted the black bag into it. She sighed; at least it wasn't a body this time. Those things could be heavy. She leaned against the brick wall of the building gazing up at the darkened sky.
She drew in along breath and let it out slowly. What was she to do? She had nothing on Ichigo. She didn't have a reason to harm him. She closed her eyes and thought of his own and what they would look like laden with fear. She thought of his tan skin, marred with open slices, leaking his life essence.
"Rukia?"
Dammit. Did he want to have his throat sliced open?
She opened her eyes and gazed down the alley at Ichigo.
"Thought it was you." He said as he smiled at her.
"Hey." She said simply. The more time she spent in his presence the more she'd want to run a knife through his stomach.
"I gotta get back to work." She hurriedly whispered. She pushed herself from the wall and opened the door to go back inside. "See ya."
"You work here?" he questioned. He stood next to her now and she came to notice a musky, masculine scent and she wanted nothing more to breathe it in with the added rusty smell of his fresh blood. Her hand stilled on the door's handle, she froze and her breath hitched as he leaned near her.
Rukia shuffled away from him and let the door swing closed with a loud bang.
"Don't get so close to me!" she yelled. She pinched the bridge of her nose and tried to steady her breathing. Her pulse began to race.
"You know," she panted. "That girlfriend of yours would be hurt if she saw you acting so familiar with me. I'm a complete stranger."
"Why are you so hung up on my girlfriend?"
"Why aren't you?" she hissed.
"I said I'd never cheat on her. Nothing is going to happen between us."
"What if I tried?" she asked with complete sincerity. "Who's to say I won't try to take you from her?"
Ichigo frowned.
"I wouldn't fall for it. As long as I'm dating her, I wouldn't give in to you."
"And if you weren't?" She watched as Ichigo turned his gaze from her and ran a hand through bright hair.
"Different story." He whispered.
The idea hit her like a speeding semi truck. Why should she limit her victims? Weren't crimes of the heart just as bad? There was nothing worse for a girl then to find the man she loved in the arms of another.
"I'm not feeling so well. Can you walk me home? My shift is almost over." She looked at him with a sweet look that had willed many of her victims to follow her.
"S-Sure." He stuttered.
She'd make him cheat. She'd make him break his girl's heart. And then she'd have a reason.
She was not like them. She was not a monster. Only monsters killed without reason.
A/ N:
Good or bad? Should I walk back into my comfort zone or chill in the darker side for a bit?
Please review! There is nothing I love more then reader feedback!
This will be a two shot if enough people want to read the rest. It kept getting longer and I wanted to work on my other stories while I had time so I split it.
S.B