Page 3 of What I've Tasted of Desire

“He should be coming from… ahh. There you are, cutie. Right on time.”

He was wearing a new pair of jeans I hadn’t seen him in yet. He must have gotten them for work. They hugged him tighter than the blue pair he wore most of the time. It looks like he got some new shoes, too. I knew that, to work in fast food, you need to have non-slip shoes. Bob and Janet must have taken him shopping to get him ready for his first day. Alex deserved to have anything he needed or wanted. Warmth began to bloom inside my chest. I was so relieved that Alex was now in a safe and nurturing environment. That the Millers would treat him right until I could step in and take care of him myself.

I watched him walk towards the front of the McDonald's, pausing for the traffic navigating the tight parking lot. I squinted my eyes, trying to get a clear view, blocking out some sunlight with my other hand. Alex reached the entrance and hesitated, looking his reflection over in the glass-paneled door.

“You look great, Alex. Everything’s gonna be just fine,” I said aloud, as if he could hear me from across the parking lot.

I had scoped the place out thoroughly after Alex had his interview. I was concerned about how his co-workers or manger might treat him, so I’d spent the last four mornings sitting in the corner booth, drinking coffee and pretending to work on my laptop. Most of the day crew were teenagers, save one older gentleman—late 50s, I’d guess. He seemed to have a disability of some sort, and he stayed in the back making food. He was cheerful and always wore a smile under his impressive gray mustache.

The manager was a Black woman named Dee. She was in her early 40s and a force to be reckoned with. She treated all her employees with respect, and kindness, but also ruled with an iron fist. I liked her. And I liked the way she had spoken to Alex during his interview. I had been more than prepared to threaten some punk’s life for not treating Alex right, but, having spent the last week listening in, I was confident Dee would take good care of Alex, and not let anyone else mess with him either.

I wasn’t thrilled with Alex bagging french fries deep into the evening hours and walking home afterwards, but it was what it was. I stayed in my spot for another 15 minutes before pulling around to the drive-thru and ordered a large coffee. When the girl slid the window open, I could see him standing there, just a few short feet away, as Dee was beginning to show him around and introduce him to the rest of the crew. Alex had a small smile on his face, but he looked anything but comfortable. I felt terrible for him.

Why are you always so nervous?

“Two fifty-six…” Her tone insinuated it wasn’t the first time she’d said that.

“Sorry.” I pulled a five out of my wallet and handed it to her.

Alex followed Dee towards the back of the store and out of my sight, just as the girl handed me my coffee and told me to have a nice day.

As I pulled out of the parking lot, I set an alarm on my phone. I needed to make sure I didn’t lose track of time and fail to make sure Alex got home safe after his shift.

***

I parked at the opposite end of the lot and turned the key. The lights on that end of the building had burned out, making it easier to stay out of sight. It was one thing for the round eyes of the security cameras to see me hanging out when I was buying something, but I didn’t need any actual people to notice my car too many times.

Should I go through the drive through and get a drink?

I didn’t have time to think about it because the door swung open and Alex walked out onto the sidewalk. As he did, the driver’s door of a white sedan opened, and someone got out and called to Alex.

“Is that…?” I slammed the palm of my hand against the steering wheel in frustration. Pain shot down my forearm even as ire fibrillated my heart. “Motherfucker!”

Alex turned towards Tom, and his face split open in the smile he reserved for only him. Alex stepped off the curb, and Tom folded Alex into his arms and held him against his chest. They stayed like that for a few moments before Alex took a step back. I couldn’t hear what they were saying from across the parking lot, but, eventually, Tom got back into the car and Alex hopped into the passenger’s seat.

“He’s still underage, you sick fuck! Not that you haven't been abusing him for years.”

I spat the words aloud, as if Tom were standing right in front of me. Like I’d done a million times.

As they turned left out of the parking lot, I flicked my headlights on and pulled out four or five car lengths behind them. They were heading towards the Miller’s, where Alex was living, but instead of turning into the neighborhood, Tom made another left and pulled into the city dog park.

“A dog park. Really, you absolute swine?”

Tom treated Alex like some plaything he could choose to pick up or put down on a whim. Alex deserved to be treasured. Silken sheets against hot, milky skin. Candles. A sensual massage.

Worshiped.

But, what would Tom know about romance? His idea of a date night consisted of ejaculating down Alex’s throat in dark parking lots. I balled my hands into fists, white-hot anger boiling under every inch of my skin. Through the back windshield, I watched Alex’s head disappear as he leaned over the center console.

I blindly opened the glove box and reached over until the palm of my hand wrapped around ice-cold metal. I turned the gun around in my hand, glancing between the piece and the back window of Tom’s sedan. If I pulled the car up another 50 feet or so, I could line up a pretty good shot: right through the rear glass, the headrest, and, then, the back of Tom’s skull. If the bullet managed to make it though his thick cranium, the blood- and brain-splatter across the windshield would be gorgeous. A rare work of art.

I sighed and shook my head, dispelling the delicious vision. I’d already vowed not to kill Tom in front of Alex. It would hurt Alex far too much. No, it would have to be made to look like an accident—some time when Alex was far, far away.

Maybe I’d put the first bullet through his nutsack. That would be fun. Oh, how he’d scream! That deep voice of his rising up three or four octaves as he shouted and begged for mercy. His hands would instinctively work to cover his hemorrhaging crotch. Then, while his hands were busy, his face and head would be exposed, and I could kick his brains in with my steel-toed boots. My older pair, or course, given the fact that I’d have to burn them once the whole thing was over. I closed my eyes for a moment and sucked in a deep, steadying breath.

Christ. I could almost smell his blood all over me already.

Some people looked forward to their wedding days, and some people looked forward to graduating from college and getting a good job, Others anticipated the birth of children. As for me, I only looked forward to the day when I got to kill Tom Hutchinson.

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