THE FACE HE WORE. Dead men don’t knock.

“Stop!!!” he yelled, pushing me off him as he sprang from the bed.

“Was this your reason for requesting me to stay? Have you no shame? Your husband’s memorial ceremony was just concluded barely two hours ago, and the next thing on your mind is to seduce me. I can't believe how despicable you are.” he added angrily walking out of the room.

Ooh well, that didn't go as planned. Such a shame, he would have had the opportunity of having the most memorable night of his life… But his cowardly self, won't let him.

Slipping off the bed, I picked up a cigarette from the side drawer and walked to the balcony, enjoying the cool breeze on my skin.

Flashes of the night Mark died came rushing back in my brain, his cry for help, as I trailed the knife through his skin as he struggled against the chair I had him tied to. He thought it was all a joke at first, until his body parts started missing one offer the other.

“Hmmmm,” it was so thrilling. His every cry for help sent waves and waves of pleasure down my spine, I almost thought I’d be squirting on my panties.

Unfortunately, it wasn't as thrilling as when I killed Carlos in Mexico, he was just screaming and yelling in Spanish. And I couldn't fucken understand a shit of what he was talking about. But the sound of Spanish, the way he fucken yelled just made my legs quiver.

Inhaling deeply I walked back into my room, and Mark's pre wedding picture that sat just above our king size bed, stared right at me.

The sight of him smiling at me infuriated me, that chiseled cheekbone and piercing gray eyes with the charming mischievous smile I fell for.

Walking up to the giant frame, I pulled it from the wall. Without a second thought, I threw it to the ground.

The glass shattered, dispersing its pieces everywhere, leaving just the large picture made of paper. One of the glass pieces flew and gave me a cut on my wrist.

I watched as the blood trailed down my palm, bringing it to my mouth, and I licked it off.

I stared at the picture, still dragging on my cigarette. Looking at that smug smile on his face, I dropped the cigarette butt on the paper, right on his face.

I watched as it burned, wiping the smile off his face. “Hahaha,” the satisfaction.

I watched the picture burn to its last piece, with nothing left but ashes. I'm not sure how long I watched, but soon I fell asleep.

**********************

The morning sun shone brightly through the window, waking me up from my sleep.

During the course of the past few weeks, I have arranged everything necessary for my departure. Out of sight is out of mind.

I wouldn't want someone putting their nose where they aren't meant to be, for that reason, I'm moving to Seattle. Start a new life with the money I got from Mark, and probably marry a new husband, or preferably, a lover.

My flight was scheduled for the next day, so I still got time. I swept the mansion clean. Everything valuable, from jewelry to trophies… Everything was wiped out.

By the end of the day, I had sold them and was watching the huge stack of money sitting in front of me.

I left San Francisco twenty four hours later with nothing but my passport, a box containing my most valuable properties, another for clothes and enough cash to live out the rest of my days in peace.

Seattle was quiet, Colder. But I didn’t mind the gloom , it matched something inside me. Every morning I woke up to misted windows and the sound of rain licking the glass, and I felt… safe. Hidden. Like the city had wrapped its damp arms around me and promised to keep all my secrets.

Three months passed. I dyed my hair two shades darker, bought new clothes, and ditched my old phone. No trail of Mark existed in my life.

Every morning, I went for a walk before the city could fully wake up. That’s how I found the place, a cozy little café wedged between a bookstore and a flower shop. It smelled like roasted beans, cinnamon, and warmth.

Mira’s, the board outside said, scrawled in blue chalk and hearts. It quickly became my favorite spot.

Not because of the coffee.

But because of her.

The bartender. Mira.

She was maybe eighteen, nineteen tops. Short hair, bleach blonde with the tips dyed pink. Eyes like melted caramel and a lip ring that tugged upward every time she smiled.

She moved like music, all bounce and sway and sharp turns behind the counter.

This morning, like every other, I walked in just as the rain slowed to a drizzle. She looked up, her smile cautious.

“Your usual?” she asked, already reaching for a cup.

“You read minds too?” I smirked.

She nodded cautiously as she passed me the coffee.

Cute. Way too cute.

I leaned slightly on the counter as she slid the coffee toward me. My fingers lingered just a bit too long over hers, just enough to feel the heat of her skin. I traced the back of her hand with the lightest touch, watching her reaction.

She jerked her hand back, eyeing me wearily. Her cheeks turned red, eyes wide, as if I’d just whispered something dirty in her ear.

I smiled to myself. God, she was adorable when she got shy. The kind of shy that made you want to break her open just to see what else was underneath.

I bit my lip and gave her a look. Nothing too much, just one she’d remember the entire day.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said, sliding the coffee off the counter.

But then I turned around.

And crashed straight into someone. Hard.

My coffee went flying, lid popping off, liquid splashing down my front like a slap.

The heat bit into my skin, staining my shirt brown. I staggered back, muttering under my breath as I brushed at the mess, furious.

“What the hell? Watch where you’re going. You’ve got eyes. USE THEM.” I yelled.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” came the voice. Male. Calm. Too calm, for someone who had just nearly roasted my skin.

He bent down and picked up the cup, his hand reaching into his coat pocket as he pulled out a folded handkerchief.

“You can use this. Or maybe head to the restroom to clean up.”

I looked at the handkerchief like it insulted me.

“Just… fuck off. I wouldn’t be needing it if you had paid attention to where you were going,” I snapped, not even looking up yet.

My fingers brushed against my shirt, trying to wipe away the wet spots. Ruined.

Hissing, I looked up, intending to eye him to his grave. He’s just so lucky this was a public place. No one walks over me. Never.

I finally looked up at him.

And I froze.

My throat closed up. My heart stopped, then pounded back to life so hard it made my ears ring. My knees felt weak. My hands stopped moving.

If I hadn’t buried this man…

If I hadn’t watched life leave his eyes with my own damn hands…

I would have screamed. Or even passed out.

My head screamed for me to run.

But my legs remained rooted to the ground.

Am I being haunted?

Am I dreaming?

I blinked my eyes continuously to clear any imagination whatsoever.

But by the time I opened them back, he was still standing right in front of me.

How?

How is this possible?

How does he look exactly like him?

Exactly like Mark.

How?

My lips parted before I could stop them. One word slipped out, barely a whisper.

“Mark?”