Challenge #02493-F303: Femme Fatality
I've noticed a trend in your writing, that evil tends to be male. I'd like to see some of the evil women out there, the ones that go out of their way to use and abuse people, the husband beaters, the ladies that don't take "no" for an answer. -- Anon Guest
[AN: Yes, that was a bit present-centric of me. I should focus more on making the truly evil ones gender nonspecific so people can project what they whist. However, in the interests of balancing the scales a little...]
And she will have her way/ Somehow I will still believe her -- Neil Finn.
Though I am evil, I am also invisible. Why? Because the world dismisses me and laughs at him. Prejudice is a wonderful thing when you can work it in your favour. I have learned all the wonderful ways I can twist this world to my whim. Beauty helps. All the performative ways a woman like me can gain the attraction of men.
Youth was a wonderful bait when I had it. Sure, you could blame my "funny" uncle for the way I am, because of those wandering hands that drifted up my skirt... but I rather favour the fact that nobody looked to a little girl of thirteen when the poison I put in his beer took hold. It wasn't enough to kill him, unfortunately. I had to watch the nurses in the hospital put medicine into his drip, and sneak a load of bleach into the line for him to finally die.
So long as I follow the outward rules, nobody was any the wiser. I learned to smile and be pleasant and put up with roaming hands when I was in view of anyone else but the man or boy drooling over me. When I got them in private? Hah. That was their fault. What were they thinking, going alone into the night like that? How foolish were they to leave their phone at home? Why weren't they prepared for a roofie in their drink and a discrete knife to a place with so many blood vessels? How many drinks had they had? What did they expect, going out dressed like that?
You know, I never heard such things when their bodies were found. It was always such a great tragedy. Such a great loss. Such a waste of potential. Nobody calls a young woman's death a waste of potential. If I was stupid enough to get roofied and killed -or violated in the process- mine would not be a wasted life or potential. I would just be another stupid victim who was unprepared for the inevitable harshness of the world. Therefore, I feel it's my duty to spread that harshness around a little more evenly.
I leave my drinks unattended, and it's relatively easy to figure out who doped them after I pretend to drink them. They swarm at me. You can't call it hunting. Not when they're so eager to waltz into the slaughterhouse. I feed them their own poison and take them somewhere quiet and... work my magic.
Of course, when I turned twenty-five, I had to settle down. In the middle of my bait-and-switchblade games, I met a Nice Guy across from my flat. He was a major league stalker type who expected me to be his dream girl. He's my work of art. He's... I guess you could say he's my beard.
He doesn't have many friends, not any more. A calm and logical discussion weaned him off of network games because I needed his love and attention. It's easy to bend a man by claiming you're weak and needy. He hated women for walking away and I simply explained that women needed to know their man loved them more than his controller. It's amazing what a few tears and whimpers can do, especially to a guy like that.
The sex is another way to control him. The right doses of pleasure and pain, and he's putty in my hands. I got him to surrender all but his most obscure game set with that. Since they don't make games for it any more, he's got no excuse to socialise at the game and hobby store.
Little by little, I sealed him off from the rest of the world. Little by little, I erased his autonomy. Little by little, I made him my pet. These days? He takes care of the baby while I go out and have fun. He's busy and I am free to do everything I want.
Just a little bit of balance for a cruel, harsh world.
[Image (c) Can Stock Photo / Marietjie]
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