Bathed in the morning sun, Missy stood on the dingy linoleum. Keenly aware of the quiet storm brewing within himself, Karl took in every inch of her. From the blond hair going every direction, smeared eyeliner, untucked shirt, a skirt on sideways, to those delicate bare feet there was one thought in his mind.

She looked good.

She’d felt good too. He hadn’t grouped where he ought not, nor did he linger overly long any contact. Still, helping her up the steps, guiding through his cluttered hall, and laying her in his bed all felt so good. Beyond the warm contact was her sense of helplessness and need.

He wanted her.

He wouldn’t take her like that. No, he wanted her to give in to him. Now, she was indebted: perfect. He kept the goofy sheets around as they gave an air of harmlessness: ideal. Let her think him the hero. Let her assume him harmless.

He was not.

No one could know the depth of his depravity and cunning. Perhaps the one heroic thing he did was reserve that for the truly deserving.