Elizabeth ran a hand through her reddened hair. She didn't like it but it was a precautionary measure, just like the colored contacts, the henna tattoo's and the mass amounts of makeup. She turned herself into a goth because he knew what she looked like. It required a look drastically different enough that he wouldn't recognize her.
The traits of a good monster was the ability to adapt.
Elizabeth adapted well.
When Dexter saw her he looked again and by then she was gone. She hoped he thought he was seeing a ghost.
Elizabeth had been stalking him for three weeks... maybe four? She was beginning to lose track. Without her steady routine one day ran into the next and then the next and it all seemed like one big exhausting blur of Dexter's grinning face. Despite her want to connect with him she knew killing him was for the best. Then why did her heart beat so hard when she brushed past him?
He kept her up at night. She wanted his death for fear of her life but she liked him. If there was any other way she'd find it.
The only problem was that she couldn't live in a nightmare forever.
Dexter was her nightmare.
She was in a living nightmare.
That was why tonight was the night.
There was no more waiting.
No more worrying.
No more dreaming.
If she got rid of Dexter then Elizabeth got rid of the nagging prophesy. She'd be able to fall back into her normal routine again. She'd also be alone again with no hope for a companion.
Life would be better without Dexter.
Life would be worse without Dexter.
At least she believed her life would be better without Dexter.
Elizabeth sighed in frustration and tilted her head toward the floor with a final glance toward her adversary before she rounded the corner to prepare for the night.
She required strength.
She required willpower.
She required sleep.
Six hours later Elizabeth was following Dexter through the crowds of one of the many street marketplaces in Miami. She stayed a safe enough distance behind him and looked at things, stopping constantly at booths that looked like she would be interested in. Blend and blend well. It was a tactic one learnt in High School with bullies and brats. She was one of the well blended brats with no money.
Next booth. Next meaningless item that looked vibrantly gaudy, like she did.
Soon Dexter reached the end of the market and he kept going which cause Elizabeth to pick up her pace. She just needed an alley. An alley and the wire in her hoodies pocket. She twisted her fist around the wire as she passed her first opportunity, Dexter too far ahead of her to take it.
Elizabeth's heart started to race, the darkness inside of her taking complete form. The only thing in her head was her own dark, wide grin and blue eyes filled with a wild fire.
Elizabeth released a soft sigh as she jumped throwing the wire around Dexter's neck using her height as leverage to pull him backward and into the alley. She wrapped the wire as tightly as she could around his throat as he fought her, his elbows viciously jabbing into her breasts and ribs slamming her repeatedly into the brick wall of the building closest to them in the alley.
Elizabeth couldn't help, during the struggle, that it was uncommon for them not to beg in some way.
This didn't seem right.
This wasn't right.
Elizabeth loosened her grip just enough for Dexter to catch a lucky break slamming her into the wall again, a moan of pain escaping her lips as he twisted around holding her against the wall with his forearm on her neck slowly putting pressure. This was it, just a little more pressure and she'd pass out. A little more after that and her larynx would be crushed.
Elizabeth gasped for breath as her hands pushed against Dexter her knee moving for the groin but denied by his prepared thigh. Slowly she felt consciousness slip away from her before the pressure was gone and she was on the ground gasping for breath, Dexter above her rubbing his throat.
“What are you doing?” he growled at her.
“What... I have... to, to..” Elizabeth coughed placing her palms on the ground to push herself up, “survive.”
“And killing me is the way to survive?” Dexter asked her, helping her off of the ground pinning her against the wall with his imposing form. “I come back from the crime scene expecting to find you asleep on my bed and you were gone. I was going to tell you that you clean up everything very well.” He frowned, “Other then your body disposal but for now you were safe. So what do you mean survive? What are you hiding?”
"I need to kill someone Dexter. I am unraveling inside,” while this was only part of the reason she hoped it was enough.
Dexter's eyes bore into hers as they tried to read one another. Elizabeth still trying to catch her breath, every nerve burning for rest, to stop fighting and yet to stay awake and fight. She felt so conflicted. She had never been so out of control near someone before. She needed to regain something here. She needed to regain that sense of control she lost in the bedroom with the unfamiliar shoe.
Elizabeth needed Dexter.
Without words Dexter seemed to get the signal, or perhaps he wanted something from her just as badly as she wanted it from him but he pressed his lips messily into hers again his hands finding their way to her hips, her waist pulling her closer to him.
While impulsiveness was the trait of a desperate serial killer she need something to keep hold of the thread that held all of her together. At the moment that something was him. For now, ignoring the nightmares were all she could do.
A small amount of trust could lead to a whole lot of success.
Or a whole lot of defeat.
For now they both won.