The Serial Killers Guide to Love (Deadly Darling #1)

Chapter 8

8

Lilly

The evening passed and I slid back into my habit of thinking about Sam when I needed some release. The night was stretching in front of me, a long gasping maw that threatened to swallow me whole.

I wasn’t looking out from my bedroom window to see if he would return. No.

Not me.

That would be fucking stalker behavior.

Who does that? I online stalk, like a fucking lady.

I want to know what’s Sam’s type. Maybe I am not it. Maybe he likes waspy chicks with straight hair and perfect skin.

Tired of my new obsession for my neighbor, I give up on the attempt to sleep. Why do I even bother?

I should take a few drops of my special mix, but I am too scared to fall asleep so deep. Each time I wake up from a deep sleep, I feel as if I am trapped in the coffin again and I can’t breathe.

That night, when I poisoned myself to fake my own death, was one of the worst in my existence. After Mike beat me for weak, I knew I couldn’t keep going. He was going to kill me and if not, I was going to do it for him.

I tried to slip him something in his drinks, to get rid of him, but he stopped drinking anything from open bottles.

He knew that I wanted him dead.

Stop thinking about it.

The clock on my phone showed midnight.

Great.

I bought this house because it allowed me to have a nice little garden and build a greenhouse on the property. The air is warm, even at midnight in Florida. The scent of flowers fills the air and my lungs with sweetness. I love this, the way nature whispers to me, all I have to do is listen to it. The fact that no matter how much the humans try to push nature aside, nature finds a way to slip back in, between the cracks of concrete, between the stones and the wood and the brick... It finds a way.

The green house has a way of draining my anxiety as soon as I see it. The contractor that built it for me took note of the things I said and I was happy with the outcome. It allows me to be my most witchy self. I enter without shoes and walk right onto a patch of earth. Closing my eyes.

What would Sam think about me if he knew everything?

If he knew about Mike, but also if he knew that I killed people. Four people.

By poison.

Five if I count doctor Mancini’s father-in-law. That was simple. A few drops of Wolfsbane mixed in his coffee did the trick and he had a car accident because he suffered a massive coronary attack.

Oh well.

The sun catcher that I hung at the entrance traps the light from across the street and I can see my reflection in the crystals.

I see one eye, large and distorted that looks back at me from another world.

Most people won’t be able to kill, but I am. I can be like a cornered animal, silent and deadly.

Suddenly shame takes over me. What would Sam say?

He would probably run away screaming, if he would be aware that right across from him lives a woman who not only is capable of making poison that can take out a person, but who has no issue watching a person die from it.

It was all I had to do to live. My life was not protected. When other girls had parents, all I had was my old Granny who herself only lived on the small income her teas and plants brought her.

Even now, I wish I could go and buy the house I lived in as a child, but if I would do that, if I would leave a trace that could alarm Mike and make him dig around, so I can’t. I have to allow nature to take over the walls and crumble them slowly.

One tear runs down my cheek for my Granny. She taught me well enough.

She used to say, ‘we are women, we don’t have the physical power to do as men do, but we have patience and we have poison. A small snake can take out a bear and you, my child, can take out a grown man.’

I killed her too. But with her, it was a mercy kill.

She made the blend for the tea herself. When her mind started to slip, and she started to lose connection with reality, she gave me a small bag with a special blend.

“On the day when I don’t recognize your pretty face, make me drink this.”

I cried.

She cried with me, but we shed tears for different reasons.

I cried my heart out because I knew that once she dies, I will be all alone in the world and she because there was nothing she could do to stop her decay.

That I know now.

I watched her drink the tea.

I held her hand as she slid away and I read from her favorite book. It was all I could do.

Stepping towards the Dracula orchid, I am fascinated by its beauty. The deep purple petals listened as the dew touched them. The humidity was just right for them, making them believe that they lived back in their home forest.

“How are you, my lovely?”

I asked the gorgeous and eerie looking plant that moved under the touch of the large water drops falling and accumulating from the sprinkler.

I am not crazy. It’s not as if I expected the plant to reply.

The petal fell soft under the touch of my fingers and I was tempted to lean closer, whisper to her, ask her what she does, how she’s feeling, that kind of stuff. It was like being in the proximity of my soul, only that my soul was like the orchids. My roots are shallow and I need something strong to attach myself that will keep me grounded.

Taking a handful of Bolivian tree bark mix, the best on the market, I added a bit to the pots, making sure that my girls get the illusion of safety. If I can’t have it, the least I can do is give them that.

The Dracula grows in shady and cloudy mountain regions, but she likes her hanging pots. The area around the Dracula needs to be cooler, she doesn’t like the heat, and that’s why I keep her in her own temperature controlled room.

Maybe she would be right for the bookstore.

I usually don’t sell those, they are too delicate for a beginner to handle. One has to get things just right with her: the balance of light and darkness, the soil humidity, even the temperature of the air.

If you go too cool, you kill her. If you go too hot, she won’t blossom.

A laugh passed my lips. A bit like me.

I can’t handle many things either. If someone approaches, I tend to run away.

Sitting on the ground, I lean against the wall and close my eyes. I wish I could bury myself and sleep, but it’s not the sleeping part that scares me, it’s the waking up.

It’s trauma.

I could go to a shrink, but then I have to explain to said shrink why I get all scared and crazy when I fall asleep and why I am scared of waking up.

Ugh.

Exhaling, I pull my phone from my pocket.

Why is it that I land on Sam’s website and click on his picture? He has something hidden behind that professionally looking smile. There is darkness in his eyes, and fear, and I can connect to him on a deeper level, even if I can’t find the words for what It is that I am feeling.

Lust, need, desire.

I am human. I can’t deny that I want to be touched, but at the same time, I am scared. What if he is like Mike, what if I would step into another level of hell? I barely saved myself the last time, could I survive another one of those without breaking apart and falling to pieces?

No. I can’t risk it.

The resolution to stay away from Sam as much as possible grows. If he wants to talk about the flowers for his shop, I will handle that fully professionally, but that’s it.

Getting my ass up, I walk into the living room and crash on the couch, dressed and dirty with soil.