Thread: Killers Affair —  [LackingInHeart & Death by orgasm]

Well, look at that there Jillian noticed his quiet screams for attention, the eye contact landing back at her notepad and the input to make it worth his while. She sat there grinning, pen loose in hand as the ball-tip tauntingly rested against the paper, and thought what a funny fellow he was to have just last week spit at her and today so eager to prove the world that she was wrong. To encourage him, she sloppily wrote Maximilian Ingle proves Jillian wrong. Before the pen could relax in her slender digits, hastily she carroted in attempts to before the word 'proves' and crossed out the 's' in proves. It now read Maximilian Ingle attempts to prove s Jillian wrong. He began to speak. The more he spoke, the more Jillian listened, senses undivided. Silence engulfed the volume of the grey room. Did this poor excuse of a second rate criminal really expect her to believe such a painfully obvious embellished story? What a laugh! She had to practically hold air in her lungs to keep from snickering. Along with that, smart mouthed comments regarding the confirmation of her knowledge that he was indeed a frat boy who took advantage of the poor drunk women, and his sexual performance... or lack there of. She could sense in her bones that this story pertained a sinister quality. ...of course, the little dork had all this time to craft something together, so be it from imagination, a bit of truth, or another criminal's story. Or even more likely a bit of each to cultivate this story. Sure, he raped, but Jillian was not buying this man cuffed in a orange jump suit to a chair bolted to the floor was a real rapist - murderer. In the intervals of silence following his story she had ran it through her mind a thousands time over. A thousand times she not believed it fully. The more she analyzed his story the less she believed it. His voice was not smooth. His voice was that of thinking, thinking of methods to articulate something rehearsed. Would a real criminal even reveal such detail and personal things anyway? The other criminals she met with, they did not really have any story. It made his story all the more difficult to believe. Maybe it was her fault for voicing her strong desires of a criminal that drove him to want to play the part she seeked, to employ the false layers to his story. Jillian Grant did not purchase his story for accuracy. She purchased it for good humor, and mostly selfish personal reasons. She looked down darkly to the floor, legs randomly shifted from left to right. Her stretched as she breathed in a lung full of clarity from the air. Out of the corner of her eye she caught the piece of chipped tile it told her exactly the same thing it meant the first time she saw it, that a real criminal was missing in here. It was sign. What he spoke hung around them in the room. The story appealed to her, and she played out the story briefly as though it were a Law and Order SVU episode. Too often she got off on that TV show. Her heart was slow heavy hammer blows. She fancied the idea of this story being very real, even if not to the real rapist extent she had standardized in her head. If it were real Jillian would have focused her thesis and attention around him. Sadly, his story was not real. Aside from the thesis, she herself wanted to get acquainted with a real rapist-murderer. On the contrary, Jillian did not have a rape fantasy. In fact, the thought that she would get raped was completely unsettling- she loathed the thought, no arousal whatsoever. But it was more the thrill that if she imagined another get raped, a part of the victim killed a bit ...that something got taken out of their life and made somewhat less valuable that really got her wet. That was still not enough. She desired more intensity of the word kill rather than the figurative context. It was moments like these that reminded her of Damien, an ex boyfriend. He had no place in her thoughts and discarded that train of thought which boarded to All-Sorts-Of-Fucked-Up-Ville. Oh, I think I get it! Exclaimed Jillian, breaking the silence, clear as day she did not believe his story entirely. The palm of her hand smacked her smooth forehead. She thought herself a silly girl for not coming to this conclusion earlier. Her lips broke into a small and comfortable and attractive smile. You think you actually have some sort of a chance with me romantically. Don't you? Ha. That's cute. Really. You think just because you're not dangerous or a real criminal like the other inmates I've interviewed that I might consider you if you impress with this story. Well, let me tell you something Mr Ingle. It is not your fortune to be in my interests, nor even my favorite criminal. In fact, I think you are dead last out of the bunch. I use the words 'I think' kindly because you obviously went to great lengths to nurture that story of yours and your efforts are noticed. And you did humor me. I'll give you that much and hm, if your next story is as entertaining maybe, just maybe, we might be in the same chairs, face to face again, in my next round of interviews. Shrugging she added idly, Perhaps next time a story of an accidental death that contributed to your jail time. The pen rhythmically tapped on the yellow pad. He would not be given what he wanted, the thing he held dear and most attention to his ego, through means of documenting his story. She would use this against him and she knew it would only fuel his desires to prove Jillian wrong, provide her with additional information and amusement. Although Jillian would not tell him this, she listened to and would remember every. single. word.