Is it normal to keep track of all the people you've killed?
I don't think so, but according to my therapist, I should know this number.
I wasn't quite sure of how to tell her that I'd probably ended the life of over a hundred people, perhaps two hundred.
I would have pointed out the reasonable fact that if I wanted to kill thousands of people, I easily could have, but I am not sure this would help with her opinion of me.
"Damion," the therapist says with a strained voice, "do you recognize this woman?"
I look up from twiddling my fingers together. "Yes." Of course I recognize her, I never forget the prey.
"And? What do you have to say about it?"
"She's a healthy weight, but more on the fatty side, barely any muscle on her. Couldn't run very fast, poor stamina.
Slight tone in the legs matches the recent pilates class that she'd joined before the hunt, but quite obviously, that didn't help her escape."
The therapist pales. My eyes automatically flicker to the bobbing shape of her Adam's apple in her thin neck. It would be so easy to snap it. She thinks I'm going to kill her, too.
I smile, flashing sharp white teeth. "Don't worry, ma'am. I'm not going to hurt you." I sit, complacently and casually, on the chair across from hers.
She fake-chuckles and stands up slowly, her eyes never leaving me, as if I'm a feral beast she's trying to keep calm. My knuckles tense at that.
Backing out the door, she locks it behind her with a click.