This used to an entry for Pick a Pic Challenge, but it wasn't accepted there for insane reasons...I really want your opinion on this. It's totally out of my league and being thrown away because it mentions the word rape and it's delusion wasn't accepted. It's stupid and unjust in my opinion.
Anyway, thanks to kibby for beta'ing this for me.
It would mean a lot to me if you at least voted for the banner that inspired me: #41 here: pickapic dot twificpics dot com
Summary: It takes a healthy dose of insanity to plan someone's death, then act upon your plan.
Warning: Dark themes. Murder and light rape scene.

A/N: The Italic parts later in the story happen in his brain. The rape is a delusion!

She whimpers and flinches when my knife's blade touches her cheek lightly. I don't press hard enough to cut her skin, just enough to tease her.

"If I can't have you, no one can."

Her wide, melted chocolate eyes watch me with raw panic.

"Oh, don't worry, Beautiful. I'll make it as little painful as I can," I coo.




I've planned this day meticulously.

I've been working on my plan ever since they announced her premiere in my country.

I'm her greatest fan.

When she was five years old, she was the sweetest child.

When she was thirteen, she was that awkward teenager that promised to turn into a wonderful young lady.

When she turned seventeen, I started falling.

Now, she's twenty-three and she's America's Sweetheart, though she's just as pure and innocent as they come.

I idly wonder how she survived the Hollywood life.

I've travelled all over the world for her.

She didn't even spare me a look when I was in her line of view.

When I tried to touch her a couple of years ago, I spent the night at the station.

This year everything will change.

I have a ticket for the screening. I'm going to be in the same dark room as her. I'd breathe the same air.

No one would notice when she disappears.

The rented motel room looks as expected.

The black carpet is dirty and the ground's a party for bugs.

The wallpaper is peeling off the walls.

The small iron bed looks sturdy, though the mattress looks worn out.

I guess no one will use it. Not tonight.

We'll use the chair. It's made of wood. A good wooden chair.

The clock on the nightstand shows that it's 18:00. I need to get going. I don't want to miss the special screening.

It was so easy to win the ticket.

A couple weeks ago, an idiot bet his ticket after too many drinks. I won it and haven't separated from it ever since.

As I arrive at the only decent theater in my city, I see photographers, cameras, blitzes, reporters and a sea of nicely dressed people.

Maybe I should have ditched my grey hoodie for a suit jacket and my black sweats for suit pants.


I bet she won't even look at me.

I get disgusted looks as I show my ticket. They can't deny me.

My seat is right behind her.

How lucky?

How convenient?

She's a vision in her dark blue dress. She's smiling and giggling as she takes her seat.

For the smallest of seconds, she glances at me.

My heart is beating in my throat.

My vision clouds when her newest boyfriend sits next to her.

The movie starts.

It doesn't grab my attention. All my being is focused on the creature in front of me.

In the dark room, I can smell her flowery scent, strong and potent.

Her boyfriend is shifting and whispering to her. She seems annoyed and hisses to him to quit it.

They don't know how to cherish her.

Oh, I'd have made her feel like a princess – loved, cherished, worshipped.

It's too late now.

Suddenly, she gets up and makes her way to the exit, waving to her bodyguard to not follow her.

I turn my popcorn bag upside down, creating the best diversion and while everyone is frantic to wipe grease off their dirty expensive clothes I slide out of the room.

As the doors close behind me, I see her close the front doors, staring outside.

No one's around.

Not having time to over think it, I cover the distance between us in three long strides and cover her mouth with my palm then drag her to the back door. She squirms and claws at me arm, trying to scream.

"Don't resist, Beautiful."

Her screams are muffled by my palm.

We make it outside, behind the building. Thankfully, there are no cops.

"Not a word, or you die," I threaten her on a low voice.

You die anyway, but that's a surprise, I add in my head, grinning deviously.

I take her hand and lead her to the motel. It's only one block away.

"Ditch the shoes," I snap when she trips for the umpteenth time.

"Please, why are you doing this?" She sniffs and toes her high heels.

I take them and throw them in the dumpster.

"No questions until we get there," I warn her.

The consignee shoots us a look when we arrive in the motel's lobby, but after a glare from me, she busies herself. Good girl.

Once we reach my room, I hang the 'DO NOT DISTURB' sign on the outside and lock us inside.

"You'd like to sit on the chair," I tell her as I take my hoodie off, leaving my plain, white tee on. I toe my shoes off.

She looks at me scared.

"They'll look for me. Why are you doing this? Do you need money?" she asks, inspecting the bed and scrunching her nose. She walks to the chair.

"I don't need your money. I need you," I whisper and stroll to her.

She cowers in her chair.

I grab her face – my thumb on one cheek, my forefinger and middle finger on her other side. I love her pouty lips.

I steal one kiss. She taste like innocence and sin wrapped up in one.

I'm going to have a little fun before we end the night.

"No, please," she cries. She can't wrench her head from my grasp.

"Do you recognize me?" I wonder as I reach for the nightstand and grab the rope.

She screams and makes to get up, but I hold her down with my leg over her lap.

"You're a psychopath! Leave me alone!"

"Wrong, Beautiful."

I steal another kiss.

She spits me. Oh, she's taking her claws out.

"I'm your greatest fan," I whisper as I tie her wrists together, behind her then tie them to the chair. She won't escape this way.

"If you're my fan why would you do this? I always meet with my fans. We talk. We laugh."

"You don't date fans."

"That's absurd. So that's what you want?" she asks, cocking her head.

Her soft curls have escaped the pretty knot. She's even more beautiful.

"It doesn't matter what I want anymore. We're here." I kiss her again.

"If I promise to date you, would you let me go? You're kind of pretty," she almost purrs.

She's trying to seduce the killer. Dumb girl.

Beautiful, dumb girl.

"My mind is set, Beautiful."

"Why do you call me that?"

"Isn't that your name? So, so beautiful. Such a terrible waste," I murmur sadly, stroking her cheek.

"I don't understand…"

I walk to the loose floorboard I found earlier and take out my knife. She gives a short yell and starts begging me not to hurt her.

"I won't hurt you," I promise and return to her side, bending to press my lips to her ear. "Yet."

She whimpers and flinches when my knife's blade touches her cheek lightly. I don't press hard enough to cut her skin, just enough to tease her.

"If I can't have you, no one can."

Her wide, melted chocolate eyes watch me with raw panic.

"Oh, don't worry, Beautiful. I'll make it as little painful as I can," I coo.

"Don't," she moans. "You want me? Okay, do it."

Having her consent isn't rape, huh? My smile widens.

It's easy to imagine doing it.

I grab the front of her designer dress and run my knife over it then tear it open and leave it hanging on her sides. Her white, cotton bra shows what hides behind all the make-up, pompous dress and Hollywood's Sweetheart.

Maintaining eye contact, I thrust the knife in the nightstand's top.

She jumps and tears start running down her face.

"Keep in mind that you agreed," I remind teasingly her and take one step back. I pull her legs apart and she whimpers some more.

"If…if I do whatever you want…will you let me live? I promise to date you. I'd marry you, just don't do this," she begs between sobs.

Her confession distracts me from her cotton panties.

She'd marry me?

I raise my face to stare at her honest eyes.

The delusion is gone soon.

She'd end me if we leave this room.

I keep imagining how easy it will be to actually do it.

I return my attention to her cotton panties and rip them off her. I tug her on the edge of the chair and push my pants down.

Oh, I've been waiting for this moment…for so long.

I seize her chin in my hand and kiss her violently. Such a sweet mouth. Tastes like cherries.

I grab her hips and raise her to my level then bury deep inside her.

She screams and cries.

I stop and watch her shocked. My hearts stops for a second then restarts double speed.

"You're mine, now," I coo to her. "Mine."

"You're a brute! You, cruel man!" she shouts at me, writhing in my arms.

"I swear to you that I never wanted to hurt you like that," I whisper, kissing her salty tears.

All the while I'm moving in slow, deep thrust inside her tight, warm and wetter by the moment tunnel.

"This excites you?" I chuckle. "Oh, you dirty girl, Isabella."

Her brown gaze cuts to mine. "Don't say my name!" she spits.

"Okay, Beautiful." I kiss her cherry lips until they're swollen and bruised. "I'm so sorry it will end like this," I murmur. "I want you to know that I would have done anything for you. Anything."

"Then let me go," she begs.

"I can't. I'm sorry. It's not up to me anymore. You decided wrong."

She moans, scrunching her eyes shut as I start pounding into her.

I thought this would hurt me. Raping her…

Though, I'm not raping her… She enjoys it just as much.

This is pure sex. Raw and carnal. Exactly what I wanted.

Suddenly, it happens. Her walls squeeze me in the most delicious way.

Every cell in me is alive as I explode.

She falls limply on the chair, half on the floor, half hanging on the chair, her arms still tied to the back of it.

I tug my pants up, take my knife and plop in front of her, Indian style. The delusion is gone.

"You're sick," she says lifelessly.

"I'm quite healthy," I retort.

"Mentally! You're sick!" she cries.

I smile and roll the knife between my hands. "Let's talk."

"You want to talk?" she asks in disbelief.

"Sure. Ask me anything." I grin at her, daring her to ask me again that stupid question about why am I doing it.

"What's your name?" she whispers, shifting on the chair.

"Edward. That's all you need to know about my name."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty six. I've been your fan since you were five."

Her eyes widen. "You remember that?"

"Of course. You were the sweetest child I've seen."

"You were a child yourself!"

"I knew you were passionate," I murmur. "I like to see it now."

"Let me go, Edward."

"I can't. I have to kill you."

I stare at my reflection in the knife's blade. There are dark shadows under my eyes and I look like shit. It's been too long since I last slept or ate.

"You don't look like a bad guy."

I chuckle darkly. "Neither did Mark David Chapman. I don't know about him, but I really love you."

She pales. "That's your life ambition? To became a well-known and very much hated murderer?"

"I don't want people to know anything about me, besides how much I loved you."

"I can take care of you." I can hear the fakeness in her confession. Then she gasps. "You were behind me. In the theatre."

"That's correct."

"Your eyes are so green and beautiful." She offers me a small smile.

"Now, who's the sick one, Beautiful? Trying to seduce me?" I tease her.

"You shouldn't do this. If it's true, what you told me… Why would you kill me? I won't be around to make any more movies."

"I can't have you. You were never mine." I feel so pathetic.

"I'm yours now," she reminds me. As if I have forgotten.

I want her so badly, but I have a plan to stick to.

"No one will ever have you again," I murmur. Then I go behind the chair and untie her hands, lowering her to the floor.

She whimpers as a bug scurries close to her leg then walks away.

That's right. She's mine.

No one touches her.

"You're doing it?" she whimpers scared.

I trail the tip of my knife over her left breast. She shudders.

"It may hurt a little, but I'll make it better," I promise and kiss her again.

She starts crying quietly.

I cradle her body to my chest and raise my armed hand. She closes her eyes, squeezing them. Her lips are moving quickly as if she's praying.

"I'll always love you," I whisper as I stab her.

Her body arches and there's blood everywhere. Her eyes are open and staring blankly at me.

I extract the knife, enjoying the sound it makes. The iron smell is pungent in the air. I wrap her fragile hand around the bottom of the knife then push it in my stomach.

I can't live without her.

Anxiously waiting your response. I swear, I've never been so worried when I posted something.

*bites nails*