The first time I killed someone was by accident. Sort of. To be honest, at the exact moment I was staring at the cat, wondering if I had it in me to go through this, she jumped at me and I ended up stabbing her. I like to think that it was in self-defense because that cat was as evil as her owner.

Which brings me to the present situation. If the first time I killed could be considered an act of self-defense, I can't say the same about the second time.

I stare into Mrs. Anderson's empty eyes, and I know very well that I killed her deliberately. I don't feel bad. If anything, I feel like I'm like a modern-vigilante, cleaning the streets from bad, rotten people like the woman in front of me.

I grab the knife I stole from my grandmother's kitchen and place it on her stomach. I'm not too excited about my subject, but I do intent to go to med school in a couple of years, and here's my chance to see the inside of a human body for the first time. Swallowing hard, I push down the knife. There's a trail of blood coming out, but all I can think about is how it all began.

Mrs. Anderson was a nasty person. Anyone could see that from first sight. She was a scary looking woman, walking around in her cluttered patio with the sole companion of her foul white cat. Her unkempt house reflected her. It was a sore sight. The grass was tall, creeper plants covered the front porch, and it honestly looked like a dump.

I do remember seeing a young girl around my age for a few days. Right until Mrs. Anderson flipped and beat the crap out of her. We'd heard the screams and my grandmother had called the police, but before they arrived, the girl had managed to run away. We hadn't seen her ever since.

It was such a contrast from my own situation at my grandmother's house. My grandmother was the epitome of her neighbor. She was always smiling, spreading words of wisdom at any chance she could, and she was definitely too kind for her own good.

She even tried to befriend Mrs. Andrews. Several times, but she hadn't been lucky. Hell. I don't think anyone could be friends with that woman.

I smile. It doesn't matter now.

My grandmother was so different from Mrs. Andrews. She was positive and kind all the time; it was something I admired her for. I waited all year long to come back here for the summer. She was amazing, and after Grandpa passed away two years ago, I felt like I needed to at least keep her company for the summer.

She was doing fine on her own, though. She'd always been a wonderful cook, but now, she was somewhat famous among her friends for her special beef stew. It was so popular that she even cooked it exclusively for one of the town's restaurant.

Mrs. Anderson's cat had been too fond of the stew as well. Two weeks after I arrived, the cat had managed to ruin my grandmother's stew three times. The food had to cook overnight, and in those three times, we'd found the cat had sneaked in to eat half of the saucepan. The first time it happened, I assumed that Mrs. Anderson didn't feed her, and we'd tried to give her canned tuna, but the cat had ignored the fish and eaten the stew instead.

Grandma didn't complain, she just went to the butcher and got more meat and started to cook from scratch, but I took the matter in my own hands last week.

I grabbed a knife from the kitchen and quietly made my way into Mrs. Anderson's territory. That same night the cat had half-finished the latest stew, so I figured she would feel heavy and was probably sleeping. Using my cellphone as a flashlight, I managed to sidestep through the sea of old stuff until I found her curled in a pile of old pillows.

I stared at it for a long time, holding my breath, and as I leaned closer, she opened her eyes and jumped at me. And then, it was done.

I'd stabbed her on the chest and the cat died instantly. Completely frozen, I watched her body for a long moment. Blood was pouring from the injury, but I wasn't grossed up, if anything, I felt curious. Curious to know what was inside her body, to see what laid beneath her skin.

I grabbed the cat and took her closer to my grandmother's house. With the light from the back porch, I made an incision and took out all her organs. I studied them with deep interest until the first rays of light started to shine on the sky. I gathered the disjointed parts of what earlier was a cat, placed them in a bag and threw them on the trash. I also made sure to clean the grass where I'd conducted my experiment.

The cat deserved it, for sure. I didn't feel bad about it. To be fair, an immense curiosity to know how her body functioned grew inside of me. Mother nature is brilliant. Our bodies function like perfect machinery, and now I wanted to know more about it. I wanted to see how the body worked from inside. After studying her organs, I felt an immense thirst of knowledge. I wondered if her organs were different from ours. Suddenly, I had the urge to study the human body and how it functioned, so I assaulted my grandmother's small library to get my fix.

My great-great-grandfather was a doctor, and I found quite an array of Human Anatomy books. It didn't matter that they were old, if anything, that made them more interesting. They were filled with handwritten notes and sketches, explaining everything with detail.

I've studied them for a whole week and I feel confident as I plunge the knife even deeper into Mrs. Anderson's body. When the cut looks like one of those sketches; I leave the knife on the table and take the large bucket I'd already prepared for this. I'm trying to be very careful. I don't want blood everywhere.

Conveniently, I'd found a large table on my grandmother's garage and I set everything up once she left the house for her weekly bible school. She usually took three hours to come back, so I had to finish this as soon as I could.

The hardest part was getting Mrs. Anderson's body here. It had been a total drag. At least I had the sense to sleep her inside Grandma's house. That part hadn't been difficult. She blamed us for the disappearance of her cat, and it irked me how she cared more about the stupid cat, than the girl she'd beaten up.

That was the last straw.

When my grandmother announced that she had bible school, I planned it all. I made iced tea and mixed it with the sleeping pills I'd grinned the night before. Then, when the wench came barging, looking for my grandmother, like she had done for the las three days. I invited her in and told her she'd have to wait for her. Then, I offered the tea.

There wasn't any breeze outside and the heat of the afternoon was unbearable. I'd also made sure to adjust the temperature inside the house, so she'd be forced to take the tea.

Five minutes later, she fell, like a sack of potatoes, over the tea table in the middle of the living room. That was my main concern. She'd made a mess out of it. The glass broke and the last traces of tea were splashed against the carpet. But, I figured I could come up with the logical explanation for that later. My main purpose was to take Mrs. Anderson to the garage and get it all done.

I'd killed her in her sleep. I was sure that she hadn't felt a thing which was very kind of me. A woman like her didn't deserve a death like that. However, I had no intention to struggle with the woman and I had no idea if someone would be able to listen to any screaming that could arise at the moment.

My plan was quite simple. I'd have time to study the organs, and then I'd cut the body in pieces, place them in a garbage bag and dig a hole somewhere to hide them. The book explained how to make those cuts and it seemed easy.

It was a perfect plan. Or so I thought.

I'm ripping her open when I hear the unmistakable sound of tires against the pavement.

Crap. Crap. Crap.

I stay still as two doors bang, one after the other, and I hear my grandmother's laugh.

My eyes turn down. The gloves I'm wearing are covered in blood. This can't be happening! Grandma was supposed to come back in at least three hours!

The front door opens and the beats of my heart are so loud that I'm almost certain that they can hear it. I'm panicking. A shiver runs down my spine and there's a trail of sweat on my forehead.

I take out my hands and I try to cover everything with the large garbage bags I was going to use to dispose of the body parts.

I hear Grandma's voice. I can't hear what she's saying but I do notice she stops talking abruptly.

Holy sheet, she's in the living room! I didn't have time to clean it up!

Crap. Crap. Crap.

I can see my whole life flashing in front of my eyes.

My parent's disappointment, the life I'd planned in med school gone, and I can see bars and people spitting at me as I walk towards my trail. I can hear people chanting murdered, guilty, assassin. And in the middle of that, I hear my name coming out from one of the women I've admired more, and she's calling my name.

My eyes are prickling when she peeks inside the garage. I've tried to cover everything as best as I can, but how can you cover a whole body in less than a minute?

Gram's silver hair shines as she looks around. "Are you okay? There's a mess outside."

I'm opening my mouth to answer when I see that there's a finger poking out of the garbage bag. We both see it. Her eyebrows come together before her eyes set on me. She pinches her lips and blinks for a few times.

I want to say that I'm sorry, but I can't because I'm not. Mrs. Anderson deserved to die.

She keeps silent before turning away. "Alice, dear, I'm afraid that my sweet granddaughter doesn't feel okay, can we get a rain check on that coffee?"

I don't listen to what her friend says, all I can think is that I'm so screwed.

My whole body feels heavy. I lean on the wall and slid to the floor where I hug my knees.

So, fucking screwed.

I guess there's really no such thing as a perfect crime. Not that I thought much about it, I just felt the need to get it done, and the whole thing seemed simple and easy to handle.

I was so wrong.

An engine roars to life and the front door closes.

I know what's coming.

The police, the shaming, all of it...

I'm going to jail. For sure.

My grandmother comes inside the room straightening her pleated skirt. Her hair is so white that she appears to have some kind of angelic aura surrounding her. She looks at me and her eyes soften.

Tears start to run down my cheeks and my hands are trembling. I'm so scared.

"Is that Mrs. Anderson?" I nod, biting my lip. "Well, I guess she was right then. Did you have something to do with that awful cat of hers?" I nod again. But this time, I'm not looking at her. I can't. I'm staring at the floor, feeling shame for the pain that I'm causing her.

She walks around the room and stops in front of the table. I close my eyes and hug myself tighter. "For your first time, you did very well."

Her words feel like a bucket of ice.

I gape at her. "W-what?"

My grandmother, my sweet grandmother, smiles at me. She's standing in front of her neighbor's body and she's not panicking or screaming bloody murder at me. Her gray eyes are sparkling as she nods. "That cut seems very clean even though you used a kitchen knife."

I can't utter a freaking word. My mouth moves but not a sound comes out of it.

"I've always thought that women are cut out for this. God knows that your father tried his best, but he was awful," she continues as if she's talking about the weather, or what she cooked last week.

My eyes are wide as I stand up. "My father?"

She nods. "He was terrible. I think he cried all the way and then he even barfed. I knew he was a lost cause, and yet, I always wondered if you had it in you." She turns around and opens a drawer. She takes out a few butcher knives and without looking at me, she examines the body. "You want to know what ingredient makes my stew so delicious?" She glances at me as she raises the cleaver, "this," she adds as the knife comes down. She takes a chunk of Mrs. Andrews and her lips curve up.

I don't know what to say. It's so weird to see her chopping her neighbor as if she's used to it. Which, by the look of it, she is.

"How many people have you..." I gesture with my hand at the body, unable to say the word killed, to my grandmother.

She shrugs. "Too many to keep track." She passes a hand across her face and leaves a trail of blood on her cheek. She keeps chopping the body to pieces and only stops once to complain about how her clothes will probably ruin after this.

"Is this somewhat of a family tradition?" I ask after a while. We're almost finished and I notice how this has taken more than three hours.

My grandma shakes her head. "I don't think your mother would approve. But your great-great-grandfather had a deep interest to study the human body. Most of the books on human anatomy are his. People wouldn't understand his methods, especially because he was obsessed with women. He believed that our uterus is made of special cells that make a fetus life strive." She smiles at me. "But he didn't have the resources to prove it."

"Have you tried to prove it?"

"No, but I have a feeling that you'll finally solve the mystery. After all, you'll be studying medicine soon, and you'll have access to the most updated equipment to conduct this research. The thirst of knowledge it's in your blood. And your name. Make your great-great-grandfather proud, Jackie."

I stand up straighter and I nod.

I will.

---

Gaby Cabezut writes sweet, emotional stories that will make you swoon, laugh, and cry. Her stories have gathered over a 100 million reads online.

She's part of the exclusive Wattpad Stars program, where she has been commissioned to write for brands like H&M, and she's Wattpad's Spanish Community Assistant for the Ambassadors as well. She has been published by Limitless Publishing, Pop Fiction Books in the Philippines and HachetteAudio.