~Jean's POV~

My alarm rings at 4:00 that morning. I had set out my uniform last night, showered before sleeping as well, and made sure the creams and masks I used for my morning routine were in perfect order.

Lazily, my hand strikes the top of the alarm clock to silence it and my body slowly rises from my bed like a vampire and his casket.

After smacking my lips and rubbing my eyes, I walk to the bathroom and begin to get ready for the day.

Marco, Marco, Marco...

It's like his face was etched into my mind the way the sun burns into your retina and flashes across your vision as you blink. And most of all, why was he the only customer I've had that crossed my brain at such a constant rate? Was it, perhaps, a warning that I should steer clear of him? A sign that he might be the one to throw me off track? It's not that he had some fishy undertone to his personality... or was it?

I flush the toilet after my train of thought comes to a temporary pause and walk to the sink to wash my always cold hands. The water was steaming as I ran my palms beneath it. Being clean was very important.

I wash my hands and wrists for twenty seconds, clean beneath my fingernails to pick out the dried flakes of blood that had been wedged beneath them and make sure I also rinse my hands thoroughly before patting them dry with a towel.

How much time did that all take? I glance out from the open bathroom door to the digital clock in my bedroom. 30 seconds exactly. Good.

I then turn on the steaming water again and cup some in my hands before splashing it over my face. Like a gust of wind, the splash goes crashing against my face and sends a buzzing sense of rejuvenation through my body.

But my brain sees otherwise. As I open my eyes, eyelashes clumped together in little points from the water, the water that drained and trickled down my face coloured the basin a cherry colour as it swirled down the sink. Beautiful, I thought as I stared at the sea of gradually dissipating red as it disappeared down the drain.

After patting my face dry, first comes a cucumber peel off mask. I open the tube and let a fair amount drizzle onto my open palm. It felt like the lumpy, curdled blood of a corpse as it pooled in my hand. Then I close the tube and begin painting it evenly around my face. Cooling, refreshing sensations kissed my entire complexion as it began to do its profound job while very gradually beginning to dry. I rinse the excess off my hands under the faucet and wipe them dry. Ten minutes. That's all it took.

As the time ticks by, the mask is dry enough to where I could peel it with ease. I start at the top of my forehead, working the little edges under my fingers, before beginning to slowly and very carefully pull.

A delightful sigh escaped my lungs. It reminded me of one of my favourite murders. Why she was already dead when it happened, and by that I mean when I expertly tore off her face.

She was a screamer alright, but that was easily fixed with a slow but deep cut to the throat. God, I loved the way it felt. She was helpless, and I guess that's what really made my toes curl. Her fresh warm blood gushed onto my knuckles as the blade steadily carved a second crimson smile across her neck, and her tiny body flailed around in my much stronger gasp like a moth with a torn wing.

Her screams were abruptly hushed and replaced with rattling, whistling gasps as seemingly endless blood frothed at her now exposed and slit trachea - a much better sound in my opinion.

"Do you feel that?" I asked her as I grabbed a handful of her golden hair and tugged her head back to look at me. "That last sliver of life leaving your body? Wonderful, isn't it?"

My hollow face was the last thing she saw before her eyes rolled back in their sockets and her last bubbling breath left her body.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," my tongue clicked. "Gone so soon? Well, it's not like you had much blood to lose anyway."

I lay her down on the blood-soaked tarp and straddle her slender hips before grabbing one of my smaller blades and positioning it on her left cheek. Like a hot knife to butter, the sharp metal carved a neat cut all around her face. I dug my fingers into the slit on her forehead and began to peel. For the most part, she was skinned like a banana peel, but my knife sometimes had to be put to use to cut off all the connective tissue from her flesh to her muscle. It wasn't as hard as I'd imagined.

The mask soon parts from my face at my chin right as I finish replaying that delightful memory through my head and leaves my skin feeling crisp and fresh. Next came an assortment of creams and moisturizers. I open a jar of anti-aging cream, scoop a dollop on the tips of my fingers, and spread it all around my face, massaging it into my skin followed by some eye balm, then a protective moisturizer. My hair is was easily fixed with some volumizing gel, a quick passover with a blow dryer, and a dab of putty to fix it all in place. A couple puffs of Dolce and Gabbana cologne behind my ears and on my wrists did the job done.

Twenty minutes plus thirteen seconds. Damn.

I then slip on my uniform and sigh. I had fifteen minutes or so to spare, so I walk back into the bathroom and pull back the shower curtain. There in the white porcelain tub was a bloody mess of Mikasa's limbs, guts, bones, and chunks of grey matter. I smile and drop to my knees as I admire the multicoloured sea of slimy gore.

"Where's your head?" I ask as I lean over the edge of the sink, pull my elbow-length sleeves up just a little bit more, and begin digging around the flesh and bone. It was cold and slippery as it sloshed around the bathtub and my arm and squelched through my fingers until I eventually brushed my hand across the shape of a face.

"Bingo."

Both my hands grab onto the roughly ten-pound body part and fish it out of the mess of guts.

Oh... Mikasa.

I brush her hair, wet and clumped together with blood, out of her blank eyes and push it back some more with my hands to reveal her lackluster face. Still, that didn't stop me from bringing her head near me, opening my mouth, and slowly licking the blood off her skin. The metallic taste coats my tongue and dribbled down my chin as I continue to clean up her face like a mother cat would to her kitten.

For the most part, she was clean after a good few more licks, at least to the point where I could see the terrified expression that she parted life with. With a charming grin, and tilt my head and stroke her cheek with my thumb.

"Oh, baby," I purr. "You look beautiful today."

The thumb that caressed her cheekbone moves down to her lips and slowly opened her mouth to reveal the gummy rows on her top and bottom jaw and her pink tongue. I had punched out all her teeth so that her mouth may be more... accessible. It's not like she smiled much with them anyway.

I glance back at the clock. 4:30. My shift began at 5 and the coffee shop was fifteen minutes away. I liked getting there early in order to set up for the day and prepare myself for any nuisance customers.

"Gotta make it relatively quick," I tell Mikasa's head with an off smile and rinse my hands off under the tub faucet before fumbling with the button to my pants and pulling them down. They fall at my bent knees where I kneel, exposing my cotton briefs and the uncomfortable bulge that begged to come out and be relieved.

I pull down the elastic waistband to my underwear and pick Mikasa back up in my now shaking hands.

"I wish you'd done this while you were living," I say in a somewhat pouty voice before lifting her head to my face and driving my tongue into her rotting mouth. Her wet black hair curls and tangles around my fingers as I cupped the back of her head for support as I kissed her limp mouth passionately. I lick the insides of her cheeks, taste her rigid, bloody gums, and nibble at her parted lips before pulling her face away and staring at the tile wall in front of me. My mouth was caked with red blood and my hooded eyes were still and dark as I bring Mikasa's head to my lower regions and push her forward once I positioned myself in her lips.

With an unchanging and almost stern face, I begin to push and pull her head at a fair pace while continuing to stare at the shower wall. Wet squelches sounded in the back of her throat as I pushed her all the way down and felt my eye twitch a little.

A gentle sigh escapes my opened mouth after a short while when I reached my peak and softened my hard expression.

"Oh, Mikasa."

Ribbons of semen roll down her throat and out her open oesophagus before dripping onto the bathroom floor. After that, I wipe up the small mess on the floor with some toilet paper and clean off the blood on my penis. As much as I wanted to keep it there and feel the cool wetness of the red ichor in my pants, I couldn't just walk around with clear evidence; especially on my dick...

My pants are pulled back up and I head out for the long day to come. Mikasa's head had been tossed back into the tub. I would use it again for later.

I was calm as I cruised down the street in my Volkswagen, listening to the faint music that played on the radio. Images of Mikasa's mutilated body would flash through my mind every now and again, bringing great joy to my senses so much so that I thought I might get another hard-on within the next few moments. I grip the steering wheel hard and bite my lip lightly just at the thought of bathing in her innards and smearing all her bodily fluids across my naked body, gnawing on her intestines and biting into her heart, masturbating with her severed hand, and perhaps even thrusting her bones into my anus. I've leaned more towards bisexual than straight for most my life, so a little bit of man-on-man contacts like blowjobs and ass-fucking never hurt.

Eren was the first man I carried out my gay fantasies on. I was in high school. Prior to that life-changing moment, I remember reading things about serial killer Jeffery Dahmer and felt compelled to do as he did, and so, when I felt the time was right, I brought him to my mother's house when she wasn't there and offered him a few drinks.

That bastard was plastered in no time.

He passed out only minutes after his seventh drink, and with a racing heart, I positioned him across the dining table, yanked down both his and my trousers, and ran my hand over that plump peachy ass.

"What am I doing?" I had thought. "Oh God, what am I doing?"

There he laid, completely under my control with his limp arms cradling his sleeping head.

I was trembling, perspiring heavily, and could hardly breathe, but fear was soon swept off my back after I had a drink of my own. The sex was rough, very rough. The table rocked along with my hard thrusts, tipping over the salt and pepper shakers and the roll of paper towels, and Eren's unconscious body jerked forward with my pounding hips.

He wakes up mid-session.

"What... what the fuck?" he drawled as he looked over his shoulder only to see that his best frenemy was pounding him raw. "What the fuck?!"

He kicks his legs out behind him, swearing and exclaiming out of shock (I couldn't blame him), and sending me stumbling backward.

Slowly, I pull up my pants as I stare at him with cold, dead eyes and watch as he winces while dressing himself back up as well.

"Augh... dammit!" he groaned as he stood on his tiptoes and grabbed his ass. "It fucking hurts! How fucking hard did you go?!"

Just as he's about to turn around to look at me with a scowl fuming with anger, embarrassment, and shock when I swing my arm forward and strike him in the side of the face with a rum bottle.

He goes crashing to the floor with a yelp and brings a chair down with him and just then, there's an exhilarating pang that shoots through my body as I tower over him and a sense of control that poisons my brain and numbs my senses.

"Ah, shit," Eren whimpered while touching his fingers to the side of his head and bringing them, now stained with blood, to his wide eyes. "What... what are you... are you fucking insane?"

He scrambles back as I walk forward, shaking, quivering...

"I have had it," I begin to state. "With your constant bitching, your whining, I'm done!"

"Hey, hey," Eren responds in a shaky voice. He had backed into the wall, so there was no exit now. "Please, Jean. We're friends, ain't we?"

I stay silent, so he keeps talking.

"Please, don't hurt me."

And then I smile. It was a sick, stomach-churning smile, a smile that was incorporated with a deadly emotion I had not yet felt before that day.

"Hurt you? Oh, I'm not gonna hurt you," I reply as I slowly shake my head and continue to walk in his direction. Right when I'm at his feet, I drop to a knee so that we were eye level, and in a low voice as chilling as ice, I say, "I'm gonna do a lot worse."

Eren's wide eyes begin to well up as he starts trembling more and more. "I... I don't..."

"Hm?"

"I don't wanna die!"

His voice was loud and filled with anguish as he cried out. Maybe it was just the alcohol talking. Either way, it scratched at my ears and made my face scrunch up in a cringe.

"Oh, shut up."

I stand up, walk to the kitchen, and run my fingers over the bottoms of the handles of various knives before picking up a long, slender one. Eren seems to take quick notice and releases a frightened and frantic sob.

"Shhh." I hold a finger to my lips and walk towards him, but he begins to clamber onto his knees in attempts to escape. That's my cue to lunge forward, grab him by the neck, and plunge the carving knife into his stomach.

It felt so... so empowering. The way Eren released a guttural scream right into my ear, the warm feeling of blood that pooled up against my hand, the way the blade so easily cut into his flesh. And it felt so... orgasmic. I ejaculated in my pants shortly after that which made me realize: I don't need sexual contact to feel pleasure, and that made me feel even sicker and more demented. I loved it.

Eren writhed against my body, straining to wriggle out from beneath me. He puts his hands on my chest in attempts to push me off him, but his efforts are in vain.

"Shit! Shit!" he cries. "Get the fuck off me!"

Those cries only encourage me. While the knife is still in him, I begin to carve it down his tender flesh and listen to the slimy sounds his skin made as it parted. Eren's screams were long and loud, too loud, and so I abruptly smash our lips together as a way to hush him.

Good God, how strange it felt.

He had no choice but to let it happen, sobbing and squirming around. I soon added the French to our sultry kiss, as his open, screaming mouth gave easy access.

As I slowly bob my head, my wet tongue caressing and rubbing up against Eren's, I suddenly feel a warmth drape around my arm and a wetness soak through my sleeves. I look down, and oh my.

His intestines had spilled out of the incision on his stomach and created a gory mass pinkish, slimy tubes that poured into his lap. As soon as he sees this, his eyes are bulging and a scream much louder than the rest fills the house. My eyes are wide as well, not in fear, but in excitement.

"Oh, wow!" I exclaimed after I had broken our kiss. A mix of both his and my saliva coated my chin and all around my mouth, and suddenly, a strong impulse sends me grabbing his entrails in each of my hands and raising them to my face.

"Oh, God!" Eren bawls, bleeding profusely all over the floor. "Oh, my God! Oh, my fucking God!"

Out of what I assumed was pure trauma and disgust, he begins to vomit, quivering, sobbing hard, and slowly dying as all the alcohol he had consumed comes pouring back out through his mouth.

And that was that.

I had strangled him with his own viscera until he died, further mutilated his body including his genitals, had my second round of sex with his cold corpse and cannibalized what I could of him. His flesh was very tough, so I resorted to pounding his bicep with a meat tenderizer. His thighs and ass were my favourites.

The murder of Eren Jaeger was definitely a very messy and very experimental one, but I enjoyed every last bit. I, later on, drank his blood, which tasted more of metal than everything else.

But then... I was suddenly brought into this mood, this unnatural state of mind. I stood there, looking blankly at Eren's dismembered, bloody, vomit-covered corpse and thought, "This is it. This is who I am."

I immediately felt I'd stepped into an alternate dimension - a different realm - that further proved I was now separated from the normal man. I was out of human control. I killed a man and there was no undoing it. Some part of it felt liberating, but there was also a different half that felt somewhat... scary. I probably sat there for a good fifteen minutes just pondering what I had done, what the near future now held for me...

It's quite difficult to explain.

I placed Eren's remains in a garbage bag packed with wet trash so that the smell of death could somehow be masked.

I still remember being perched on the sofa in the living room and peering through the blinds of the window that overlooked the front of the house to watch the garbage men come along on their big blue dump truck and toss the bags into the large open back. Without question, the man grabs one of the black bags and chucks it into the dump truck along with the other full bags of garbage, the bag with Eren's body.

My mother hadn't suspected a thing. She just went back to being her usual self after asking me, "Did you hear about that Jaeger kid?"

And I answered, "Yeah."

I could just feel the obliviousness radiating off her body as she walked away with a slight frown on her face. Oh, Mother. You don't know how much your son loves you.

After she left, I turned to face the window again and watched as the truck rumbled off down the road. For those next few years, I would be on a spree. How strange that one moment could change your life forever.