Throughout history and literature, there's been a noticeable trend of painting women as the downfall of strong, virtuous men. 

No one talks about Delilah without talking about Samson. Bathsheba is only remembered because of King David. There's even a song about this that's played at every fucking funeral. 

Despite being an intelligent and ruthless leader in her own right, Cleopatra wasn't spared from this either. Whenever she's brought up, you know Caesar and/or Mark Antony are close behind.

Even one of my own nicknames, Siren of the Cyberspace, implies this. Because sirens in Greek mythology were known to lure sailors to their deaths.

So why are women usually accused of destroying men? Why are men rarely accused of bringing a good woman to ruin?

I mean, you could argue how King David ruined Bathsheba's life. He had her husband killed after all.

Because of her affairs with Caesar and Mark Antony, Cleopatra ended up being the last Pharaoh to rule, which after she died tragically. 

I have no case for Delilah. Sorry.

But my point is that these things do happen. Fuck, I lived it.

I didn't know it at the time, but the man in front of me would be my ruin.

And I loved him for it.

"Wait! Wait! Wait!" he cried, lifting his hands in defense. 

The gun in my grip trembled, but I didn't lower it. "What?"

"Let's not do anything rash." His gaze flickered to the dead body just a few feet away. "Well, more rash. You don't want to have two dead bodies on your hands, right?"

This made me pause. As much as I hated to admit it, he was right. I already had to clean up one dead body. Now, with two?

"I'll just call the police. We can explain it was self-defense." He reached back into his pocket and took out a cell phone. "I witnessed this guy attacking you–"

I immediately gripped the gun tighter at this. "No," I cut him off. 

Even in the night, I could see his already pale face grow even paler. "What? Why not?" he demanded.

I didn't want to tell him what I had really been doing out here. I mean, there was no good way to explain it without looking guilty as hell. 

Well, more guilty. 

But he was right about one thing. I had a dead body on my hands, and I needed to get rid of it. ASAP.

All the years of obsessing over true crime started to kick in, overpowering the anxiety and fear coursing through my veins. It was like my brain switched into survival mode. Whatever else I was feeling about killing a man would just have to wait.

I growled in irritation under my breath. "Just put the phone away. And I'll explain everything."

He slowly slid his phone back into his pocket, but he still had that panicked look on his face. "Okay, now will you please put down the gun?"

It took all my effort not to snort at his question. "No," I repeated just as dryly as before.

His face twisted into one of outrage. "WHAT!" 

I moved closer to him, but not close enough so that he could try and pull a Mr. Ratface on me. "You're a liability now. I have every reason to kill you, too."

His eyes glanced between the gun in my hand and my face. "But you haven't," he observed quietly. 

My eyebrow raised involuntarily at this. I had to admit that was an astute observation. Maybe this guy could actually think. That would be a first. But hey, tonight was just full of surprises. 

"Yeah, you're right," I told him. "Because you're going to help me move this body."

He flinched. "Hold up! What!"

By now, my body had stopped shaking as newfound confidence coursed through me. Or maybe it was the adrenaline. Whatever it was, I was no longer afraid. All that mattered now was self-preservation. 

"You heard me. You're going to help me get rid of this body." I leaned forward slightly so he could tell I meant every unsaid word. "And if you don't..."

I noticed him glance between the gun in my grip and my face as if he were debating if he could take it from me. Before he could even try, I shut that potential thought process down.

"Don't even think about it," I warned, moving the gun down to his groin. "Unless you don't plan on having kids."

Maybe it was my sardonic tone or something reflected in my eyes, but whatever it was, made him gulp. He quickly rushed over to the body, all while I kept the gun trained on him. I didn't trust him not to break into a run or start yelling.

Thankfully, my earlier suspicion about him was right. I was dealing with a man who could actually think.

"Grab the front," I ordered. 

He pressed his lips into a thin line before slowly grabbing the body by the torso. It looked like he was trying his best to keep his food down.

"What? Do you expect me to carry him by myself too?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

I rolled my eyes at his attitude. "No. But I need to do something first."

Years of studying criminal cases taught me that leaving evidence behind would be a costly mistake. But when your mind is yelling at you, it's hard to think straight and make sure you're not overlooking something vital. I fired only one gunshot, so there would only be one shell casing. After I tucked the gun in my waistline and pulled out my phone, I turned on the flashlight and began to search the ground.

It didn't take long to find it, a metal cylinder in a sea of green.

I put both the case and phone back in my pockets before giving the area one last sweep. There were speckles of blood staining the grass, and I could only hope the morning dew and elements would wash it away.

Hurrying back over to the body, I saw how the man had remained where I had left him. There was a curious expression on his face, one I couldn't decipher. But now was not the time to try.

"Don't even think about trying to run away," I said as I grabbed the legs and lifted. 

I knew carrying a dead body would be heavy. That's why I persuaded this man to help. Being barely over five feet tall and with hardly any muscle, there was no way I could move a grown man by myself. I couldn't even carry my dog.

But fuck. This bastard was heavier than I thought.

A groan must have escaped my mouth because I heard what sounded like a soft chuckle coming from the man. Sure enough, when I looked over at him, there was a faint smile on his face.

I could only scowl back at him. One, because he was laughing at my struggle. Two, because he was making carrying a dead body look fucking easy.

Fuck men and their upper body strength. 

"Quit laughing and just take it towards my car." I gestured with my head to my car, which was parked nearby.

To my surprise, he didn't say anything and just kept walking. It felt like an eternity before we reached my car. Even in the cool night air, sweat gathered on the back of my neck. 

Around us, the wind had picked up considerably, blowing strands of hair across my face. This was probably a good thing since no one wanted to be outside with dust and grit getting in their eyes. It explained why I hadn't seen another human walking around the park. It was still eerily quiet with only the sounds of the wind to fill the night. Once or twice, the silence was broken with the sound of a dog barking or sirens in the distance. 

Once or twice, I nearly dropped the legs as I struggled to get a good grip.

By the time we reached my car, I was out of breath. I went to the gym and exercised, but this just showed me how I really needed to start lifting more. 

Meanwhile, Mr. Universe over here looked as if he had just finished a mild jog. 

Letting go of the lower half of the body, I whipped out the gun again and told him to unlock the trunk. "There's a button by the handle that opens the trunk."

With a sigh, the man released the upper half, and the body hit the gravel with a soft thud. But all I could focus on was the man, making sure he didn't suddenly try to pull a fast one.

But to my pleasant surprise, he opened up the trunk. 

"Okay." He turned back around and looked at me as if waiting for my next move.

"We need to put it inside."

He frowned and glanced at the trunk. "I don't think it's going to fit..."

"We'll make it fit." There was a confidence in my voice that I had no business having. My car was a compact car, and here I was acting like I drove a truck. 

After returning the gun back inside my pants, I hoisted the legs up again, and together, we both heaved the body into the trunk. Sure enough, there was an arm hanging out. 

I could feel his stare on me without even having to turn. The smugness emitted from him like an odor. 

Before he could say something sarcastic, I seized the arm and twisted it back. It was bent at an unnatural angle now, and I was pretty sure I heard something pop, but at least it was no longer hanging.

"Holy shit," the man swore under his breath. 

"Get inside." I tore my eyes off the trunk and turned to him. 

He looked at me as if I had grown a second head. "Wait, you think I'm going to let you drive me to some unknown location? So you can finally shoot me? I helped you move the body. My job here is done. This is all you now."

"You're a part of this now." My fingers grazed over the gun behind my back. "You know you can't just leave. But if you help me see this through, well, you have a good chance of going home tonight."

I didn't know how I managed to say those words without stuttering. The apprehension and paranoia were starting to seep in. But this was nowhere near finished. I couldn't freak out right now. I needed to keep my composure.

Taking a deep breath, the man headed for the passenger's side. I was about to close the trunk when a sudden realization struck me.

The phone.

I knew phones could be traced. Even ones that were off. Quickly digging into Mr. Ratface's pockets, I pulled out his phone and threw it to the ground, cracking the screen.

But I didn't stop there. With my boot, I stomped on the phone until it was completely broken in two. Every time I brought down my foot, it was like a little piece of the emotional thunderstorm building inside me was released.

Keep calm, I told myself silently. This was a mantra I had been repeating inside my head throughout the whole night.

After picking up the shattered phone, I went back around to the driver's side. In there, the man was already seated, and he was looking at me funny. Which truth be told, I couldn't blame him. 

Ignoring him, I placed the gun in the cup holder on the driver's side door and started the car. As it came to life, I took out a packet of wet wipes from the compartment between our seats. I had never been more proud of myself for carrying these than at this moment.

Sometimes, it helps to be overprepared. 

Anyway, while I cleaned the phone with the wipe, I could feel the man's eyes on me once again. If the previous mayhem hadn't happened, I would've been unsettled. But his gawking was the least of my concerns. 

"Do you need one?" I offered the packet to him after cleaning my cheek of the dried blood.

He blinked at me, seemingly not expecting this question. "Uh... Yeah... Sure. Thanks."

As he took one, I studied his features more intently now that we were closer. In the soft glow of the monitor, I saw just how handsome he actually was.

I know I described him that way earlier, but that was due to hindsight being 20/20. But this was the first time I was really getting a good look at him. 

He looked about my age, but unlike so many other people my age, his skin was still smooth and youthful. He didn't have any blemishes or acne. No scruff on his face either. In fact, his side profile looked like it was perfectly sculpted. 

Up until this point, I hadn't found that many men attractive. I could probably count on one hand how many times I saw a guy and thought he was handsome. 

Most of the time, I ended up lambasting how ugly and disgusting they were.

But the man beside me was objectively good-looking. The way his short curls fell around his head and how the light from the car's monitor reflected in his amber eyes was the opposite of disgusting.

Forcing myself back to the task at hand, I put the car in reverse and began to drive off. 

The silence between us was tense, to say the least. Usually, I don't mind silence. In fact, I'm pretty comfortable with it. But at this moment, it was very uncomfortable. 

I didn't know what to say. What could you say when you're next to a stranger with a dead body in your trunk?

Trying to lessen the awkwardness, I turned on the radio in hopes of also calming myself down. The dread of what I had done kept coming back, like waves. 

But as soon as I heard the song on the radio, which was about a woman shooting someone, that panic only grew. I immediately skipped to the next station and of course, an upbeat song that used the word 'murder' played. I kept skipping stations, not realizing how there were so many songs about killing.

I finally shut off the radio in frustration. 

"So..." the man trailed off. "You said you were going to tell me what this was all about."

I didn't take my eyes off the road as I answered him. "You probably wouldn't even believe me if I tried."

He crossed his arms over his chest and huffed. "Oh yeah? Try me."

I sighed. "Okay, I was catfishing the guy. Pretending to be a teenager when I'm obviously not. He wanted to meet up, and I agreed. Of course, I wasn't going to meet up with a predator unarmed."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him uncross his arms as he listened to me. 

"So we met up, and I threatened to expose him to his job, family, friends," I continued. "I had been doing this with other people too. I'd pretend to be a minor and leak the messages between us to their real-life circle."

I wasn't sure why I revealed all this to him. I could've lied, and he wouldn't have known either way. But what would have been the point? He knew this wasn't a case of self-defense. Something else had to have happened. 

Something more illegal. 

"So this was like To Catch A Predator?" he asked slowly. "But it escalated into killing?"

I could only nod as I parked the car again. 

"Wow..." He stared off into nowhere, his shoulders slumped forward. 

I left him there to contemplate and grabbed the smashed phone with my sleeve, careful not to touch it again now that I had wiped my prints.

Flicking up the hood of my jacket, I got out of the car and approached the dark body of water ahead of me. Lights from the surrounding city glittered in the background. The wind had died down to a gentle breeze by now. And if it wasn't for what I had done and was about to do, I'd say the scene was almost peaceful. 

One of the good things about where I lived was how many lakes and ponds there were. It made disposing of evidence a lot easier.

The man scrambled out of the car. "What are you–"

His answer came when I stretched my arm back and threw the phone with all my strength. I was not much of an athlete–scratch that. I was never an athlete growing up despite the sports I played. Or tried to.

So I willed myself to throw like a pitcher in the Major Leagues. The phone hit the water with a soft plop.

There was a look of disbelief on his face, and it only grew as he watched me toss the bloody wipes into a nearby trash can. 

"Can I ask you something?" He shoved his hands into his pocket. 

"Sure." I shrugged.

"Have..." He took a deep breath. "Have you done this before? Killing someone and getting rid of the evidence?"

The first genuine smile appeared on my lips at this. I could tell he was scared by what my answer might be, and I intentionally let the silence linger before I said,

"No. First time."