He spotted her the second she stepped onto the bus. Her auburn hair shimmered in the early morning sun; the plum dress she wore skimmed past her curves, offering a flash of thigh. She took a seat a few rows in front of him, just off to the side. He shuffled in his seat, clearing his throat. Not today, he silently begged to no-one in particular. Not now. Not today.
The thirty minute bus ride seemed to take twice as long. His eyes stayed glued to her every move. Every flick of her hair; every slight shift in her seat; every turn of the page. She was reading a proper book, no fancy e-reader. Just one more thing that made her perfect. She glanced up, sliding in a book mark – no turning down the corner of the page. Perfect.
Instinctively, he stood following her from the bus. Adrenaline coursed through him, the closeness of their bodies dizzying. The curve of her almost porcelain white neck, the delicate scent of her perfume, the slender hands gripping the bar to steady herself against the buses movements. The gently smile as she thanked the driver.
He followed her across the street, rejoicing in the subtle bounce in her step. How would it feel to run his fingers through that hair? To stroke that creamy white skin? To stare into those huge green eyes, so sparkly with life? How would it feel to have that blood rushing over his hands as that sparkle vanished?
His heart rate quickened. He had no choice now. She was so perfect. Too perfect. Too pure and angelic. Too good for this dirty, imperfect, evil world. Just like poor Ellen had been too perfect, and Jodie and Nicola after her. His hands itched, his mind overrun with thoughts of saving her.
He watched as she bowed her head, searching in her bag for something. Her brow creased in perfect concentration. So perfect. He watched in horror as she pulled out a packet of cigarettes, bringing one to those perfect lips. His pace slowed as she turned the corner, disappearing from his sight. Not so perfect after all.