Cast
Junior: an attractive, intelligent and athletic male. 35-45. Passionless and empty

Scene
I can’t sleep. It’s four AM and I’ve been up all night, thinking vivid thoughts as I sit on the edge of the bed. My girl’s hair is curled around my fingers and I think of something sharp. Something that could slice through bone like butter. My gaze is fixed blankly on the wall as I picture a knife so fine it would disappear if you held it sideways. The girl makes a noise of contentment and I look down at her.

We stayed up talking until midnight. I’m good at talking. I always say the right thing, whether it’s a poignant remark or simply nothing. I even understand women. At eleven forty-five I decided I wanted her and it took me all of fifteen minutes to make her want me back. I started undressing her while we talked and it was as if I was passing her cutlery for all she reacted. After five years of platonic friendship you’d think she’d be reluctant to have some benefits, but nope. I kissed her neck and pulled her close and she came willingly.

As I play with her hair I decide I love her. I feel this incontinent need for her. She’s so sweet and sincere. Honest and vulnerable. I lean down, my breath on her face, and I'm inches away from waking her with a kiss.

But I’m more in love with the girl who’s coming round tonight. She has passion which my friend here can’t match. The way she holds my eyes until we’re both smiling so hard we want to fucking eat each other. I’d marry that one if it wasn’t so damned easy to have every other girl, if the feelings were for her alone and not spread out among many. I want them all like a drunkard wants drink: intensely but emptily.

See, I played football at school and realised I could make a good living from it. I had that lucky cross between athleticism and intellectualism, getting the best grades in class and hammering all the big dumb bastards into the ground every time I was on the field. I was every nerd’s wet dream. I went pro easily and made millions. I retired at the top of my game simply because I was bored. What’s the point of sticking around at the top of the ladder? You get sick of the view.

Everything in my life has been there when I wanted it. Women. Bam. Money. Bam. Fame, admiration, food, cars, “stuff.” I’m forty now and I’ve had everything for a decade. Everything! And you know what? It’s all worn off. The joy of success is dead. The finest wine is my tap water. The most delicate flavours my staple diet. Beautiful, lovely women are mine whenever I want them. Fast cars are old bombs and my friends’ pride in me is a dead emotion I’m no longer moved by. People are always talking about the cup being half full or half empty. Mine’s so full it might as well not be there.

My girl rolls over in her sleep and presses up against me. I could wake her and have her but I’m thinking about that knife again. There’s nothing as sharp as I’d like but maybe maximising the pain wouldn’t be too bad. Maybe I should use something dirty and raw and blunt and hack a hand or a foot right off. I should probably gag her first. I couldn’t stand the screams. The blood will be bad enough but the screams might make me wonder if this is as screwed up and disturbed as it sounds in my head. Why worry about something as transient as the pain given what I’m about to do?...

END OF EXCERPT