The Mantis

I'm standing behind Mario while he reads Simona's final words.

I can feel his devastation. His guilt. His belief that he caused this.

He's wrong. But I'm not going to correct him.

Instead, I'm going to let him think that his obsession killed her. Because in a way, it did. But not the way he thinks.

The truth is that I orchestrated this. I wanted him broken. I wanted him to understand what it feels like to want something you can never have.

I got Simona to agree to the Christmas dinner by playing to her vendetta fantasies. I knew that the three of us together in that space would be explosive.

I knew that Mario, drunk enough, would participate in something he didn't fully understand.

I knew that Simona, realizing the truth about us, would spiral into despair.

And I knew that Mario would blame himself.

The mantis doesn't eat because it's hungry. It eats because it can. Because it's what it does.

I got Mario. I got him for one night. And now I've destroyed him.

Is it a victory? Does it matter?

The flowers on Sonya's grave came from me too. Small gestures of observation. Small reminders that I was always paying attention.

Simona called me the Mantis. She was right. But she didn't understand that the Mantis preys on everything. Not just one person.

I'm the Mantis.

Mario is devastated.

Simona is dead.

And I'm still alone.

Still alone.

Still alone.

Because the truth is, destroying Mario didn't make me less lonely. It just confirmed that I'm incapable of actual connection. That all I can do is orchestrate pain and call it love.

That I'm a predator who wore the mask of a friend for ten years.

And now there's nothing left but the mask and the hunger underneath.