The Venus Fix

One

Dearest,

After all these months, I’m willing to concede. Nothing will make me miss you less. Nothing will ease the razor-sharp pain that wakes me up every morning and keeps me from falling asleep at night. Not while those women roam-no, not quite women, but witch women who go haunting, casting spells and capturing souls without anyone realizing just how dangerous they are or noticing the evil running in their veins. Evil that glows secret bright in the night and feeds the junkies who drool, eyes glued to their bare breasts and wet lips, ears attuned to low moans and dirty chatter while they stroke, massage, and manipulate themselves to orgasm and then languish in some fugue state until they crash back, back, back to earth.

There are twenty-three days left until your birthday, and to show you how much I love you, I promise, by then all five of these women will have been punished.

What I’m going to do won’t bring back my appetite or my curiosity or my energy. It won’t do a damn thing for me. That doesn’t matter. Because this I do for you.